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He had shown her so much. He had helped her sort her life into what she had always wanted: love. He had brought her into his home and treated her like a guest.
He studied her with parted lips. “I have lost count of the years as I have lost the letters of my name. You may take much from a man, but you can never take away his desires, his passion, his revenge.”
Zafira’s heart stuttered at the word “revenge.”
“As such, I am in need of a partner.”
“A partner,” she said, rolling the word as they neared the corridor. Something told her it was not a place for her.
“You search for the Jawarat,” he said carefully. “I require it as well.”
What had he called the others? Exploiters. He was one, too.
“Is that why you’re on Sharr?”
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.
