Zafira could see why Seif had decided not to join them.
She had only seen the man through the fiery summoning Nasir had done on Sharr, but he didn’t look any nicer now that the medallion was gone. A stern countenance was only part of a leader’s charge, Zafira knew, but she couldn’t imagine the sultan ever being fatherly, even if he was handsome enough that she could see how the Silver Witch fell for his dark beauty.
What bothered her was Nasir, and how he looked like a man whose fortunes had turned and he had yet to believe it. She worried he was less attentive, which led to the worry, too, that she had begun to rely on him. He wore his wariness like a cloak, his fresh turban and thin silver circlet making her heart race a little too quickly, despite the defeat weighing heavily across them.
Men of the Sultan’s Guard stood statue-like along either side of the room, their silver cloaks complementing the ornately paneled walls. How anyone could live under such constant vigilance was beyond her.
“Ibni.” The sultan greeted him with a smile, but it was clear Nasir had gotten so accustomed to the terror the sultan had become that he didn’t know how to react to the man his father once was. “How is your progress?”
Kifah’s jaw clenched, and Zafira agreed. What was the point of Nasir freeing the sultan if the man wasn’t going to help them?
“Decent,” Nasir said without elaboration.
It wasn’t decent, they were failing. Terribly. And yet he revealed nothing. Laa, his tone was shaped to please.
Zafira held steady against a shiver when the sultan’s gaze fell to her. She saw him through Lana’s eyes, and it wasn’t hard to imagine ripping her blade across his neck, his blood so poisoned it ran black.
“—and we will delegate more resources,” the sultan was saying.
“I think we should delay the feast,” Nasir said slowly.
The sultan considered him with a heavy exhale. “We spoke of this, Ibni.”
“Yes, and the feast is to celebrate the return of magic,” Nasir insisted. “A feat we are far, far away from.”
The words stung. How close they had been at one point, on Sharr when the battle was in their favor. When they had salvaged the five hearts from the Sisters of Old, before the Lion had taken Altair and the heart he protected. Her thoughts clattered to a halt.
Altair had the last of the hearts.
What if—no.
She refused to connect the thoughts. She refused to believe he had betrayed them so early on, with the corpse of Benyamin at his feet on Sharr, his friend whose soul was still bound with Altair’s own.
“The banquet is tomorrow, and the delegates have already begun to arrive. It is too late; we cannot delay it. Are the maids and kitchen staff assisting in your efforts?”
Nasir’s brow furrowed. “No, but—”
“Then they will continue preparations.” Mirth played in the sultan’s eyes as he looked to Kifah and then Zafira. “Your friends will attend as well.” His next words addressed them directly. “I will have the tailors take your measurements.”
Zafira inclined her head as if this were the greatest blessing a man had ever bestowed on her. “Shukrun, Sultani.”
“And that merchant in Sarasin—Muzaffar, yes? I’ve invited him, too. It would be good to make his acquaintance and learn his views on certain measures so that we may possibly implement him as caliph.” The sultan smiled. “As you suggested, Nasir.”
He tapped his scepter on the dais, and caught Nasir’s flinch.
“Worry not, Ibni. All will be well.”
His words made Zafira think of her own father, whose every word came from the heart.
“You may leave,” the sultan concluded.
Nasir paused. But even ridiculed and likened to a dog, he had wanted his father’s approval, and he acquiesced, the three of them slowly backing away, as if the sultan would die if they turned their back on him. Who knows? You should try it, Yasmine said in her head.
Spite will turn your hair gray, Zafira shot back.
Fancy necklace or not, he’s responsible for thousands of deaths.
Zafira closed her eyes at the painful reminder. He was responsible for more: the tension across Nasir’s shoulders, the fear knotting the words on his tongue, the scars on his back. Abuse. Years of it.
“There is one more matter,” the sultan called, and her eyes flew open as they stopped with their ridiculous backtracking.
She kept her head low, every bit a humble peasant.
“Neither of us will ever know why the Lion sent out the invitations, Ibni,” the sultan began.
Zafira paused. Nasir had said that the sultan retained his memories from his time under the Lion’s control. How could he not remember something as concrete as a reason?
“And in order to make the occasion worth such a strenuous journey,” he continued, “we will need to provide for Arawiya’s dignitaries.”
“Yes, of course,” Nasir said slowly.
“As such, you will project your best at the feast, for you may meet your future bride.”
If it were possible for a person’s entire body to slowly blink, Nasir’s did just that. Zafira’s own chest stirred oddly. She could have sworn the sultan was watching her as he spoke.
Nasir opened his mouth with a parched wheeze, but the sultan wasn’t finished.
“The Arz is no more, thanks to you. Now we must strengthen ties between caliphates, and as you are aware, the Pelusian calipha, as well as the Zaramese caliph and several wazirs, all have daughters of marriageable age.”
“A bride,” Nasir repeated hollowly in the expectant silence.
Kifah smothered a laugh with a terrible attempt at a cough.
“A woman,” the sultan said, and Zafira wondered if she imagined the temper in his voice, “whom you will wed and then—”
Nasir cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we wait until—”
“Now is as good a time as any. Don’t you agree, Huntress?”
Zafira started at the sudden attention. The faint lines across the alabaster tiles were suddenly the most intriguing in the world. Yes, Lana, Zafira thought. She very much wanted to kill him.
Nasir saved her from answering. “I’m not ready for … for a bride.”
Zafira looked up in the silence, wishing she could speak the words in her chest. Wishing she had her hood so she could stare without chagrin. The sultan leaned back against the burnished gold of the throne, considering his son. How were they to know the sultan was truly himself now, and not the Lion’s puppet?
“You will be ready, Ibni. It is only a matter of summoning the right amount of zeal for a pretty face. You are more than capable, aren’t you?”
The words were a dismissal delivered with a double edge, but Nasir remained rooted to the spot, even as the doors opened for a pair of emirs. The sultan’s attention drifted, though his guard continued to watch, and Zafira had the overwhelming sense of them mocking their prince in the silence.
“Nasir,” she said softly, and because she was a fool who couldn’t stop herself, because she was hurting and he was there, right there, and oh how she missed him, her arm swung forward and her fingers brushed his, warmth tangling for the briefest of moments.
He snatched back, blinking in a way that made her think he had forgotten she was here. He had forgotten he was here.