We Hunt the Flame(36)
“You want me to be concerned?” Nasir scoffed. “You’re coming, too.”
“Sultan’s teeth, I wonder why I’m so desolate,” Altair droned. “Fetch me some qahwa, will you?”
Nasir threw open the curtains, and a shaft of light hit Altair in the face. It was Nasir’s first time visiting Altair’s rooms, which he had never expected to be this … neat. They were just as monotone as his own chambers. Twin peals of female laughter echoed from the adjoining bathroom, and Altair smiled.
Nasir scowled, ears burning.
“Do I look like one of your girls?” he asked. “Fetch the qahwa yourself. Drink it, dump it on your head, cry in a corner, I don’t care. But we sail at sunrise, which means we have to leave the palace soon. I don’t know how long it’ll take to cross the Arz, and I don’t want to get to that wretched island after the Hunter and whoever else.”
Altair peeked over the pillow. “So eager to start killing, aren’t you?”
Nasir tossed a satchel at Altair’s head. “We ride at dusk. Get ready.”
“But of course, Sultani. Can’t wait.”
Nasir bristled. Altair never bothered with titles when it came to Nasir, and his use now bothered Nasir more than his disrespect ever had. He slammed the door shut on Altair’s wheezing laughter.
But his steps faltered when someone new entered Altair’s receiving rooms.
“Kulsum?”
Her name alone sent the organ in his chest racing. Her dark eyes lit up as his thoughts came to a halt. Kulsum in Altair’s rooms? He quickened his pace to the door, putting her behind him. He felt her fingers raking the air, reaching for him. Knifing him.
Mute, always mute.
He didn’t look back as the door thudded shut.
* * *
Nasir took the weapons on his person, along with a rucksack containing a few provisions and a change of clothes.
He expected this journey to be quick, no longer than a few weeks. Head straight through the Arz, sail to Sharr, follow the Hunter, and bring back the lost Jawarat.
Beneath the light of a heavy moon, Nasir saddled a gray stallion, and Altair saddled a roan beside him. The general was an odd sight in hashashin gear, with armor so thin one couldn’t imagine it existed at all.
A hashashin’s garb was made for blending, for appearing unthreatening, despite the numerous weapons obscured along his body. But in typical Altair fashion, there was something to make one glance at him again. He had discarded the obscuring outer robes in favor of flashing more skin. Though leather gauntlets were wrapped tight around his forearms, the rest of his corded arms were bare, and a turban rimmed in red was styled around his head. The traditional sash around his middle was stark red, too, clashing with his ridiculously colored sirwal.
“Ready to ride the night away, Sultani?” he asked suggestively.
“Save your innuendos for your parties, Altair.”
“Ah, so you’re not as dumb as your father makes you seem,” Altair said with a laugh. “I can’t wait until we meet the Hunter. I’ll have to introduce you by saying, ‘He’s not always this grumpy. Then again, he’s one of those people who talks less and murders more.’”
“You’ll be doing a good job of not frightening him,” Nasir said, spurring his stallion forward.
“Shukrun, habibi,” Altair called after him. “Endearing as always.”
The sands glowed like dying embers in the night. Mansions glittered in the moonlight, and the limestone of the slums loomed eerie and desolate.
No one would be around to see them, not now, when the moon had risen and the cold had begun its sweep across the desert. Nasir’s heart stuttered at the thought of crossing the Arz at sunrise, but he didn’t have a choice. Kulsum’s dark eyes flashed in his mind. The soft curve of Haytham’s son’s small shoulders.
He never had a choice.
He would cross the Arz and meet the Baransea at sunrise, in whatever condition he stood.
CHAPTER 14
Zafira woke to a pair of catlike eyes staring into her own. She jerked away. “Yasmine!”
Yasmine answered with a curse. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she looked as though a heavy weight had been set on her shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” Zafira asked, voice rough with sleep. “Shouldn’t you be—”
“With my husband? I swear, that’s all you ever say when you see me.”
Zafira sank back into the pillows and cut a glance at the window before jerking upright again. She had to go. “I have to—”
“Go? Kharra, I know. That’s why I came. To see you one last time.” Yasmine dropped her gaze to her hands. The henna from her wedding was already fading, the russet now a bright shade of red. She sat on the edge of Zafira’s bed, the mattress bowing under her weight.
“Remember when my parents died, and Deen left us to go exploring the kingdom? When he joined that caravan across the Wastes? I still have a little bit left in that tin of hot chocolate he brought back, and I saved the empty vial of honey you licked clean.” Yasmine laughed softly and then sighed. “It’s strange what I’ll remember with a spoon of cocoa and an empty vial of honey, no?”
Zafira tried to puzzle over those words before she swung out of bed.