Let’s go, gang.
Nasir held back. A hashashin’s strength lay in stealth and solitude. Nothing was going as planned: His cousin had shown up, Altair breathed, the Huntress was a girl—laa, woman.
If there was anything other than shame he had felt when she fell upon him, it was that she was wholly woman. Nasir loosed a very slow breath.
And now Benyamin was warning of a greater threat.
Altair looked back at Nasir when they were alone for the first time since Benyamin and Kifah had arrived. “Well?”
Nasir tipped his head. “I’ll take care of the Pelusian—”
Altair snarled and shoved him into the trees. Sunlight vanished behind the dark boughs. Nasir shot to his feet and turned with clenched teeth. His vision burned black as he drew his scimitar.
Anger blazed in Altair’s eyes. “Change of plan? Going to kill me first, is that it? This is no longer about finding the Jawarat and traipsing back to your beloved father, you fool.”
Nasir struggled to control his breathing, but the darkness had amplified, and he could barely see beyond the surrounding trees. Trepidation pulsed against his heart.
“Call for help, spider,” Nasir said, voice low.
“Are you jealous I whisper in someone else’s ear? I told you—whatever I do, I do for the good of the kingdom.”
Nasir didn’t care. “I could slit your throat before you even lift an arm.”
Altair lifted his hands, livid. “By all means.”
In his mind’s eye, Nasir saw himself raising his sword, hefting it back, swinging it forward. He saw a horizon of red across Altair’s neck and those eyes of azure fading. The ripple as his soul fled free. He saw it, he did. Along with the Huntress’s corpse.
But his blade was too heavy now.
It pulsed in his hands, and perspiration trickled down his spine. Benyamin nearly tripped on his rush back to them, dread tugging his lips when he came into view. The Huntress and Kifah shadowed him.
“Your mother’s son is still in there, Prince,” Benyamin said cautiously, as if Nasir were an animal he was afraid to startle.
Had it been anyone else, Nasir would have cut him down, but Benyamin had a claim to the sultana. Nasir held Altair’s gaze and slowly sheathed his scimitar.
“Let him take a look around. Let him see that we are allies by circumstance, not enemies, and let him give murder a rest. Let him open his heart to trust. Perhaps there is more to your quest than what you came for.”
The strange string of the safi’s words reminded Nasir of the crimson compass.
Something rustled in the bushes, sand shifting beneath feet. Nasir froze, and the others slowly turned to the browned palm trees. The unmistakable scuttle of eyes pebbled Nasir’s skin as the swoosh of something rushed past.
And shadows swarmed from the trees.
CHAPTER 49
Zafira had come to expect a lot from Sharr. But she had never expected to see Yasmine drifting toward her in all her ethereal beauty, sand beneath her bare feet.
A strangled sound escaped her throat. Not Yasmine, too.
Benyamin touched the skin of her wrist and Zafira wished for her cloak, her gloves. His voice was garbled by her ear.
“Huntress, look at me.”
Zafira blinked and saw Deen, pierced by an arrow. Baba, crawling from the trees on hands and knees. Dirty. Bloody.
Dead.
Benyamin shook her. “Huntress. Look. At. Me.”