Yasmine placed her hand on his heart as a shadow fell over them. Nasir crouched, his mouth pursed. Death fell like rain around them, soldiers of smokeless fire, rebels of bone and blood. Misk rasped another breath, ragged and wet. Blood trickled from his lips, his eyes losing focus.
But he slowly inclined his head in respect. “Sul … tani.”
Zafira’s throat constricted. Yasmine sobbed when the last beat of his heart thrummed against her palm. For a moment, neither of them could move. She didn’t think Yasmine breathed.
From the folds of his robes, Nasir withdrew a dark feather and touched it to Misk’s blood. He sighed as he brushed his knuckles down Misk’s open eyes. Eyes Yasmine had loved, had spoken of in barely restrained adoration.
“Be at peace, Misk Khaldun min Demenhur,” he murmured.
Yasmine wept, then. Terrible, brutal sobs. A jewel of blue in the shadows of the city. With a strangled sound, she bundled Misk into her arms, lifting him, fumbling. Falling. Zafira stared numbly.
“Let me,” Nasir said softly.
He hefted Misk against himself, and Zafira guarded his path toward the house, holding Yasmine close. Around them rang the shouts of wounded men and the clang of metal. It was death in full garb, a resplendent chorus. Misk was not hers, but her heart was connected deeply enough with Yasmine’s that she felt her pain, inexplicable and uncontrollable.
“He did not die for you to follow,” Nasir told Yasmine when he lowered Misk’s body to the floor in the foyer of Aya’s house. He pressed a dagger into her hands. Misk’s dagger, with a moonstone in its hilt. “Stay inside. Stay safe.”
He left. Zafira wavered between following him back to the battle and remaining here with her friend. Once orphaned. Now widowed.
“Go, Zafira,” Yasmine said, hollow. “Kill them all.”
CHAPTER 91
“Who was that?” Altair asked when Nasir returned to his side, wiping his blade free of black blood. “I only saw her hair. I’ve never seen a shade so brilliant.”
“Misk is dead,” Nasir replied. He didn’t particularly feel for the man, but the death had shaken something in him. It was the sight of Zafira’s friend and the hollow in her eyes, the shatter of her soul that bled into her sobs.
Moreover, it was how acutely Zafira felt Yasmine’s pain. A knife to his skin.
Altair turned to Nasir, barely reacting when a rebel barreled against his shoulder. “Dead?”
“That was his wife.”
“She’s here?” Altair asked, quieted by woe.
Nasir’s tone matched his, knowing he would hear despite the din. “She saw it happen.”
“Sultan’s teeth.”
Kifah shoved her way between them, eyebrows raised, spear dripping blood. “Oi. What’s going on?”
“Misk is dead.”
“Oh.” A flash of amusement crossed her face. “I never did like the man.”
Nasir pressed his lips thin. And he thought he was callous in the face of death.
“You know,” Altair mused, goaded by Nasir’s look. “I think this is my first time charging into battle without a plan. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so … thrilling.”
“It’s an ambush,” Kifah deadpanned, the gold tip of her spear flashing with each turn.
“I’m going to kill you,” Nasir growled.
“Please join the line, princeling,” Altair said gently.
“What of your power?” Kifah asked.
He arced his scimitar. “I don’t much feel like burning anyone to a crisp right now.”