We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

Nasir heaved a weary sigh but followed after Lana as she rushed down the hallway. It was gratifying, he supposed, that she had come to him instead of anyone else. Then again, he suspected the bronze-haired girl, Yasmine, would lock Zafira in a room if she had to.

Lana paused in front of a rounded archway until a servant pulled aside the curtain. For a girl who grew up in a village, she had adjusted to palace life rather quickly.

“I almost let her go,” she said, darting through. “I even gave her—”

“Gave her what?” Nasir asked, refusing to run.

She waved a dismissive hand and slipped into the kitchen, taking a shortcut. The place was bustling with cooks and maids, a variety of aromas fighting for dominance and reminding him he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in quite some time. Stacks of flatbread were piled high, an undercook hefting a trio from a stone oven while a woman and a shirtless boy peeled potatoes into an ample pot.

“That thing is large enough to sit in,” Lana murmured.

Not entirely adjusted, Nasir ceded. She ducked her head, realizing her slip when he cast her a look.

He flung open the door to a gust of cold air, and came to a halt. There she was, radiant in the still-early light. A cloak sat at her shoulders, furred with a hood in deep plum. Her tunic cut above the knees, the tail fading to black as it fell lower. The sleeves must have been short, because she’d wrapped bands from forearm to wrist, gray ribbons like armor matching the shawl at her neck. Its fringe was as black as the sash around her middle, framing the ring at her chest. For a brief moment, Nasir’s lungs had forgotten what they were meant to do. She was a marvel to behold, a vision both deadly and beautiful.

The Jawarat was clutched to her chest.

“Where are you going?” he said.

Zafira startled, surprised to see him with Lana by his side. She glared at her and slowly unclenched her jaw. “Sultan’s Keep.”

Snow dusted the courtyard, and a guard kicked some as he went. Nasir leaned against the doorway, keeping his words and stance nonchalant. “And what do you intend to do?”

“I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m going to make up for it.”

There was no redeeming oneself of murder. He knew it, and the sorrow in her eyes told him she knew it, too. He nodded slowly. “What does that have to do with Sultan’s Keep?”

“I can stop the Lion.”

Lana sputtered. Nasir’s eyebrows rose.

Zafira snatched her bag with a wince, pressing a hand to her breast.

“You’re in no condition to ride.”

“I can sit astride if someone else handles the reins,” she said, vehement.

“And if you run into trouble? Will you wave an arrow and hope the Lion dies?”

Lana snickered.

Zafira looked down at the Jawarat. “I’ll find myself a horseman who knows their way around a weapon.”

He knew of such a person, as skilled with a weapon as he was with a horse. He knew of a person who would take her to the ends of the world, if only she would ask. He would take the stars from the sky and fashion them into a crown, if only she would have it.

Yet he said nothing. He was not like the boy who had given her a ring, which she wore at her heart like a promise of forever. He was the prince, whose throne she wanted no part of, lips molded to hers for a few brief moments stolen from a thousand more.

Nasir uncrossed his arms and made to leave.

“Wait! Just … don’t tell the others yet. Please.”

“Why not?”

“I know I wasn’t included in the plans. I know no one will let me go, because you’re all concerned or afraid or what have you.”

He bit back a smile at her flustered attempt to act unflustered. The way she was, he didn’t think Altair and Kifah would consider her stable enough, but he wasn’t about to be brushed aside so easily. There was no reversing what she had done, but to stop it from happening again? Nasir would do anything.

“I won’t tell them on one condition.”