Straight
for
Nasir’s heart.
“Nasir!” Altair roared.
The Silver Witch watched, powerless. Kifah struggled against a horde of ifrit.
Zafira lost all reason. She ran from the stone, tucking her nose beneath the scarf around her neck, but even in her crazed state she knew she wouldn’t reach him in time. As always, she was too late. Too late to save her parents. Too late to save the one who had loved her.
This means nothing.
Still, she ran.
But she should not have stepped from the stone.
A blur of black billowed toward her, veins of black bleeding in its wake. The Lion. She cried out from the impact and fell to the burning sand.
And the lost Jawarat, now found, tumbled from her grip.
CHAPTER 86
Nasir had pictured his death a thousand and one times.
Never had he pictured it upon Sharr, a stave of shadow hurtling toward his heart while he hung suspended with no control of his limbs. Distantly, he heard the Lion’s drawl directed at Zafira.
“You and that pathetic prince will never understand the consequence of loving the useless.”
He was done being called pathetic. He was a hashashin. He was the Prince of Death. He was crown prince to a kingdom waiting for someone to make a stand. And the people this creature threatened were …
Rimaal. They were his companions. Friends. Somewhere along the way, he had grown the attachments he had feared and, for once, he didn’t feel the heat of shame. Love gives purpose.
He clawed at his neck. He thought of Zafira, with the Jawarat. He thought of his father, who once loved him. His mother, whose love had destroyed her.
He thought of his dark heart, finally coming to a halt.
A volley of darkness unfurled from his fingers.
The world exploded in shadows that rivaled the Lion’s. Ifrit shrieked in confusion. Altair barreled toward Nasir, double scimitars poised to deflect the Lion’s stave, still hurtling for Nasir’s heart.
The Silver Witch rose to her feet with the last of her strength. Someone else shoved her to the sands—Benyamin. He was running with the speed of the safin. Leaping. Putting himself between Nasir and the Lion of the Night.
Between Nasir and that dark stave.
Nasir heard a grim shatter of bone before it pierced Benyamin’s heart. But the safi made no sound.
The invisible claws loosened from his neck and Nasir fell on his knees. No, no, no. He gasped for air as he clambered toward Benyamin, sand burning beneath his hands as the chaos continued around them.
Benyamin remained still for one long, silent moment before he fell on his back, graceful even in agony.
Nasir was numb. Lost. His gaze met the Lion’s across the fray, and he felt a surge of anger when remorse fleeted across those amber eyes. His tattoo gleamed in the gloom, nearly identical to the safi’s.
Benyamin’s friend, once. Who repaid kindness with death.
Nasir heard nothing but the soft whirr of Benyamin’s breathing.
People had dreams, thoughts, ideas. Nasir had facts. When he had stepped upon this path the sultan had lain for him, he had always known there was no one left to love him. No one to liberate him.