We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya 2)

Altair gently led the boy to the camels with a murmur. When he returned, he couldn’t mask his pity quickly enough, and anger flooded Nasir’s veins, sudden and blinding. He shoved Altair against the wall, gripping fistfuls of his tattered shirt.

“This is all your fault.” His voice was breathless, raw. He was losing his mind.

Altair didn’t fight back. “What could I have done to stop it?”

Nasir clenched his jaw at Altair’s gentle tone. As if he were a child.

“Tell me, Nasir. Beat me, if you must. Tear me to shreds, if it will ease your suffering.”

“You could have used your light. Destroyed them the way you blasted the doors. You could have—”

He dropped his hand with a sob, and Altair pulled him to his chest. Nasir stiffened at the first semblance of an embrace he hadn’t had in years. Then he dropped his brow to Altair’s shoulder.

They stood like that as Nasir’s vision wavered. As his father lay on the cold hard tile near the throne he had never truly ruled from. As his fair gazelle lay beneath the moon, an arrow through her heart.

“I thought I could earn his trust. Hinder him in some way,” Altair said softly. “I swallowed bile as I indulged him, as I searched for anything that could bring him down. I thought for certain I’d gained an upper hand when you told me of the black dagger, but then Aya took his hand. I lost a daama eye. I was shackled. Drained of power as they used my blood.”

Nasir focused on the rumble of his words through his chest.

“Just standing upright requires more effort than I can summon. It was chance that broke the doors, not me. I tried, habibi. I did. You are not the only one who loves her.”

Loved, Nasir corrected in his head. Words so recklessly thrown in the present were now rooted in the past.

“Ghameq?” Altair ventured.

Nasir couldn’t answer, not without the frayed edges of his sanity unraveling, but Altair understood.

The general sighed. “May the remainder of his life be lived in yours.”

Nasir pressed his lips together. Life, however much or little was left, would be long indeed.

“In any case, you must acknowledge the great blessing permitting you to remain by my side yet another day,” Altair announced as the streets stirred with approaching horses. “There is no greater honor.”

Nasir drew away, but his retort faded when Altair’s face sobered.

“Do you understand, brother? You’ll have me. No matter how thick the night, I will always be there to light your way.”

CHAPTER 61

When the sand settled, the night framed two horses beneath the moon. Seif dismounted first, and Altair knew he’d learned of Zafira when he saw pity in his pale gaze. Pity never brought the dead back. It was an insult, plain and simple, one Nasir noted with the barest of growls in the back of his throat.

The second rider dismounted, a safi as tall and thin as her late brother, giving reason to why Seif hadn’t joined him and Nasir in their escape.

“Leila,” Altair greeted. Her abaya was far too scandalous for a funeral. The angled neck plunged almost to her stomach, her pale skin contrasting against the dark, glittering fabric. It was a sight he would have appreciated, had circumstances been different. Had her soft umber eyes, which matched Benyamin’s exactly, not been a sight too painful for this moment.

She nodded in return. Tears stained her cheeks. Blood dripped from her dress—her mother’s blood. He’d seen the Alder calipha on the floor, an eternal lifeline cut short by hatred. A death as heinous as her son’s.

“Head for Demenhur,” Seif instructed. “Neither Sultan’s Keep nor Sarasin is safe. I’ve directed the Pelusians to do the same. Lana rides with them.”

Altair pushed away from the wall and strode to them, leaving Haytham’s son by the gate. He didn’t know who Lana was. “I’ll be making a few stops along the way. The gossamer web needs to know the truth of what happened in the palace. We can—” He stopped at Seif’s chargin. “You’re leaving.”

“Aya was my charge,” Seif replied hoarsely.

Of course.

“And now she’s dead,” Altair finished numbly, fighting the rage that threatened to spill. “Died making the Lion what he is.”

“Why?”