We Hunt the Flame(35)

A young boy brought them a platter. He set a spoon in front of Zafira, followed by a metal bowl full of fluffy white cream topped with slivered pistachios and an eye-popping candied cherry that could not have been easy to come by.

Deen watched her. “It’s called emaa, from the old tongue. It’s not the same as iced cream, but it’s what makes Bakdash special. They keep it frozen with ice and use their hands to tug it free.”

Zafira hadn’t eaten iced cream to know the difference. She merely hmmed and tucked her spoon into the white blob, surprised at its softness and the taffy-like pull. It smelled subtly of rose water.

“Don’t stare,” she commanded.

Deen gave her a sheepish grin and shoved a spoonful of emaa into his mouth with a shrug. She touched her spoon to her lips, the cold chilling her skin. She shivered before dipping it into her mouth, surprised by the burst of honey and rose, the sugar sweetening her tongue, the taffy dulling the cold.

“Well?” Deen asked when she had downed more than a bite.

Zafira could only grin, and Deen’s eyes sparkled as he gleaned the rest from her face.

This could be her first and last bowl of emaa. The last time she could feel such unrestrained happiness at so mundane a moment. The last time she could see Deen’s smile and freeze her lips.

“Not now,” Deen whispered, pushing her bowl closer with his knuckles. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, and Zafira didn’t even think of the people who could see them. This.

She shoved her heavy thoughts aside and leaned back against the cushion of the majlis, the bowl in her hand, nuts between her teeth, and honey on her tongue. In this moment, it was her and Deen and the iced cream she had once cursed but had now begun to love.

Too soon, the boy returned to take her empty bowl and then they were leaving, picking up a few things from the sooq before heading home. When they neared her house, Deen paused before turning to the street where his friend lived.

He held her gaze, voice soft. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she said with a nod, and then he was gone.

The clouds skittered in front of the rising moon, darkening the oncoming night, and the Arz looked like a mouth of jagged teeth, black against blue. Light spilled from their kitchen window, and Zafira was glad Lana was home.

She had just finished checking on Sukkar in the stable when a hand fell on her shoulder. She scrambled back before she caught the shimmer of burnished bronze hair against the moonlight.

“You scared me,” Zafira exclaimed in a whisper. The rose in her hair fell to the snow, petals scattering.

Yasmine tipped her head as she stepped closer, birdlike. “Funny. You rarely get spooked.” Her voice was flat, and the look on her face told Zafira what was coming next.

Not now, she wanted to say. She wanted to cherish the magic of Bakdash a little longer.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” Yasmine asked. “To Sharr. Before you ask, yes, I know. Kharra. Everyone in this bleeding, ice-brained village would have known before you told me. If Deen hadn’t used his head, I don’t think I’d ever know.”

“Do you want me to be sorry for not ruining your wedding night?” Zafira seethed, her good mood shattering. Anger flashed across Yasmine’s features. “This is my chance to bring down the Arz. To bring back magic. There’s no one who knows the Arz better than I do. Even if the Arz weren’t a problem, I can’t sit here. You know me, Yasmine. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

The Arz groaned in the lengthy silence as the wind curled through its limbs. How much closer had it grown while Zafira whiled away the evening, eating emaa?

“What of your mother? And Lana?”

Zafira laughed softly. “When I meet the caliph tomorrow, I’m going to ask him to give them a better place to live, along with someone to care for Ummi. If he accepts, Lana will forget within days that she even had a sister.”

Yasmine just stared back. Oh.

“And you—you have Misk. And your brother. I’ll ask the caliph for—”

“You think a gift from the caliph will replace you? Do you think I’m that selfish?” Yasmine snarled, adding a string of curses.

Zafira shook her head, and the silence between them was more painful than anything she had experienced. It stretched like a chasm in the darkness, the bridge across it no wider than a thread.

“You might die there, Zafira.”

Zafira still didn’t reply. She still tasted honey on her tongue.

The bridge collapsed.

“There’s nothing I can say, is there?” Yasmine asked, a hysterical laugh bubbling at the end.

Zafira pulled on a weary smile.

Before the tears glistening in Yasmine’s eyes could fall, Zafira closed the distance between them. She hesitated and settled on a squeeze of Yasmine’s shoulder. “Your husband is waiting for you.”

Zafira turned away first, her friend’s absence a weight in the depths of her heart, Bakdash far in the past.





CHAPTER 13


“Get up,” Nasir said.

Altair was sprawled on his bed, looking nothing like the poised man who reveled in taunting.

“That dull, flat voice. I swear, it’s a threat on its own,” Altair croaked, pulling a pillow over his head. He wore nothing but a pair of emerald sirwal, his qamis nowhere to be seen.