“Some truths have no reason,” Seif murmured.
“This one does,” Altair said with force.
Leila spoke now. “After what she’d lost, you have no right—”
“We’ve all lost something,” Altair bit out. No one knew how much he had once loved Aya. No one knew he was once the last to judge her. “Look at me. Look at him.” He gestured to Nasir. “We have lost, and we have suffered. We did not fall prey to insanity and the Lion’s lies. The difference, Leila, between Aya and us is that we do not give up.”
The camels snorted in the silence, Haytham’s son’s soft murmurs lilting in the quiet. Seif’s brow was creased, his pale eyes slit.
“He is right,” he said finally.
“Thus, Benyamin died for nothing,” Leila said softly.
Nasir looked away. Benyamin had died for the gray-eyed prince, for their future sultan, and for his brother.
To Altair, that was everything.
“He was valiant until the end,” Altair said solemnly. “He spoke of you even in the throes of death.”
She closed her eyes briefly, carmined lips soft. “I expected nothing less from a Haadi. Now I am all that remains of Arawiya’s oldest family.”
“Not much of Arawiya will be left to speak of if the Lion remains in power,” Altair said as Haytham’s son collected stones from the cool sand. “We need you with us. We need your aid. We need aid from Alderamin.”
Leila’s gaze flicked to the ground. “My people will not—”
“Your people,” Altair repeated quietly. “Alderamin is home to only a fifth of your people. Arawiya is the land of your people. Leave this division by caliphate aside, Leila. We are one kingdom.”
“I am not one of them, Altair,” she said crisply. The gold filigree cuffing her elongated ears glinted mockingly.
He set his jaw, the loss of his eye a beacon. “Neither am I.”
“What you decide to do with your immortal life sets no requirement upon ours.”
Altair breathed a mirthless laugh, regarding her. It was taking some adjustment, only being able to see out of one eye. It meant turning his head and craning his neck far too much. “You were there for his first reign of darkness. You know what will happen. The darkness will spread from one caliphate to the next, and people will die. Even safin can starve.” He met Leila’s gaze, disappointed by her obstinacy. “Benyamin would—”
“Do not speak of what he would or would not have done,” she demanded. “He is dead. My mother is dead. You need to understand that the title of Alder calipha will matter little when I ask my people to help you, for not one safi will feel particularly inclined to assist the mortals for whom my kin died.”
The wind gusted toward them, grieving the night’s lost souls. It was a horrible truth, but had Leila been more like her brother, she would have agreed: It was worth trying. Worth rallying them, begging them for aid. Altair turned to Seif.
“I will not abandon our cause, but I must return to Alderamin, too,” Seif said. “After tonight’s events, it is clear the Lion will seek the destruction of the remaining hearts. I must be there to protect the heart and the throne. The rest of the High Circle will do the same in the other caliphates. History stands to be rewritten, and if there is anyone who understands the merit of this opportunity, it is those of the Circle.
“We will remain vigilant, and upon magic’s return, should you succeed, we will position restrictors to halt the flow of power until each caliphate gets their bearings.”
Altair wasn’t ready to think that far just yet. To worry over the common person being unable to control the affinity he or she wielded felt trivial after what had transpired. He lowered his brow, sensing he had no leeway here. No amount of persuasion would work. Safin were stubborn that way.
“May success ride in your favor, Seif bin Uqub,” Altair said at last. “Shukrun for your efforts.”
Besides, he hadn’t come so far by relying on the halfhearted.
CHAPTER 62
Civilization faded to the swell of sand dunes lit blue, ghosts of the lost rising with the dust Altair’s and Nasir’s horses stirred in their wake. It was only after they crossed the border of Sultan’s Keep and passed into Sarasin that Altair allowed himself to breathe freely for the first time since they’d fled the palace.
He had watched the life fade from a thousand men, but never had he lost so many friends in a single mission. Benyamin, Zafira. Aya.
Nasir studied him in a way he had never seen. It was how Benyamin once looked at him. It was how one looked at another that they knew as well as themselves.
“You loved her.” His voice was quiet.
Altair’s eye fell closed.
“I saw the way you spoke of her. Of us. Of loss,” Nasir clarified.
“I loved him more.”
“What does that mean?”
Altair’s grip tightened around the reins as Haytham’s son woke from his slumber. “It means that no matter what needs to be done to make the children of this forsaken kingdom smile again, I will do it.”
Dawn gave way to morning, clinging to the edges of the earth as they pressed deeper into Sarasin, the towns silent and empty. As if fear ruled these streets, dread clogging the air.
“We’ll cross the Dancali Mountains by nightfall,” Altair said.
“And then home?” Haytham’s son asked.
At least someone wanted to speak to him.
After a hearty silence filled with nothing but the clatter of hooves, Nasir looked to the distance. “The sooner we pass Sarasin, the better.”
Though Sarasin was considerably brighter than it was when he and the Lion first arrived, it was still darker than the rest of the kingdom. They stuck to the main roads, avoiding the shadows where ifrit might be, sometimes splitting up, sometimes pausing to visit the house of a spider, always vigilant. It meant they were seen by more people than Altair liked, including a little girl with ice chips for eyes that reminded him of Zafira.
He had failed her. He had failed Nasir, who was burrowing into himself and shutting out the world once more, his already broken spirit slowly degenerating. He was only a boy the world had thieved endlessly, giving nothing back. Altair hadn’t seen a single wisp of his shadows since their escape.
He was stifling his emotions again, caging his heart once more. Altair had spent years loathing the prince, but Sharr had changed more than the course of the future. Nasir stared at the remnants of the compass their mother had given him before this journey began, brushing his thumb across the fractured glass with the sorrow of a thousand lost souls. If someone had told him his brother was capable of such compassion, such tenderness, Altair would have laughed in their face.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I escaped?” The words were light, but he still felt the weight of the black shackles that had restricted him.
Nasir reluctantly eyed Altair’s red wrists. “How did you escape?”
“Let it be known that I am not one to shy from the use of tongue,” Altair said.
Nasir released a long breath, but at least the prince was focusing on something other than misery. They didn’t have the might of Pelusia to quicken their pace; this would be a long journey.