The twisting roads quickly took them out of sight of the temple, but Jasper couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the pit of his stomach. Why bother revealing herself to me? What game is she playing? The only answer that came to mind, at least the only one that made sense, was that she simply didn’t take him seriously as a threat - she was just toying with him. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice at first that Annatta was trying to catch his attention, until she sidled close to him, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

“Ow,” he yelped, looking over at her in surprise. “What the hell was that for?”

But she just laid her hand on his wrist, squeezing it tightly. “Look behind you, quietly,” she muttered just below her breath.

Following her instructions, he angled his head just far enough to the left to allow him to see down the street. The road still hummed with a certain amount of traffic, but much of the crowd had dissipated once the morning cool had given way to the heat of the day.

And there, trailing perhaps fifty feet behind them, was a group of men. But they were no mere ruffians. Decked out in gleaming armor and riding on elegant steeds, the group could perhaps have been mistaken for a noble out with his entourage, if not for the all-too-familiar emblem etched into their tunics - two scythes joined by a skull.

What? Why? Jasper’s brow wrinkled in confusion as he quickly turned his eyes back to the road before them. He didn’t understand why they were following him but, surely, he told himself, things were different here than they were in Kār-Kuppû. The royal armor and magnificent steed he rode made it clear to all they passed that he was a member of the royal house and under their protection. They wouldn’t dare attack me out in the open, would they?

As one street flowed into the other, he began to relax a little, especially once they crossed the bridge that led into the western side of the city without any problems. Pretending to be unconcerned, Annatta kept up a steady stream of lighthearted chatter, but eventually, she circled back to a topic he had been dreading.

“So about that name,” Annatta said with deliberate casualness. "It clearly meant something to you. You know her, don't you?"

Jasper didn't answer immediately, as his heart began to race with a frenzied beat that could have made the energizer bunny jealous. A bitter taste filled his mouth, but he knew there was no point in refusing to answer. In the end, Annatta didn't really work for him, she worked for S̆arrābī, and he had no doubt she tell his uncle about the name. One way or another, he was going to have to explain.

Still, it was almost a struggle to get the words out. “I guess you could say that," he responded dryly, "seeing as Jacinda Welles is my mother.”

“Like an adoptive mother?" Glancing over at the Djinn, Jasper was surprised to see confusion more than shock mirrored in her eyes.

"No, I mean my mother - you know Princess Da'iqta?"

Her confusion deepened. "But she’s dead. And I've certainly never heard her referred to by that name.”

A lightbulb went off in his head. “Oh, S̆arrābī hasn’t told you, has he?”

“Lord S̆arrābī,” she corrected him gently. “And given that I have no idea what you're referring to, I suppose not?”

Jasper hesitated, debating whether to fill her in or not. “I’m not really sure if I should tell you then; if S̆arrābī wants it to be a secret-“

As the heat of the midday sun had begun its rise to dizzying levels, the streets had slowly cleared out. A few brave souls, those with duties that couldn't be put off until the evening or those with high-enough levels to ignore the sun's piercing rays, still wandered the streets, but most of the bystanders had disappeared into the welcome cool provided by the thick, stone walls of their homes. And Jasper's words cut off as the sudden sound of thundering hooves echoed from behind them. Whirling around in his saddle, he was surprised to see the armored cultists charging toward them. I guess I was wrong. Apparently they would dare to attack us.

Dapplegrim didn't even wait for him to respond. One minute, she was at a sedate trot; the next, she was charging down the road in a full-flung gallop. Annatta's horse lagged slightly behind - the royal house certainly didn't skimp on the mounts they provided to their guard, but the horses were no match for Dapplegrim. Despite her enormous size, she possessed a deceptive speed, and as her metallic hooves clashed against the cobblestones with a racket like thunder, little sparks flew in her wake.

For a moment, it seemed as if the two would quickly outpace the cultists as within seconds, the gap between them had doubled. But whoever had outfitted their pursuers hadn’t been miserly with their money. The cultists’ mounts may not have been the equal of Dapplegrim in power or prowess but, for every problem, there was a solution. With an almost mechanical unity, the cultists pulled potions from their bags, dumping an unknown liquid over the horses' heads.

The response was immediate. Their eyes reddened, tribbles of foam spilled out of their mouths, and their veins bulged against their skin as if trying to escape, but the potion did the trick. With redoubled speed, the horses quickly began to gain ground, blowing past the handful of onlookers as if they were standing still and, in the case of one unfortunate soul, trampling them beneath their hooves.

They reached the end of the street first, veering wildly to the left. It took a second for Jasper to realize Annatta was longer riding beside him. Twisted around in his saddle, he saw she had turned to face their pursuers. Her dagger clutched tight in her hand, she fought to steady her horse.

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"What are you doing?" He yelled back at her, pulling in on Dapplegrim's bridle.

“Get to the palace,” she screamed, not bothering to turn around and look at him. “I’ll hold them off and follow when I can.”

In the space of a second, a thousand competing thoughts flooded through his mind. She’s a skilled warrior. But so are they. It’s her duty as a bodyguard. She can just escape. But every scenario that flitted through his thoughts eventually arrived at one inescapable ending. Their horses, with whatever potion had been given them, were far faster than hers and there were simply too many of them for her to handle on her own. If I leave her, she's going to die.

He and Dapplegrim responded as one. Rearing up on her hind legs, Dapplegrim twisted around, slamming her front feet into the pavement. The stones cracked beneath the force of her blow, a sound like thunder echoing down the streets, and then, directly in front of the pursuers a wave of earth rose up.

The low-lying wall was no more than two feet high, and the riders in the back of the group were able to soar over the impediment with no troubles. The horses in the front row, on the other hand, had no time to react. As they smashed into the rock at full speed, they and their riders went flying through the air.

One of the Djinn was catapulted within arm’s reach of Annatta and his screams were cut short as, with a simple flick of her wrist, her knife sliced through his throat. The rest of them landed in a tangled heap behind her, the street quickly ringing with the screams of the injured horses and their riders.

One of the riders was instantly killed as her skull was smashed into the cobblestone road. The other couldn’t stand, trapped beneath their horse whose front legs had snapped like twigs, although their panicked screams made it clear that they had survived the fall.

For just a moment, their attackers hesitated, slowing down the mad flight of their horses just a smidge as doubt flooded them. Jasper couldn't blame them; he was almost as taken aback by Dapplegrim’s first use of earth magic as the cultists, but that didn’t stop him from immediately capitalizing on the opening - he was no longer a wet-behind-the-ears rookie. His focus held firm as he released in quick succession the two spells he had already begun to summon. Fiery Shackles.

Three more of the riders came to an abrupt halt as the fiery manacles clamped around their horses’ hooves. The fire was little threat to the beasts or Djinn, but the sudden stop was just as effective as Dapplegrim’s spell had been. More screams filled the air, but Jasper didn’t wait to see where the men had been flung before casting the second spell. Flame Charge.

A wave of fire exploded from his chest, covering every inch of his skin in a split second and from there quickly expanded across Dapplegrim’s enormous form. He barely managed to snatch his sword free from its sheath as she reared up on her hind legs once again, neighing so loudly and deeply that it could almost be mistaken for a roar. Then, thudding back to the ground with the force of a miniature earthquake, Dapplegrim charged toward the cultists, fire and flame billowing behind them.

Jasper needn't have worried about dealing with the rider who had survived Dapplegrim’s spell; the horse’s rampage took her directly through the tangle of corpses, snuffing out the screams of the injured horse and rider. Then, boosted by the spell to greater speeds than she had previously reached, they roared past Annatta and smashed into the ranks of the surviving attackers like a bowling ball through pins.

He swung his sword at the closest Djinn, nearly dropping it with a scream of pain as the blade caught the Djinn square in his armored cuirass. The hit was fueled by the full power of Dapplegrim’s momentum, and Jasper’s bones groaned in agony as his shoulder was nearly wrenched out of the socket. The Djinn, however, bore the brunt of the blow. A crack like thunder echoed in the street as the Djinn was flung free from his mount. He landed, unmoving, his arms still rigidly clutching for the reins.

A moment later, Jasper joined him on the ground.

His sudden charge may have taken the Djinn by surprise, but they weren’t totally unprepared for him. Hidden safely at the back of the group was a mage who cast his spell with the sure and steady hand afforded by years of experience.

An enormous orb of fire smashed into Jasper, tossing him off Dapplegrim’s back onto the rocky street. He landed on his back, the flames washing over him harmlessly, and promptly flipped over onto his knees. Stretching out his hand out towards the mage, a spell surged toward his fingers.

But spindly purple tendrils, wreathed in a perpetual fire, erupted from the ground, wrapping around his wrists with an iron grip. His spell went awry as the tendrils dragged his hands to the ground, shooting harmlessly above the mage's head. Jasper yanked at the vines, struggling to pull himself free, but the purple tendrils held firm, quickly growing stronger and thicker as they enclose his entire hands, cutting off his spells.

But Jasper was not so easily deterred. His head snapped up as he pulled his essence to the mouth. His mind cringed at the thought of the coming pain - of once again broiling his mouth from the inside out - but it was better than dying.

“Stop!”

Jasper's lips parted to release the torrent of fire building withing him as Annatta’s panicked cry rang out again.

“STOP!”

The vines around his hands loosened as the mage’s body sagged limply to the earth. Annatta stood behind the mage, blood dripping down the blade clutched in her hand.

He nodded gratefully, rubbing his wrists ruefully as he stopped. “Thanks for the assist. It’s not like the fire would have hurt you, though,” he observed.

The Djinn rolled her eyes. “Me, no. But that’s no reason to barbecue my clothes. Not all of us get endless free uniforms from the royal house, you know.”

She tossed him a healing potion, which he gladly accepted, as the two surveyed the impromptu battlefield.

Aside from the mage she had just killed, three of the attackers lay on the ground where they had been thrown. They weren’t moving, but Jasper thought he could detect the slightest hint of breathing coming from at least one of them. Another two lay facedown in pools of blood, their backs torn to shreds by blows he had no doubt were Annatta’s handiwork. But there didn’t seem to be enough bodies.

“It was a bigger group than this, wasn't it?” He said, turning to Annatta with a frown.

She nodded grimly. “Yes.” She swung into her saddle with a single graceful leap. “We should get moving.”

“Shouldn’t we stay for the guard,” Jasper objected, as he turned to face her.

She shook her head, her long black locks swinging wildly, freed from her helmet that she had somehow lost in the melee. “No, we need to go. Maybe they fled - or maybe they just went for reinforcements. We can’t afford to find out.”

She’s right, he realized. Without another word, he pulled himself back up onto Dapplegrim with a decidedly less-than-graceful heave. Not stopping to check the dead, the two thundered down the street and away from the scene of the crime. More than a few glances were cast at the blood-stained pair as they galloped through the streets, but not even the guards they passed stopped them, their hands falling wordlessly to the side as they took in the wine-colored skin and red-scaled armor they wore. They rode hard, until their horses’ flanks gleamed with sweat, but they did not slow their pace until they reached the palace complex.