Have them, Zafira thought. She would let Seif and the High Circle have this small triumph. Laa, it didn’t belong to them; she would let them do this for her, and when she had the fifth heart and all the victory that came with stealing from the Lion of the Night, she would restore it herself.
She would be the reason magic returned.
Seif turned to her, his cruel gaze deflating her moment. “Well? Are we to leave for Alderamin?”
We? Ah—that was why he had kept a heart for himself. He was going to restore it to Alderamin’s royal minaret.
When she didn’t answer, Seif added, “Or was that proclamation yet another undertaking too heavy for you to handle?”
Zafira dropped her head, her failure still too fresh and too raw to allow a retort. Several of the safin tittered, and she wondered how they could want the best for Arawiya and still be so infuriatingly ill-mannered.
One by one, the trios of the High Circle took their leave, and one by one, the three hearts destined for Pelusia, Zaram, and Demenhur disappeared into the night.
Breathe, she told herself. Kifah stared after them, her face frozen before she caught herself and looked to Zafira with the edge of a smile. It warmed her, somehow, knowing she wasn’t alone in the feeling of loss. In missing the hearts the moment they left the threshold of the house.
“Don’t leave,” Lana said. Aya’s kit was in her hands.
“Come with me, then,” Zafira said, “and we’ll never have to be separated again.”
The moment Lana bit her lip, Zafira knew it was a wish too far-fetched. They had always been on different paths, she with her arrows and her sister with her tinctures.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Zafira asked, uncaring of the frenzy bleeding into her voice. Uncaring of Seif’s impatience and Kifah’s pity.
Lana only shook her head, sliding a glance at Aya.
It was one more shovel digging into her already hollowing heart.
* * *
Even the touch of the poker was less painful than this hollow in Nasir’s heart. All he wanted was for the emptiness to come to an end. It was all he had ever wanted, he realized. To be seen. Understood.
Needed and wanted.
He began the lengthy task of undressing, beginning with his weapons before he loosened the sash of his robes, then straightened the folds of his shirt and hung it behind the chair. The breeze from the open window counted the endless scars on his back with a curious touch.
The soft scuff of bare feet broke the silence, and he froze with his hand at the band of his pants. He didn’t bother reaching for his sword. His bare hands would suffice.
“Hiding will do you no favors,” he said, voice deathly low, and almost instantly a figure emerged from the shadows near the latticed screen, illuminated by the multiple lanterns.
He would know that slender build anywhere.
“Kulsum.”
She lowered the ochre shawl from her head, dark hair glossy in the light.
For a moment, he could only stare. His heart was a ruin scrubbed raw, his mind a scramble of pain and memory. This was the girl he had loved, whose body he knew as well as his own. Whose voice was the most melodic he had ever heard, until his father learned his son had found an escape. Laa, it was the Lion who had found him, the Lion who had controlled Ghameq’s hand, carving her tongue from her mouth.
As if Nasir had not abhorred himself enough before, the butchery had drowned him in a deep pit of self-loathing. He had kept his distance, blamed himself and vowed useless vows until that moment on Sharr, when he had learned Kulsum was a spy. What he didn’t yet know was how long she had been in Altair’s employ—long before the moment they’d first met? After his mother’s death? Since she’d lost her tongue?
“You came for Altair,” Nasir said.
She nodded slowly, yes and no, a painful reminder of what she would never again have. How had she entered the house—by writing Aya a letter?
“Then you would know he’s not here,” he said. Aya would have told her as much. Accusation flared in her dark eyes, and he gave a mirthless laugh. “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him, but as you’re aware, there are fates worse than death. He’s with the Lion of the Night.” And then, because he was cruel and horrible and hurting, he said, “I would worry about telling you too much, for servants like to gossip, don’t they?” The monster inside him stretched a smile. “But we both know you can’t tell them anything.”
Not a single emotion flashed across her face.