We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

“The death broke them both,” Seif divulged, fixing his gaze in the distance. “Benyamin had the privilege of losing himself in his work, but Aya was still floundering from the loss of magic. It was her livelihood, for she was both a healer and a teacher of magic. Losing her son was hard enough, but losing Benyamin devastated her. He was there, of course. He loved her. But Aya needed more, and it was never the same.”

So there was another reason why Seif was angry at him. It didn’t sound like Benyamin, to abandon his wife in favor of his work, but she had seen firsthand what death could do to a family. How it could drive knives between bonds, sharpen grief into weapons.

Her thoughts flashed back to just before they left Sultan’s Keep, the girl in the yellow shawl vivid in Zafira’s mind as she laced her boots. Lana had followed her because Aya was at last out of earshot.

“She needs me,” Lana had said.

“She needs you?” Zafira hadn’t been able to tame her emotions. “Decades of life, and now she suddenly needs you?”

Lana hadn’t flinched. “I remind her of her child. She’s broken, Okhti. And we know what it’s like, don’t we? We know what it’s like to be broken. We’re the same, she and us.”

Zafira and Lana were sisters. The world had battered and bruised and torn them apart, and yet they had lifted themselves to their feet and persevered. They had powered onward. If Aya needed Lana because of the dead son she reminded her of, then laa, the safi was not the same as them. But Zafira had been too angry to make Lana understand, too raw from the sight of the girl in Nasir’s room.

“Oi, Huntress!” Kifah called.

Zafira blinked free of her thoughts. Up ahead, Seif cast her the same look of annoyance as when she’d given the Lion the Jawarat. Incapable, it said.

She didn’t think twice before stepping onto the bridge and joining Kifah.

It swayed beneath them, a low hiss rising from the wood. She paused. Hissing?

Shrieking?

Kifah released her horse’s reins and grabbed her spear. Seif drew two curved scythes, and Zafira surveyed their surroundings as she nocked an arrow onto her bow. Dimly, she realized she was waiting for something else. Not a foe, but the sound of a scimitar being drawn, a deathly silent assassin growing even more so in the face of danger.

“Marids,” Seif murmured.

And something flashed in the water.

CHAPTER 25

As they led their horses through the gates, the paved ground gritty with sand, the growing heat settled on Nasir like a fine cloak. The rooftops would be quicker, but for once, he wanted to be seen. He was expected, and he had no reason to sneak about.

Posturing as your favorite brother, I see, Altair’s voice mocked in his head. Perhaps he was.

Aya had insisted on accompanying him, which meant Lana did, too. She rode with the safi, eyes wide in wonder as Nasir led them past sprawling limestone constructions and their green-tinted pools. They could pass as mother and daughter if one ignored their ears, he realized. Their features were similar enough, eyes brown, hair barely shades apart.

Lana turned to Aya with a smile far more innocent than he knew the girl to be—he’d heard

her daama hiss when Zafira protested being alone with him. But Aya’s gaze softened and grew distant, and Nasir remembered: Benyamin and Aya once had a child. That was what Aya saw when she looked at Lana, young and duteous.

The morning was quiet until they reached the Sultan’s Road, a wide expanse of stone that left no obstacle to mar the view of the palace, shimmering with heat. Along either side of the road was a single row of date palms, akin to sentinels, leaves swaying in the early breeze, accentuating the beauty of the palace.

He passed marketgoers and guards. Servants bargained for every bit of produce they placed in their baskets. Men passed on horseback and more on foot, several with camels ambling beside them. Some merchants dragged carts while others hefted goods over their shoulders, rousing dust as they shuffled in their sandals.

The whispers were immediate, carrying on the dry breeze and straight to his ears.

The prince is back.

Behind me, my child.

If only it were the general who had returned.

Altair was every bit as much a murderer as Nasir, yet they doted on him. He kept them safe, they said. He smiled. He charmed.

Nasir had shamefully joined the masses.

Lana giggled at one of the more indecent comments, and they pressed on. The people stared at Aya just as much, awestruck and slack-jawed, for she was beautiful and graceful, her smile tender no matter who it was fixed upon.