We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

CHAPTER 56

For you, Baba. So much of what Nasir had done was for him. One smile, one nod of approval. Now he was nothing but a grain of sand in the expanse of the desert. There in Nasir’s palm for a fleeting moment and lost to the wind the next.

For Nasir, death was a subtle thing. He killed in the middle of a crowd, in a house full of the living. Blood was a whiff to catch before he was leaping out a window and into the open air. Anything flashy and loud and boisterous was Altair’s specialty, even now, with Nasir’s errant power and its wild eruptions.

So when the ebony doors exploded, wood hurtling through the hall, Nasir knew it wasn’t the work of his angry, writhing shadows. No, this was the opposite.

It was the light to his dark, the day to his night; and he would recognize that powerful build anywhere. That figure, posed with dramatic flair in a flood of light, bringing the battle to a wrenching, startling halt.

Altair, who had turned his back on Nasir as Nasir had done to him on Sharr.

A tumult of emotions warred within him. Zafira stepped to his side, her hand brushing his in reassurance. Kifah paused at his left, and the three of them regarded Altair through a wary lens. Yet Nasir’s heart betrayed him, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he found he could breathe.

“Akhh, did I miss the party?”

Nasir closed his eyes at the sound of Altair’s voice, his real voice, so unlike the peculiar tone he’d adapted in the Lion’s hideout. The light waned, and as the ifrit chittered among themselves, Nasir finally saw him.

Only a day had passed, but it might as well have been years. Altair’s clothes were tattered and dirty, his wrists red and raw. A chain was wrapped around one fist, the end dangling.

Yet he stood as if he owned the land beneath his feet. As if there were a crown on his head and a procession in front of him.

Nasir pushed past a guard and froze.

“Sweet snow,” Zafira whispered.

A dirty cloth swathed Altair’s left eye. Streaks of red painted his face, as if he had wept blood. And Nasir saw in his one open eye what had not been there yesterday: Something in him had broken.

Altair, who loved the world and loved himself without humility.

“I told you,” said Kifah, a sob in her throat. “I told you he wouldn’t leave without just cause.”

Nasir ignored the pulse of his gauntlet blades, for a hashashin did not react to emotion. The Prince of Death did not react to emotion.

From across the room, the Lion threw away the two red-clad Nine Elite and settled once more on the Gilded Throne. There was something new in his aristocratic features, an agony Nasir hadn’t seen before. A torment.

The look of a man after a memory relived.

“Altair,” he said in greeting, as if surprised to see him. “How nice of you to attend my coronation.”

The rest of Altair’s brilliant light faded to nothing, and the ifrit abandoned their panic, fiery staves slowly crackling to life. The zumra needed to tread carefully, Nasir knew.

He knew it, and yet.

Something propelled him forward. Zafira hissed. Kifah stepped into the cover of the crowd as ifrit surrounded him, weapons raised. All Nasir saw was Altair and those bloody streaks. This time, the Lion was pleased.

“Weeks ago, you were ready to plunge your blade through his throat,” he mocked, though he lacked his usual certitude. “I merely moved mine a little farther north. Do you pity him?”

Pity was an insult to what Nasir felt. Rage. Pain. Bone-splintering grief and guilt for even allowing himself to believe that Altair had betrayed them.

Unless this, too, is a ruse.

No. If it was, he would rip Altair to shreds himself. Nasir was more than capable.

“Pity? The wound only adds to his daring character.”

The words were out of Nasir’s mouth before he could stop them. How Altair managed to goad and poke fun when in danger had once been beyond him. But now he saw how it worked. Altair’s face broke into the grin Nasir had been waiting for, relief easing his features. As if Nasir, with a scar down his eye and dozens on his back, would judge him.

“I’ve taught you well, princeling,” Altair called with a fake sniffle. Silence held, tension rising as the room readied for the next beat of chaos.