Followed by Fros(47)

“Havid?”

“I don’t know.”

Lo released a long breath that ended in something like a growl. “Why didn’t you pick up the supplies? Half the food was spoiled! How long did you leave it sitting there?”

I didn’t answer.

“Khuso, Smeesa!” he swore, pacing to the front of the cavern. He pushed both hands into his hair, ready to rip it out. “Why did you leave the cavern? Alha knows how far out you were before I noticed the clouds were gone!”

I shivered and glanced up to the canvas roof, heavy with snow. That was how he had found me—the clouds. Of course.

“The desert would claim you as quickly as it does anyone else,” he almost shouted, pointing a finger at me. “Do you think you’re immortal?”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“For the trouble,” he repeated, scoffing. He took a deep breath and asked again, “Why did you leave?”

I stared at the bedcovers.

He stalked closer to me. “Why did you leave?”

“I just . . . ,” I started, forcing down a sudden lump in my throat. “I needed to stretch my legs.”

“Stretch your legs for thirteen miles?”

I shook my head and rested it in my hands. “I needed . . . to get out. To do something.”

“You couldn’t weave? You couldn’t read?”

“How many times can a person read the same books?” I asked. Tears threatened my eyes, and I blinked them back. “I’ve read the Dideh Bab volume thirty-six times, alone! I ran out of yarn, out of paper. I just . . .”

I turned away from him and tried to swallow the stinging lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry. I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth still.

“Smeesa—”

“I’ve been alone,” I said, trying not to let the words choke, “for so long. What you . . . Imad, and Aamina . . . have done for me has meant . . . so much.” I swallowed, but the lump still refused to budge. I waited a moment, urging it down. Whispering, I said, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Lo stood near the foot of my bed, staring at something I could not see, his lips pursed.

“I’m sorry,” I managed. I wiped my eyes with the back of my glove. It was dirty from my trek and my fall.

After a long silence, Lo said, “No, I am sorry, for not coming.”

“You have no obligation to me. And the prince—”

“Prince Imad has more guards than spiders have eggs,” Lo said. There was something else he was not telling me, though—I could see it in the way his eyes shifted away from me, in the tenseness of his broad shoulders. He seemed to be deep in thought, and I did not interrupt, content to sit in silent companionship with him. Content to have someone here with me.

After several minutes he pulled up a chair and sat, leveling his face with mine. “I will see you taken care of, Smeesa. Zareed needs you.”

I nodded, truly feeling the fool. Had I forgotten all the people my snowfall had helped, even saved? Would I really forget the thousands for fear of hurting the few? Had I really been willing to throw away everything I’d achieved in this land because I could not wait just a little longer for companionship?

The guilt of the situation struck me like a blizzard’s gale, and cold tears wet my eyes once more. How could I have been so selfish . . . and after everything I had thought I’d learned.

“You are right,” Lo said, the anger gone from his voice. “I have no obligation to you. But I come because I enjoy your company.” He touched my swathed shoulder, and a chill colder than ice rushed into my collar and down my arm, raising gooseflesh on gooseflesh. My slow heart quickened, and I desperately hoped he did not notice.

“I will come again,” he said, pulling back his hand. It had been such a fleeting touch, and through layers of fabric, yet he still needed to rub his fingers together to warm them. “Our sheikh is no doubt worried about you, so I must return to the city. And you must rest.”

I did not think all the gold and fine things in the world could have coaxed me to sleep at that moment, but I nodded anyway.

Lo paused halfway to the door and looked over his shoulder. “I will see if I can’t help you ‘stretch your legs.’ Prince Imad speaks of you often, and he will listen to any pleas made on your behalf.”

“Thank you.”

The smallest smile touched his lips, and he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I touched my shoulder, still feeling his fingertips there, but it was the look in his eyes that had left me in a stupor. When was the last time someone had looked at me like that, with genuine concern? Years. It had been years. And his eyes . . . They were so much different than Sadriel’s.

The thought of Death made me stiffen, and I half expected him to appear from the carpets. He had not spoken with me since our . . . argument . . . but I did not think him gone for a moment. I wondered if Death could take the life of someone free from age or sickness, if he could force them into the underworld, or if such a thing broke the laws by which he operated.

Regardless, I would not let him take me, for my life belonged to me, and I would only put it on the line one more time, and then of my own will and choice.





CHAPTER 20