“I’ve been keeping busy.”
“Oh?”
Lana nodded. “The sultan’s going mad, apparently. People are rioting, and more and more are turning up in infirmaries short of medics. Ammah Aya and I have been helping. She tutors me in the mornings, and we assist in different infirmaries from noon. They even pay a small sum. Can you believe I’ve earned enough dinars to buy something, Okhti? Money of my own.” Lana leaned forward, remembering something else. She lowered her voice. “Oh, and when I sewed a man’s arm as neatly as a seamstress, Ammah Aya called me a natural. She says that when magic returns, my affinity could be healing. Imagine that!”
Zafira felt both a flood of pride and a small sense of … loss. As if her sister no longer needed her. As if she had found purpose when Zafira had lost hers. What a selfish caravan of thought.
“What about Sukkar? Is he—” She couldn’t finish her question.
Lana smiled gently. “He’s safe. He was with us, remember?”
Another knock sounded at the door before she could press for her horse’s whereabouts, as soft and tentative as earlier.
Lana’s eyes brightened. “It’s him, isn’t it? The prince.” She nudged Zafira. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“No.”
Lana hopped off the bed. “Then I wi—”
“No, you won’t. Sit down.” Zafira glared and Lana glared back. She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”
Zafira opened the door with her heart in her throat. Nasir’s eyes touched her damp hair, her wrinkled qamis, and settled on her face. He was still only half-dressed.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
She furrowed her brow. “No? I rested long enough on the ship, I suppose.”
“Come with me.”
He was already turning away, and she would have refused to be ordered if she hadn’t caught the light in his eyes. The hint of diffidence. The flare of shadow escaping his fingers before he stopped it.
“Where?” she asked, ignoring Lana’s whispered “Yalla!” from her perch on the bed. Zafira wasn’t supposed to indulge him. She wasn’t supposed to indulge herself.
“I want to show you something.”
It was rare for him to use the word “want.” Possibly rare for him to do anything he wanted, too.
“But my sister—”
Lana hissed. Skies, the girl didn’t even know him.
Zafira stepped back into the room with a scowl. “I thought you missed me.”
“Of course. And if you don’t get too engrossed,” Lana said with a grin, “you’ll be back in no time.”
“Engrossed?” Zafira asked with a lift of her brows. Either Yasmine had found someone new to share her favorite stories with, or someone’s reading material was no longer limited to adventure.
Lana only shrugged.
Zafira wrapped the Jawarat in a scarf and tucked it into a corner. Take us with you, bint Iskandar. She gritted her teeth against the voice and gave Lana’s curiosity a look. “Don’t touch it.”
“Of course, sayyida,” she replied solemnly.
* * *
Zafira followed Nasir to his room. Her eyes slipped from his robes hanging on the back of a chair to his towel stretched neatly with his drying turban on the rack and then to the bed, where the sheets were strewn from a restless attempt at sleep.
“Where are the hearts?” she asked. He’d last had them.