Chapter Nineteen Amunet
NINETEEN AMUNET
When my eyes fluttered open the next morning, it took me a moment to figure out why I felt so strange. The bed beneath me was cozy enough, blankets all the way up to my chin. It was still early enough that the insufferable heat had yet to take hold. My mind felt pleasantly drowsy and…
Silent. No tapping or scratching. And the itch at the back of my neck was little more than a distant hum.
Maybe Shaya didn’t hate me after all, if he’d provided this small reprieve.
Gentle, gray morning light trickled in through the windows, outlining Jasim in its soft, silver glow. He sat beside the bed in a wooden chair that didn’t look particularly comfortable, picking out twigs from my wig. I took a moment to just look at him.
His brows were pulled tight, eyes trained with singular focus on his task.
There were small bags beneath those eyes, but that was the only sign of exhaustion.
His gaze was clear, body upright. The sleeves of his ratty tunic were rolled up, and I ate up the sight of those powerful forearms, the veins that ribboned them like vines.
His bottom lip was snagged between his teeth as he worked.
For some reason, the sight made me smile.
The morning possessed a quiet, almost dreamy quality. Maybe I was delirious with relief to finally not want to claw my skin off, or maybe I was just a nosy bitch, but I found myself asking, “Where’s your family?”
Jasim jolted, nearly dropping the wig. He swore, “By the Trench.” His head whipped to me with a huff. “A little warning, my queen.”
I grinned and snuggled deeper into my pillows. “You must have them, right? A family, that is. But you’ve never told me about them.”
“You never asked.” He rubbed a hand down his face.
“I’m asking now.”
Jasim looked at me, a searching glint in his eyes. I had to be delirious, because I felt completely at ease beneath his gaze. “You feeling better?” he asked. “Last night, you…”
“I feel fine.” The back of my neck buzzed with slight discomfort, but I could easily ignore it. Without the racket in my head, I felt better than I had in almost two weeks. “Tell me, Jasim,” I murmured. “Please.”
He was quiet a moment. A light wind ruffled the thin curtains over the windows and blew a few stray curls across his cheek. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I have a family. They live in Masser, near the dam.”
“That’s far.”
He nodded.
“Do you get to see them?”
“Not often. Twice a year if I’m lucky. Guarding the Gods-Chosen is a full-time job. But they write to me every week.”
I frowned. It made me sad he didn’t get to see them. An odd feeling. I think I’d felt it once before, when I’d learned of King Zaid’s death. But I didn’t try to stamp it out. I asked, “What are they like?”
He studied me again, those chocolate-brown eyes scouring my face. Quietly, he asked, “What is this, Amunet?”
Now I knew I was delirious: I smiled at my name. If I were in full use of my faculties, I’d have waved him off and changed the subject. Gone to look for Nasir and demand we leave for my father’s temple immediately.
If I were kinder, I’d have left Jasim alone.
But even half mad, I was not kind.
“I want to know.”
He hesitated a moment longer. His throat bobbed. But he set my wig carefully on the end table and angled his body toward me, elbows on his knees. My whole body lit up at his undivided attention. “Well,” he began, “I have six sisters.”
“Six!” My brows shot up. “Is that… Do people usually…?”
Jasim’s lips curled at the corners. “You mean, is it typical among lowly commoners to procreate like rabbits?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Can be. Just so happens that my parents loved each other. Too much and too often.”
What a peculiar concept. I never knew my mother, but by all accounts, her marriage to the king was a political one. It was a miracle they had even one child. A literal, Gods-Chosen miracle.
“I’m the only boy, born second to last,” Jasim continued.
“Baba used to joke that the gods had finally taken pity on him when I was born, giving him another man in the house.” His gaze took on a faraway look, a soft smile hovering over his lips.
“It drove my mother and sisters mad when he’d make comments like that.
We all helped out in his tannery, so it wasn’t as if he was lacking anything without a boy.
Which my oldest sister, Andra, pointed out all the time.
Still does, honestly. But I think he just liked watching Mama’s face turn red.
” He huffed a small laugh, and I grinned.
Then his smile dimmed. “Of course, I was only eight when he died, so… Didn’t really make it to the man part with him.
” He shrugged, like it didn’t bother him, though it obviously did.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out without my approval. But I found I meant them.
He looked down at his hands. Flexed and clenched them compulsively.
“How’d he die?” I asked softly.
“He was bringing home our water rations from Ketopolis. Someone followed him. Stabbed him and stole the water. We found him a few days later, Andra and I.”
My heart was so heavy it struggled to remain in my chest instead of sinking to my feet.
I reached out of the cocoon of my blankets and took Jasim’s hand.
His was coarse and rough from years of training, while any calluses I might have earned had been smoothed away with tallow.
Gods forbid a royal might appear to have done some work.
Jasim stared at our hands, a line between his brows. “I joined the Khada Guard shortly after that. I send what I can back home to Mama and the girls. Most of them are married off now, but every little bit helps.”
I nodded, even though I could not imagine the life he described. And I wanted to. The buzzing at the back of my neck was getting a little bit stronger, but I just clutched Jasim’s hand tighter. “The king used to beat me,” I blurted.
Jasim’s deep brown eyes lifted to mine. His thumb smoothed gently over my knuckles as he softly said, “I know.”
Of course he did. He’d helped me hobble back to my room more than once.
“It… it upset me, I think.” I frowned as I tried to articulate a feeling I had not bothered to dwell on since I was six.
“He used to be so kind. One time, he took me to the Ketopolis Market just because I’d mentioned I wanted baklawa and the palace chef didn’t know how to make it. Then one day, he just… hated me.”
Clink, clink, clink.
I winced at the whisper of a noise at the back of my head. “I can’t remember if I did something to him. I might have. But it bothers me that I don’t know if he changed first or if I did.” I rubbed my chest where I’d felt that weird pain at the news of his death.
Jasim rose from his seat. He stretched out in the bed beside me, the warmth of his body tickling my skin, and gazed across the pillows at me with soft eyes.
That look. But I didn’t revile it this time.
When he pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me, I melted into his embrace, burrowed into his neck.
“You’re a good person, Amunet,” he murmured against the top of my shaved head. “You didn’t deserve that.”
I laughed hoarsely. “I’m not a good person, Jasim.”
“You’re a Gods-Chosen,” he replied. “Of course you are.” He kissed my temple.
I was going to miss him.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. When we made it to the Temple of Shaya, when this was all over, when I… did what I had to do at the temple, I was going to miss having this devout man at my side. His misplaced adoration. His ready excuses.
I would miss Jasim.
Clink, clink, clink.
Fire spread up from my nape to the crown of my head.
Ugh. Break was over. It was nice while it lasted. I reached my free hand up to scratch.
Jasim gently pulled it away and gave it a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Shaya.”
Despite the return of extreme discomfort to my body, I smiled and let Jasim pull me out of bed.