We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

“You think to protect them,” Aya said.

This time, her surprise stung, but Lana gave him a small smile. His reputation had reached even the farmost villages of Demenhur, it seemed.

“If it is a trap, there is the likelihood that we will face the Lion,” Aya continued.

“He won’t show his hand so soon,” Nasir said, “not before comprehending the Jawarat. My father is behind the celebration.”

“And he is controlled by the Lion,” Aya said, gentle but firm. “We are no match for him on our own.”

“Unless we remove the medallion,” Nasir countered.

Aya’s features scrunched, dissent written across them, but she held silent. Nasir crushed the papyrus in his fist. The Lion played his game well, and this was an invitation no one would dare miss.

Not even Nasir.

CHAPTER 24

If Zafira was tired, her body betrayed no signs of it. Anger steeled her every vessel and vein, and she finally understood the restless energy Kifah lived and breathed.

Dawn had wrapped the night by the time the sea breeze signaled the approaching border of Sultan’s Keep. The lights of the city began to dwindle, the barrenness stretching like a shock. Which it was, Zafira supposed, for no one had expected the Arz to ever disappear.

Seif kept pace ahead of them, as if she’d begged him to come and he was displaying his ire for all to see. When in truth, he had asked her if she was ready when she had charged into the foyer with her satchel.

It was Kifah who had looked behind her to the stairs, expectant. “Where’s Nasir?”

“Preoccupied,” Zafira had replied, and her ridiculous mind sought out every one of Yasmine’s stories, making her wonder if he was truly busy.

Kifah had studied her with an ease that prickled her skin, and decided silence was the best answer.

A bird screamed in the distance now, breaking her out of her thoughts. She stared at it angrily as it swooped into the distance. Her horse whinnied, and she was angry at it, too. It was a shade darker than Sukkar but reminded her of him anyway. How attuned they had been to each other, how smooth his movements were. She bit her tongue. Better physical pain than the incurable one of the heart.

She missed the weight of the Jawarat by her side. Its cynicism and commentary. Its constant search for chaos and control—even if she did n

ot approve, it would have been a welcome distraction.

“It’s going to take some getting used to, standing around without four extra heartbeats,” Kifah mused.

“One less task for when we retrieve the final heart,” Seif reminded them curtly.

If, Zafira nearly corrected. She’d been astounded by the Lion’s audacity as much as by his presence in her room, and that didn’t bode well for her own confidence. At least she had the peace of mind knowing the girl in the yellow shawl had left the house shortly before she and Kifah did. Otherwise, her presence would have plagued every footfall of the journey.

But why? she asked herself. Why were her emotions, thoughts, and actions so visceral when it came to Nasir?

“Oi. Don’t look so glum,” Kifah said, bringing her horse near Zafira’s as they passed rows and rows of swaying barley, the crops contained by short fences on either side of the road. “If the Lion had walked through my door looking like my brother Tamim, I would have handed him the Jawarat without a second thought. And my brother’s dead.”

But the person in Zafira’s room hadn’t been her sister or dead mother or father, had it? It had been a boy she’d known for mere weeks, and yet felt a lifetime’s connection to.

“Do you still think of Tamim?” she asked. There were days when she forgot to think of Baba, when she barely thought of Deen, whose breath had clouded the cold Demenhune air less than a month past.

“Always,” Kifah said. Her chestnut mare snorted as they trotted along the cobbled road. “Though there are times when Altair takes precedence. More and more, as of late.”

“You like him,” Zafira said.

Kifah snorted. “Don’t tell me you don’t. You’re going to Alderamin for him.”

She was going for more than Altair; for her own guilt, for the Jawarat, for the heart the Lion had stolen. Still, Zafira couldn’t argue with that. “But do you … love him?”

“Trying to pair us up, eh? I’m afraid my affections don’t run that way. I love him, yes. Fiercely.” She canted her head. “I’m beginning to love our zumra—even Nasir—as much as I loved Tamim, but I’d never be with Altair in the way you think. Affection isn’t measured and defined by tangible contact for me.”