“If only,” he said. He would use just one of his scimitars. The other would be for balance, and because he loved both his children equally.
“Maybe it’s a good thing he’s taken Zafira with him,” Kifah said. “We left her out of our plans when we shouldn’t have. At the very least, we should have been there when she woke up.”
It wasn’t that he’d purposely avoided her. There were missives to send out, dignitaries to placate, blames to place. And then it was too late.
He could only hope Nasir would stick to the plan and head for Leil. Not Sultan’s Keep. And that he would keep that daama dagger safe.
The same gray-eyed guard led them down to the stables. Hirsi perched obediently on Altair’s shoulder, his head darting this way and that.
Altair pilfered an oily dolma on the way to the stables, swinging onto a dark steed and grinning when Kifah swung onto a flea-bitten gray with ease. “Akhh, One of Nine. There’s no one else I’d rather ride with.”
She arched an eyebrow into a perfect curve, and Altair learned there really was something he couldn’t do. With a pang, he remembered he had an eternity ahead of him, and only half his sight. He foresaw lament as his close companion for some time.
“Must your every comment allude to your … tendencies?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I sincerely admire our friendship, and there is truly no one else I would rather make this journey with and—”
“Tell me one more lie, and I’ll make sure this horse’s shoe is the last thing you see.”
The stable boy snickered.
Altair sighed dreamily. “Not a soul treats me as kindly as you do.” He gestured to the entrance and tossed the boy a coin. “After you, sayyida.”
Kifah looked at freedom the way a besotted person looked at a lover. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
They charged down the snow-steeped hill from the palace, Kifah’s ululation echoing in the frigid air. Hirsi took to the air with a shrill promise, and the streets of the city soon echoed with the clamor of hooves. Spindly trees bent over like old men, and fat camels wended slower than their owners. People greeted them as they passed, smiles wide and eyes bright, for the Demenhune had always been more amiable than the rest of the kingdom.
“These rebels, do you think we can trust them?” Kifah shouted over the rush of the wind.
Whoever they were, Altair intended to make use of them. They were short on support, and Arawiya was short on a future.
“What we do know is that my charm will win them over to our side. We’ll have ourselves a little army in no time.”
He heard her snort loud and clear.
They had no choice; this wasn’t a skirmish over territory. It was all of their tomorrows in one fragile fist. They slowed in the thick of Thalj, where the sooq bustled with the midday crowd.
Kifah drew up her horse with a curse and disappeared into an alley. “Oi, look at this.”
“I was always warned not to follow strangers into dark alleys,” Altair mocked darkly. “Is that…？”
Kifah ripped a sheet of papyrus from the wall, and Altair stared at the face he knew as well as his own. Nasir. The countenance was almost exact, even to the scar slashing down his right eye.
“‘A thousand dinars,’” he read, “‘dead or alive.’”
“Bleeding Guljul. Should I be insulted that you and I are completely worthless?” Kifah asked.
“I would never admit this to his face, but my brother looks far better in person,” Altair said.
Kifah snarled in frustration.
“What? They didn’t get his nose right!” Altair exclaimed.
“Could you at least pretend to be concerned?”
Altair looked at her. “What should I do? Weep?” he asked, more harshly than he should have. “Will that make the posters disappear? Will that make my eye come back? Benyamin, too?”
Kifah looked away.
Altair exhaled long and slow.
“Akhh, let’s leave being woeful to Nasir, laa?”
Kifah eagerly obliged, passing him the poster.
“It’s the perfect way for the Lion to turn the people’s fear of the Prince of Death into a reward.” Altair rolled up the poster and tucked it into his bag. “And he’s using the ifrit to spread word. No one else can travel so quickly. Khara, with them on his side, everything will move quickly. He might not see a need to prioritize the hearts, but it’s clear he sees us as a threat.”
“Then let’s prove him right,” Kifah said. She paused, studying him in the dusty light of the alley. “You’re starting to worry.”
Altair scoffed. “And risk my hair turning gray?”
“You’re bursting with quips,” Kifah pointed out.
Altair was too stunned to think of a comeback. Nearly a century and he didn’t notice that tell?
“Do you ever think about how the Sisters failed?” she asked.
“They trusted my charming mother.”
Kifah shook her head. “We’re a zumra made of mismatched ends, one goal holding us together, unafraid to ask for help. We have the ‘asabiyyah they didn’t.”
“‘Asabiyyah?”
“The essence of our zumra,” Kifah said with a shrug. “Unity based on shared purpose, loyalty to one another over that of kinship.” She looked at her inked arm. “I never really understood the concept until now. Until us.”
“The Sisters had that, too,” Altair argued.
“Every rule has within itself the seeds of its own downfall, and the Sisters’ was no different. They trusted their own and no one else. If there’s anyone who can save Arawiya, it’s us.”
CHAPTER 79
By the time night fell and the temperature dropped, Zafira was sore all over. She had somehow managed to hurt Nasir’s feelings, and the silence made his presence behind her even more overwhelming. The heat of his chest. The loose bind of his arms.
It had been more than a week since she’d ridden a horse, and the urge to collapse against him almost outweighed her dignity. Her back ached, and her legs ached. Her chest ached, too, from holding still to protect her mending wound as they crested the sloping hills of Demenhur’s less-populated lands. They were fields once, bearing herbs and other plants harvested for medicinal purposes. Now they were blanketed in white, awaiting the return of magic like the rest of Arawiya.
When they neared a village at the Demenhune border, Nasir slowed Afya to a walk. The streets were silent except for the whistle of the cold wind. Torches winked like amber eyes from the shadows, and the shops were the kind of dark only ghosts were drawn to, alleys beckoning like the one-legged nesnas out of a child’s nightmare.
“Why are we slowing?” Zafira asked. There was something about this village she didn’t like. Even the moon had tucked herself behind heavy clouds.
Nasir sighed, a warmth on her chilled neck that she welcomed in more ways than one.
“There is a downside to having Afya on this journey.” He slid off the mare’s back and began leading her on foot, studying the surrounding structures. “Had she been any other horse, we could have swapped her and been on our way. She must rest. We’ll continue just after midnight.”