Deen. Benyamin.
“And Aya would have done worse than give him magic,” Nasir said slowly.
Altair sat down. “She’ll have destroyed magic for good.”
CHAPTER 68
It was fitting, Zafira supposed. That one safi had dedicated his life to reversing the fall of Arawiya, only for his other half to do the opposite.
She should have unleashed her arrow when Aya had taken the Lion’s hand. She should have leaped to the ground and torn Aya apart with her bare hands. Blood filled her vision: Aya gasping, her throat ripped to shreds. Zafira’s fingers steeped in crimson.
Part of her was repulsed by her thoughts.
It is as you wanted.
The Jawarat lulled her with its truth. When it had shown her the terrible destruction of her village by her own hand, she had wanted it to heed her wishes. That was exactly what it had woven in her thoughts just now. The room spun, angry slashes of red making it hard to see. A soft purring came from the book in her lap and something—
Something fell to pieces.
Altair jerked from the little table with a yelp. “I’m all right! I’m all right!”
Zafira’s empty cup was now matching halves of ceramic. Rent in two the way the men in her vision had been.
“How did that happen?” Kifah asked with a frown.
“It must have already been broken,” Zafira said quickly. She struggled to quiet her racing pulse, as if the others could somehow hear it and know she had broken the cup.
“And just needed a bit of time to fall apart,” Nasir said, watching her, not at all referring to the cup. She carefully set the Jawarat down, out of reach, but the haze didn’t disappear. Laa, it was worsening, embers of anger merging into a flame, thieving her thoughts.
You did this, she hissed in her head.
Laa, bint Iskandar. It was you. It is the violence you wished upon the safi.
“I—I need to go,” Zafira said quickly. She started to get up but swayed with light-headedness, and Kifah had to grab her arm.
“Maybe you should sit back down,” Altair suggested gently. “We need to put together our plan.”
Zafira shook her head. She needed space to think. To sort through the crowding in her skull. If she remained, her only input would be blood and murder and other atrocities she wanted no part of. What was happening to her? She was the girl who’d mourned the rabbits she snared, who sought forgiveness as she slit their throats.
“I’ll take you to your sister,” Kifah said, oblivious. Yes, Lana would help.
“Akhh, there’s two of you?” Altair remarked.
Zafira rolled her eyes as the door thudded closed. Kifah led her down one hall and then another, wide and serene, arches beckoning with parted curtains every so often.
“You met Yasmine,” Zafira started. Her friend was down one of these halls, hating Zafira for her treacherous heart, knowing Zafira was the reason the last of her family was gone.
Kifah nodded, a sly smile playing on the edge of her mouth.
Zafira ignored it. “So you know what she looks like. And … well, I need your hel
p making sure she and Altair don’t meet.”
Kifah only nodded, her smile widening. At Zafira’s glare, she shrugged. “I might have overheard a word or two of your, er, reunion.”
Zafira’s brows flattened.
“Can you imagine it?” Kifah continued, wistful. “I didn’t spend long with her, but bleeding Guljul, the two of them would be perfect.”