We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

“Neither of us will ever know why the Lion sent out the invitations, Ibni,” the sultan began.

Zafira paused. Nasir had said that the sultan retained his memories from his time under the Lion’s control. How could he not remember something as concrete as a reason?

“And in order to make the occasion worth such a strenuous journey,” he continued, “we will need to provide for Arawiya’s dignitaries.”

“Yes, of course,” Nasir said slowly.

“As such, you will project your best at the feast, for you may meet your future bride.”

If it were possible for a person’s entire body to slowly blink, Nasir’s did just that. Zafira’s own chest stirred oddly. She could have sworn the sultan was watching her as he spoke.

Nasir opened his mouth with a parched wheeze, but the sultan wasn’t finished.

“The Arz is no more, thanks to you. Now we must strengthen ties between caliphates, and as you are aware, the Pelusian calipha, as well as the Zaramese caliph and several wazirs, all have daughters of marriageable age.”

“A bride,” Nasir repeated hollowly in the expectant silence.

Kifah smothered a laugh with a terrible attempt at a cough.

“A woman,” the sultan said, and Zafira wondered if she imagined the temper in his voice, “whom you will wed and then—”

Nasir cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we wait until—”

“Now is as good a time as any. Don’t you agree, Huntress?”

Zafira started at the sudden attention. The faint lines across the alabaster tiles were suddenly the most intriguing in the world. Yes, Lana, Zafira thought. She very much wanted to kill him.

Nasir saved her from answering. “I’m not ready for … for a bride.”

Zafira looked up in the silence, wishing she could speak the words in her chest. Wishing she had her hood so she could stare without chagrin. The sultan leaned back against the burnished gold of the throne, considering his son. How were they to know the sultan was truly himself now, and not the Lion’s puppet?

“You will be ready, Ibni. It is only a matter of summoning the right amount of zeal for a pretty face. You are more than capable, aren’t you?”

The words were a dismissal delivered with a double edge, but Nasir remained rooted to the spot, even as the doors opened for a pair of emirs. The sultan’s attention drifted, though his guard continued to watch, and Zafira had the overwhelming sense of them mocking their prince in the silence.

“Nasir,” she said softly, and because she was a fool who couldn’t stop herself, because she was hurting and he was there, right there, and oh how she missed him, her arm swung forward and her fingers brushed his, warmth tangling for the briefest of moments.

He snatched back, blinking in a way that made her think he had forgotten she was here. He had forgotten he was here.

The sultan saw.

When the throne room doors closed behind them, Zafira hushed the skeins tugging at her heart, trying to steer her focus. Aya, the Lion, the heart, Altair. A bride.

Something burned in her eyes. Fatigue, she lied to herself, ignoring what this entire conversation was: a reminder of her place.

A sign, perhaps. She was a fleck of dust, adrift in the storm of sultans.

CHAPTER 44

They were gone. His zumra, his family. They had come for him, and then they had—gone. The sight of them cast Altair upon Sharr once more, Nasir at his back, Benyamin with his little vials. Their camaraderie.

But this time, it was his fault that he was alone. His fault that the pain fracturing their gaz

es when he had turned away and strode to the Lion’s side was seared into his own soul.

And they didn’t know the half of it: That it was Altair who had sent the Lion to them, telling his father where the zumra was hiding, because he trusted them to be competent and the Lion was bound to find them anyway. That Altair had turned back because of what Nasir had said, because though Altair had fruitlessly searched the house for the heart, he finally knew what they needed.

When he had decided to see how far a bluff could take him, he had not expected the repercussions upon himself.