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“I remember everything and more. Because I am the Sultana of Arawiya. Warden of Sharr. Sister of Old. But before all else, hayati, I am your mother.”
CHAPTER 77
Before the flicker of the fire, Kifah’s dark skin glowed as she gave Zafira a share of the roasted meat. Nasir was nowhere to be seen. Benyamin had drifted off to sleep. He had been a ghost of himself ever since she had put him on the spot. She didn’t know how to make amends. She was too tired to even think.
Altair was in a similar state, eating in silence, glancing furtively at her every so often. The camp was despondent without his quips. She believed him, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. Nothing he said would ever bring Deen back. Nothing anyone said or did would bring him back.
But she didn’t want to lose another friend.
Kifah settled down beside her. The cuff on her arm winked.
“Are you all right?”
Zafira had many, many words to say to that but settled with “I am.”
“He said he’d wait for us in the pockets of zill and zalaam. Everywhere I look, I see him,” Kifah said, and nudged her shoulder. “Not that he’s hard on the eyes.”
Zafira gave her a shadow of a smile. It sounded like something Yasmine would say. Yasmine felt everything so fiercely, she would have swooned at his feet. Just as she would cry when she heard of Deen’s death. Unlike Zafira, who had merely blinked when he had bled to death at her feet.
Kifah was watching, and Zafira wondered if she could read her face as the others could. “I’m glad you’re finally free of that cloak. I’ve heard of your caliph’s bias, and it’s about bleeding time someone showed that old fool what a woman can do.”
This time, Zafira’s smile was real. “If I get off this island, I intend to do just that.”
“You will, Huntress,” Kifah said, sinking her teeth into her food. “You will.”
“I thought you weren’t one for optimism.”
Kifah grinned. “I pick my battles.”
The whisper of a sound curled Zafira’s toes, and her mind blanked. She was in that corridor again, with those crawling, weeping shadows. The lilt of a voice crept through the dry trees. Laa. Not one voice—many. The air stilled and the shadows held their breath.
She latched her fingers around Kifah’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
“The sound of my own breathing? Yes,” Kifah said, giving her an odd look before gently pulling away.
No. Whispers.
Whispers in an ancient tongue, words crawling from the depths of someplace unseen. She slowly made sense of the words. Safaitic. A multitude of voices, begging, calling, reaching. They tugged at her hair, at her arms, her fingers.
She stood as a chill settled in her bones, worse than any the cursed Demenhune snow could cause.
The voices called to her. Nothing like the Lion and his welcoming. This was a plea for help. A cry of ruination.
“Huntress?”
A tremor in Kifah’s voice heightened Zafira’s pulse. Her blood reveled in the sound of the Pelusian’s trepidation.
“Zafira?”
Come. Free us.
Zafira took a slow step toward the voices.
“Where are you going?” Kifah hissed, rising to her feet.
Home. She was going home.
“Let her have a moment,” she heard Altair say.
