We Hunt the Flame(67)

What have I gotten myself into?

“Ah, you’ve decided to join us,” the newcomer said to Nasir. He moved with the feline grace Zafira had only ever attributed to the people of Baba’s stories. His checkered keffiyah was held in place with an ornate circlet of black ore, face accented by a dark beard cut against his skin, much like Nasir’s but with far more sculpted styling. His golden skin shone in the moonlight, too fair to be Pelusian. A tattoo curved around his left eye, the ink a dull gold, nearly bronze.

“Who are you?” Zafira asked.

His kohled eyes fell on her, and he smiled, teeth gleaming.

It was a smile that made her feel safe. A smile that made her question everything.

“My name is Benyamin Haadi,” he said.

Then the man who had helped them kill the rogue safin lifted the ends of his keffiyah to wrap turban-like around his head, unveiling two gold rings glittering from the top of one ear.

An elongated ear. A safi.





CHAPTER 41


Benyamin Haadi was no wish-granting jinn. He was vain, immortal, and from Alderamin—a safi. He also happened to be Nasir’s cousin and son of the Alder calipha. Though Nasir knew of the sultana’s sister’s son, the double barrier of the Arz between Sultan’s Keep and Alderamin meant the two of them had never met.

As all haughty safin were, Benyamin was quicker, faster, and wiser than humans. If only more of that safin blood had carried on to Nasir.

What was his connection to Altair? Moreover, how had he gotten here? The Silver Witch wouldn’t convene with safin any more than safin would lower themselves to convene with the sultan.

“And so, here we are, in an oasis of shadows, readying to maul one another as if we were but animals in a pit.”

“I thought your overuse of words was a side effect of seasickness. If I had known you’d talk so much, I wouldn’t have come along,” Kifah groaned.

Benyamin seemed to ponder that. “If one has been gifted with eloquent speech, why ever not make use of it?”

“Perhaps because not everyone loves the sound of your voice as much as you do?” the Huntress replied flatly.

He scowled.

“I sort of like the sound of his voice. Nothing like a nice accent,” Altair mused. “What do you think, princeling?”

“I think,” Nasir said with a grit of his teeth, “you need to stop asking for my opinion.”

Altair sighed. “And you thought traveling with a prattler was difficult?” He looked at Kifah with a hint of respect. “Who might you be, One of Nine?”

“I never asked for your name,” she said, giving him a look. She couldn’t seem to stand still for more than two beats, a restless energy pulsing through her limbs.

“Which is why I’m being the gentleman,” he said pointedly. “I am—”

She rolled her eyes. “Kifah Darwish, and I don’t care.”

Benyamin sauntered around, one hand on the pouch belted across his middle. He was pathetic and weaponless. Kifah stayed close to his side, even when he stopped in front of Altair and canted his head, something passing between them in the silence. Nasir narrowed his eyes.

The Huntress murmured something beneath her breath and angrily yanked an arrow into her bow. The others turned to face her.

“Akhh, time for another interrogation,” Altair said cheerily. “I think—”

“Don’t think,” she snapped.

Nasir flinched at the words that had been directed at him countless times before.

Altair lifted two fingers to his brow with a wicked grin. She shifted her aim across the four of them.

“Who sent you.” Her voice was a staid monotone, not a question. There was courage in the slight lift of her chin. Confidence in the press of her mouth.

Benyamin gave a slight shake of his head. “No one did.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“On a ship,” Kifah said smugly as she wound fabric around her arm. Benyamin smirked.

Nasir could see the Huntress’s patience wearing thin, but there was only one way to deal with safin: by challenging their pride.

And it seemed the Huntress had come to that realization herself: “Did you crawl through the Arz on your hands and knees, then?”

Appall flashed across Benyamin’s features, and Altair smothered a laugh. Nasir lowered his head to hide the crack of a smile.

“Caravans make their way through the Wastes every so often. I joined one of them and stopped in Pelusia to ask their calipha for aid from one of her esteemed Nine. Together, Kifah and I journeyed to Zaram, tracked down a willing sailor, and crossed the path of the Zaramese Fallen. We arrived in time to save your lives, and now I stand before you, perfection incarnate.”

“The last part is debatable,” Kifah said.

“Ah, but not downright negatable.”

So he hadn’t received the same favors Nasir and the Huntress had. No disappearing Arz, no phantom ship. His cousin had gone through terrible lengths to get here, which meant he had good reason to.

And by recruiting the help of a Pelusian and a Zaramese crew, he had ensured that all five caliphates would become entwined with this island.

“You ventured this far to save us from two rogue safin,” Nasir said flatly.

Benyamin’s demeanor turned cold. “An added bonus, depending on how you view it.”