We Hunt the Flame(102)

His mouth slanted, and he seemed to be considering how much he should unveil. “Some would say so.”

They paused beneath a pointed archway. The dark wood was cut in tumultuous patterns; the beauty of its intricacy grasped her breath.

“The Jawarat,” he started once more.

Zafira almost bared her teeth. It was as if her very presence was now synonymous with the book she was coming to dread.

“I have come to learn that only you are able to find it.”

“So I’ve learned as well.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’d like to propose a deal. I will assist you in your search, and when the Jawarat is uncovered, you will return it to me.”

She met his eyes, wanting to demand if he was daft. “Which part of the deal is for me, then?”

If she hadn’t been watching so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed the barely perceptible lift of his dark eyebrows. Had he not considered that she would be adamant?

“I have need of it only for a moment. It will be entirely yours after that.”

“I see,” she said, not seeing. “I have an evil sultan who wants the Jawarat. And an entire kingdom whose people need the Jawarat. Now you need the Jawarat?”

The silence stretched thin until he released a weary sigh.

“If it weren’t for me, azizi, you and your zumra would already have perished.”

Zafira froze. At last, the tone she had always expected of darkness. Of zill and zalaam. Of a man who lived on Sharr with barely concealed malevolence. Chaos and madness in the hush of the night. Power that hummed in the silence.

He smiled that smile, one she now recognized as equal parts terrible and beautiful. She did not doubt his claim. She remembered the ifrit listening to a silent order. She remembered the shadows, shielding her, welcoming her.

Who was he?

At the entrance to the corridor, the Shadow paused. Only then did Zafira realize that her bow, her arrows, her jambiya—she still had them because they were pointless. Nothing could protect her from him.

He searched her face, but he did not find what he wanted.

His lips curled into that secret smile. He leaned close and brushed his lips at her brow. She shivered, barely holding herself back.

His voice was low. “Should your lover come, azizi, I will tear the flesh from his limbs. I will cut him to pieces and feed him to the flames.”

Zafira could not breathe.

“Chain her up,” he said to the shadows, and became one himself.





CHAPTER 67


Nasir was getting closer. He could feel it.

At least, that was what he told himself to keep going. The shadows lengthened and shrank with his breathing. It was too early for night, but the starless sky was heavy with black.

And it was too late to turn back. Even if he could recall the way, the others would have moved. Only the Huntress could find them now.

Zafira.

Only Zafira could find them. He had to stop walking when he voiced her name in his head for the first time.

He continued on the erratic path his compass pointed out until he heard the unmistakable shift in the air, alerting him to another presence.

Nasir held still. His fingers melded to the leather hilt of his scimitar.

A silhouette stood against the outcrop.

He didn’t need her to come into the light for him to recognize that swaying gait. The billowing of her dress. Her skin shone in the slender shafts of light, as beautiful as the deepest of sunsets.

“Kulsum,” Nasir breathed.

She tipped her head. Nasir’s brow furrowed and his pulse trembled a warning, but he lowered his blade. Sheathed it. It felt as if a storm had run rampant in his mind, scattering the dunes of his thoughts.

“My prince,” she said in that voice of silk, the one that had freed him on countless nights.

Nasir was suddenly in a hundred places at once, none as terrifying as this simmering storm.

“The Huntress is not worth it.”

Nasir spoke slowly. “I need her if I am to find the Jawarat.”

“And when she finds it and attempts to take your life—what then?”

“She wouldn’t.” He did not doubt that.

A smile flitted across her face and something ached inside him. “She is no longer the guileless girl who set foot on this island.” Kulsum gestured to the dunes. “Sharr changes people. Like you. You have begun to love her.”

He closed his eyes but made no attempt to deny her words.

She continued, softer now. “Have you forgotten me?”

“No, Kulsum,” he said. “I did not forget. I never forget.”

He stepped closer, wanting to touch her. Hold her.

One last time.

“Even if I wanted to,” he murmured, “I could never forget that you did not love me.”

He stared at her beauty, into the dark chasms of her eyes. His last words were a rasp, because it was his fault.

“And that you have no tongue.”

He leaped, toppling her to the ground, tearing a sound from her mouth. The ifrit that she was emerged, and he dipped his gauntlet blade into the creature’s flesh. Safin steel, to ensure it would never rise again.

He had known it wasn’t her the moment she spoke in a voice he would never again hear, but he had still wasted valuable time. Longing had made him selfishly draw out the conversation. Longing to understand, to finally close that open wound.