We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya 1)

“Let me go,” she murmured.

“You’ve had the entire night to think. Will you bring me the Jawarat?” His voice was as gentle as his touch, and she wondered how someone so beautiful could be so cruel.

She almost said yes. “I will kill you.”

His soft laugh was lazy. “Death is for fools, azizi. Darkness is indestructible, eternal, unconfined to human limitations. Your weapons cannot harm me.”

To define is to limit.

“You’ve been planning this for years,” she said as she realized it. “Ever since I returned from the Arz for the very first time.”

For as long as the sultana had been dead. Before Baba had died. Before Umm went mad.

Who was this man?

“The Silver Witch,” she rasped. How did she factor into all of this?

“A most beautiful woman, no?” he said, sinking into his chair. “She was adamant in her quest, but she was bereft of love, alone in her work. I placed my traps and spun my words, and soon enough, my patience was rewarded. The sultan of Arawiya, on the other hand, once he was gifted the medallion he adores more than his own son, the rest was quite simple.”

Bereft of love. Realization pulsed in her blood.

She posed her next question. “Why—why do you need the Jawarat when you command an entire island?”

“Sharr burgeons out of control. Do you think I desire the Arz devouring Arawiya?” He slumped back in his chair. His tattoo shimmered.

He was lying. Sharr was land; it had no need to threaten them with an army of trees.

“I am not fool enough to desire destruction, azizi. I merely wish for order in all things, and great sacrifices must be made to achieve great feats.”

“So you’re just like any other criminal—you use dum sihr to get Sharr to do your bidding.”

He tilted his head, and something flashed in the amber of his eyes. “Did you not read of me in your texts? Of the one who commands magic without the use of blood? Tether yourself to the vessel, and it is yours without the price. I grow tired of borrowing, of the limits of one affinity, even if I may touch upon others. Why remain the wielder when you can be the vessel?”

Did you not read of me in your texts? Of the man who lay control to magic as no other had. Of the man who surpassed dum sihr, almost as powerful as the Sisters themselves.

Zafira knew who the Shadow was.

She knew why he had no heartbeat, why the sharp points of safin ears crept above the folds of his turban. Half ifrit, half safin.

The Lion of the Night.

CHAPTER 69

Eventually, the thing pulling Nasir stopped, but he had lost track of everything: time, location, the Huntress. If he doubted it before, he was well and truly lost now.

The vine around his leg slithered back into the shadows. Laa—this was darkness absolute. Fear clouded his vision.

He stood, straightening his clothing. He tried not to think of the ifrit wearing Kulsum’s face. He tried not to think of how Sharr was changing him. Weakening him.

She is no longer the guileless girl who set foot on this island.

“We feast upon lies when our hearts are ravenous.”

Nasir stilled at the solemn voice. What level of monster could live in such benighted grounds?

“Those who have hearts, perhaps,” he said, turning slowly. “Show yourself, creature.”

“You fear me, Prince,” the voice said again, edges steeped in amusement. It was decidedly feminine.