We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya 1)

Benyamin seemed to ponder that. “If one has been gifted with eloquent speech, why ever not make use of it?”

“Perhaps because not everyone loves the sound of your voice as much as you do?” the Huntress replied flatly.

He scowled.

“I sort of like the sound of his voice. Nothing like a nice accent,” Altair mused. “What do you think, princeling?”

“I think,” Nasir said with a grit of his teeth, “you need to stop asking for my opinion.”

Altair sighed. “And you thought traveling with a prattler was difficult?” He looked at Kifah with a hint of respect. “Who might you be, One of Nine?”

“I never asked for your name,” she said, giving him a look. She couldn’t seem to stand still for more than two beats, a restless energy pulsing through her limbs.

“Which is why I’m being the gentleman,” he said pointedly. “I am—”

She rolled her eyes. “Kifah Darwish, and I don’t care.”

Benyamin sauntered around, one hand on the pouch belted across his middle. He was pathetic and weaponless. Kifah stayed close to his side, even when he stopped in front of Altair and canted his head, something passing between them in the silence. Nasir narrowed his eyes.

The Huntress murmured something beneath her breath and angrily yanked an arrow into her bow. The others turned to face her.

“Akhh, time for another interrogation,” Altair said cheerily. “I think—”

“Don’t think,” she snapped.

Nasir flinched at the words that had been directed at him countless times before.

Altair lifted two fingers to his brow with a wicked grin. She shifted her aim across the four of them.

“Who sent you.” Her voice was a staid monotone, not a question. There was courage in the slight lift of her chin. Confidence in the press of her mouth.

Benyamin gave a slight shake of his head. “No one did.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“On a ship,” Kifah said smugly as she wound fabric around her arm. Benyamin smirked.

Nasir could see the Huntress’s patience wearing thin, but there was only one way to deal with safin: by challenging their pride.

And it seemed the Huntress had come to that realization herself: “Did you crawl through the Arz on your hands and knees, then?”

Appall flashed across Benyamin’s features, and Altair smothered a laugh. Nasir lowered his head to hide the crack of a smile.

“Caravans make their way through the Wastes every so often. I joined one of them and stopped in Pelusia to ask their calipha for aid from one of her esteemed Nine. Together, Kifah and I journeyed to Zaram, tracked down a willing sailor, and crossed the path of the Zaramese Fallen. We arrived in time to save your lives, and now I stand before you, perfection incarnate.”

“The last part is debatable,” Kifah said.

“Ah, but not downright negatable.”

So he hadn’t received the same favors Nasir and the Huntress had. No disappearing Arz, no phantom ship. His cousin had gone through terrible lengths to get here, which meant he had good reason to.

And by recruiting the help of a Pelusian and a Zaramese crew, he had ensured that all five caliphates would become entwined with this island.

“You ventured this far to save us from two rogue safin,” Nasir said flatly.

Benyamin’s demeanor turned cold. “An added bonus, depending on how you view it.”

“Very few know of the mission,” Nasir pressed. “News couldn’t have reached Alderamin in time for you to have crossed the Wastes, Pelusia, and Zaram.”