The general didn’t know that his mention of Kulsum the day before was what had reminded Nasir of who he was and what he had been trained to do. That compassion would get him nowhere.
Altair studied Nasir before he spoke, and the cadence of his voice said he did know. “I think we’re meeting your dandan.”
A beast rose from the water, twice the height of their ship. It swayed, baring its teeth in a horrible smile.
Nasir smiled back.
CHAPTER 21
When Zafira was younger, the sky had been brighter, the snow magical. Baba’s stories would envelop her in warmth and wonder. Only now did she see the snow as a hindrance and the sky as a cage.
Even then, his stories were filled with blood and darkness, horrors and terrors. Whenever Umm scolded him with a teasing smile, Baba would say that lies would take his little girl nowhere. That was also what he had said when he put a bow in Zafira’s still-baby-soft hands and taught her how to loose an arrow. And so she was given the truth, even in the years when she would look upon everything with a veil of innocence.
He had told her of the Zaramese, who had worshipped the Baransea. They were sailors by trade, and being the brutes that they were, they believed nothing could stand in their way. So when the Arz stole the Baransea, a group of their finest men and women lifted tabars in their mighty fists and stormed the cursed forest. Arawiya laughed at their foolishness, but the Zaramese were determined.
They chopped tree after tree, the darkness thicker than any storm they had faced at sea. Some say the trees of the Arz rose even as the Zaramese felled them. But a will was all it took. They chopped and chopped. Felled and felled. Until they collapsed, triumphant, at the sight of the ceru
lean waters lapping Zaram’s blackened shores.
They never returned. No one knew if the darkness had driven them to despair or if they had dived into the sea out of relief. It was said that any who ventured along the dark path that had carved the Arz in two, intent on reaching the sea, could hear it: the screams and shouts of the Zaramese Fallen, courageous until the end.
Zafira understood, now, where that courage had come from. Had she been given a taste of this freedom, this power, then she, too, would have fought her way through the Arz. There was sea spray on her tongue, wind in her hair, and sun on her skin.
Yet the longer she stared at the swelling waves, the more she thought of Lana and Yasmine, and the harder it became to breathe. Her stomach reeled as it did during her hunts in the Arz, when her distance from her family made her worry for them more than herself. Because if she were with them, they’d be safe. If she were with them, she would know what was happening.
That feeling increased tenfold now that the entire Arz separated them.
And it only worsened as night crept into the sky—her first night away from home. So she descended into the ship’s belly, growing accustomed to the gentle swaying and sudden lurches that came with the sea. The Silver Witch would take care of her, she knew. Because the woman needed something.
The thought didn’t make her feel any safer.
Something told her the witch was trying too hard. There was too much malevolence in the way she held herself, too much for mere redemption. Perhaps the lost Jawarat could deliver magic back to Arawiya, but it was more than that.
Zafira could feel it in her bones.
Which meant she needed to find it and bring it back to the caliph before the witch could get her hands on it. On her.
If such a thing were even possible.
* * *
When she woke the next morning, the cabin opposite hers was empty, Deen’s strewn dark sheets reminding her of a crimson smile. She made her way to the hold with a sigh, setting her lantern beside her when she sank onto a wooden chest. She unclasped her cloak and held it against her chest, her hair a curtain of darkness, the violence of the Arz’s return flickering in her thoughts—the crackling branches and moaning limbs as the forest reached for the skies like sharp-edged spears. What bothered her most was what the return of the Arz had shown her: it was a wall, beyond which stood all her yesterdays. Her voyage would take her to her tomorrows.
Possibly the last of her tomorrows.
If she hadn’t boarded the ship, she would have continued to hunt in the Arz, continued to help her people, ignoring that beckoning darkness as she always had. Ignoring the creeping forest until it devoured them, bones and all.
But oh, how everything had changed in the span of a few days.
She straightened when the stairs creaked with the heavy tread of boots.
“You’re blaming yourself,” Deen said by way of greeting, concern etched on his features.
“I’m supposed to, aren’t I?” She struggled to meet his eyes. “If I hadn’t stepped on this ship, you wouldn’t have.”
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s the witch.” He sat beside her.
“I’m afraid of proving him right.”