We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya 1)

Nor who had made it the monster that it was.

“Look at those sleek curves. One fine woman,” Altair whistled, hand at his brow. Nasir squinted against the sun. A grand ship bobbed against the current a little ways to his right. Fine indeed. “Perhaps it’s all a mirage.”

Nasir stilled when movement caught his eye. A flash of silver and a glint of white, and everything suddenly made a sort of sick sense.

“That is no mirage,” Nasir said coolly.

Altair’s demeanor hardened when he followed Nasir’s gaze to the Silver Witch.

She moved in flashes. She was afar, then closer, and then directly before him. Three blinks, and Nasir stared down at her flawless face, his horse rearing, flanks damp with sweat.

He lost control of his limbs and found himself standing on the sand so that the woman wouldn’t have to crane her neck. The horses backed away. All of this happened on her call, he knew, but without so much as a twitch from her. Was there no limit to her power?

“Did your father expect you to crawl through the Arz and swim to Sharr?” the witch asked, dark eyes moving from Nasir to assess Altair.

“He is not my father,” Altair said, venom in his voice.

“Yet you stand beside your prince as an equal.”

“And if that irked him, I’m sure he would make it known,” Altair replied curtly. “He does have a way of making a state—”

“Altair,” Nasir warned.

The witch’s gaze glittered. “Indeed, General, listen to your commander.”

The black stones gleamed as the sun rose higher.

“What do you want?” Nasir said, keeping his voice level. They needed to leave.

“What do I want? I’m here because Ghameq counted on my interception. Had you set foot in the Arz, you would both be dead. I am not your enemy, princeling.”

Nasir bit his tongue—Ghameq had promised a ship would be waiting for him. He hadn’t even mentioned the Arz.

The witch gave him a knowing look, and with a twist of her crimson lips, she drew an object from the folds of her silver cloak. A disc of deep red, its edges etched in silver filigree. “A compass. To help you find what you desire most.”

“The Jawarat,” Nasir said, and waited one extra beat before taking it from her. It buzzed in his hand with the barest thrum of something.

The witch only smiled. “I’m sure Ghameq sent you here with enough threats to last you the journey. That poor girl has already lost her tongue.”

Nasir bristled, remembering Kulsum in Altair’s chambers. When Altair was in bed. “She’s of no concern to me. She belongs to the general now.”

“Ah. So she’s the reason behind the ink on your arm.”

Nasir tugged at his already lowered sleeve and gritted his teeth. Witch. Water lapped against the stones. Somewhere a vulture screamed, circling a fresh corpse.

“I’ve also heard of a young boy in the dungeons. There doesn’t seem to be a shortage of souls you’ll grow attached to,” she tsked. “Some advice for your journey: Quell your compassion. Stave it. Exploit it. Remember who trained you, hashashin. Do not sour her image.”

Nasir paused and lifted his eyes to hers. There was no mirth in her gaze now, only cool assessment.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Someone like you.” She turned, and the curve of her retreating shoulders beckoned, almost a challenge. “You’re welcome for the ship.”

He blinked, and the Silver Witch vanished.

CHAPTER 16

Zafira often dreamed of the Arz bleeding the way Baba had. The dark trees always blossomed red in her dreams.