We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya 1)

Zafira shook her head, and the silence between them was more painful than anything she had experienced. It stretched like a chasm in the darkness, the bridge across it no wider than a thread.

“You might die there, Zafira.”

Zafira still didn’t reply. She still tasted honey on her tongue.

The bridge collapsed.

“There’s nothing I can say, is there?” Yasmine asked, a hysterical laugh bubbling at the end.

Zafira pulled on a weary smile.

Before the tears glistening in Yasmine’s eyes could fall, Zafira closed the distance between them. She hesitated and settled on a squeeze of Yasmine’s shoulder. “Your husband is waiting for you.”

Zafira turned away first, her friend’s absence a weight in the depths of her heart, Bakdash far in the past.

CHAPTER 13

“Get up,” Nasir said.

Altair was sprawled on his bed, looking nothing like the poised man who reveled in taunting.

“That dull, flat voice. I swear, it’s a threat on its own,” Altair croaked, pulling a pillow over his head. He wore nothing but a pair of emerald sirwal, his qamis nowhere to be seen.

“You want me to be concerned?” Nasir scoffed. “You’re coming, too.”

“Sultan’s teeth, I wonder why I’m so desolate,” Altair droned. “Fetch me some qahwa, will you?”

Nasir threw open the curtains, and a shaft of light hit Altair in the face. It was Nasir’s first time visiting Altair’s rooms, which he had never expected to be this … neat. They were just as monotone as his own chambers. Twin peals of female laughter echoed from the adjoining bathroom, and Altair smiled.

Nasir scowled, ears burning.

“Do I look like one of your girls?” he asked. “Fetch the qahwa yourself. Drink it, dump it on your head, cry in a corner, I don’t care. But we sail at sunrise, which means we have to leave the palace soon. I don’t know how long it’ll take to cross the Arz, and I don’t want to get to that wretched island after the Hunter and whoever else.”

Altair peeked over the pillow. “So eager to start killing, aren’t you?”

Nasir tossed a satchel at Altair’s head. “We ride at dusk. Get ready.”

“But of course, Sultani. Can’t wait.”

Nasir bristled. Altair never bothered with titles when it came to Nasir, and his use now bothered Nasir more than his disrespect ever had. He slammed the door shut on Altair’s wheezing laughter.

But his steps faltered when someone new entered Altair’s receiving rooms.

“Kulsum?”

Her name alone sent the organ in his chest racing. Her dark eyes lit up as his thoughts came to a halt. Kulsum in Altair’s rooms? He quickened his pace to the door, putting her behind him. He felt her fingers raking the air, reaching for him. Knifing him.

Mute, always mute.

He didn’t look back as the door thudded shut.

* * *

Nasir took the weapons on his person, along with a rucksack containing a few provisions and a change of clothes.

He expected this journey to be quick, no longer than a few weeks. Head straight through the Arz, sail to Sharr, follow the Hunter, and bring back the lost Jawarat.

Beneath the light of a heavy moon, Nasir saddled a gray stallion, and Altair saddled a roan beside him. The general was an odd sight in hashashin gear, with armor so thin one couldn’t imagine it existed at all.