We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

At last, her door closed and remained closed, and with Lana in the adjoining bath, Zafira quickly grabbed her shawl and darted into the hall, coming face to face with Kifah.

The Pelusian raised an eyebrow. “Off to see your lover?”

Zafira scowled, and then her scowl deepened when her mind conjured an image of Nasir, his shirt on the floor, her fingers on his skin. No, not hers, but the girl in the yellow shawl’s. “If that’s who you think you are.”

Kifah’s laugh was cut short by her somber mood. “Seif is expecting a runner any moment now, with updates on the Lion’s—and Aya and Altair’s—whereabouts. I thought you might want to be there.”

Zafira trailed after her, elbowing her way through the bustling halls and deeper into the palace, tiles cool beneath her feet, the breeze stirring the curtains warm and dry as bones. Kifah barely glanced at the guards as they passed, but Zafira’s skin itched with their probing gazes.

When she made to open the door to the war room, Kifah rolled her eyes.

“What?” Zafira asked.

“Watch,” Kifah taunted, and a guard, stoic and elegant, opened it for them. “See? It’s like magic. No heart required.” She winced. “A bit too soon to be joking about this, eh?”

Seif and Nasir were already seated at the low majlis. A map stretched on the table in the center, fine lines etched on tanned leather. Yet another masterpiece only the rich could afford.

Zafira sat to Seif’s left, Kifah to hers. Nasir pressed his lips closed, a minuscule reaction only she would notice.

“I received word early this morning that the Zaramese heart has been restored,” Seif said.

“Good, good,” Kifah said, but it was almost as if what wasn’t important to the Lion was no longer important to them, either. “Let’s hope that’s only the beginning of today’s good fortune.”

“Isn’t it odd that the Lion still hasn’t gone for them?” Nasir asked suddenly.

Seif shook his head. “He knows they are useless to us without the last, and he knows we won’t destroy them. His plans merely take precedence.”

“I mean the old adage,” Nasir said slowly, testing his words. “Magic for all or none … My mother has her magic. I have a fraction of it. Altair, too. What if … Well, he could have found a way to do the same.”

“How?” Seif asked unkindly.

Nasir had no answer. Zafira remembered what the Lion had said on Sharr—his desire to be like the Sisters themselves, vessel and wielder.

The tension withered when the runner arrived, a missive in his sweaty grasp. Seif snatched it away, and it took the boy only a single glance at the safi’s elongated ears before his outcry faded and died.

“You can leave now,” Kifah said with a pointed look.

The door closed after the runner, and no one breathed as Seif slit the scroll open. His pale eyes skimmed the damp papyrus, revealing nothing. Surely someone would have seen the Lion, with the thick strokes of a bronze tattoo across the side of his face. Aya, more beautiful than any other in Sultan’s Keep. Altair, who could claim the attention of the vicinity with only his presence.

Seif sat back.

The cushions sighed beneath him. “Nothing.”

Nasir’s reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Zafira dropped her fist on the map, right in the middle of Demenhur. Kifah was so still Zafira feared she would break.

“There’s still blood left,” Zafira said, clutching the vial around her neck. She had lost her dagger for this vial. For the heart. For Altair. Something burned in her chest. “I can find them again.”

Kifah looked reluctantly hopeful, but offered nothing.

“Benyamin always claimed the price of dum sihr to be great.” Seif’s tone was disinclined. A losing general delivering an armistice. “He was right. Perchance Aya was, too.”

Zafira stared at the rhythmic cuts of filigree in the ochre walls and saw Aya’s slender fingers in the Lion’s hand. Altair turning his back on Nasir’s pleas.

“It’s worsening out there,” Kifah said helplessly. “Sarasin is still without a caliph. Riots are endless because of these damned taxes and the sultan’s ignorance. And he’s still doing nothing.”

“The feast is tonight,” Nasir said, finally opening his mouth.

“And?” Kifah asked wildly.