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The hashashin bowstring, engineered by the Pelusians of Sultan’s Keep, stretched without a sound. He sighted his aim and was about to release the string when he heard it: the sound of another, less silent bowstring being pulled tight. The Hunter and his companion were in front of him, and Altair was to his left, which meant—
Someone else, shrouded from view. His pulse quickened. One of the others Ghameq had warned him of. Or, worse, an ifrit. The dark tip of an arrow peeked between the columns of limestone.
Leveled at Altair.
Nasir set his jaw but did not shift his aim.
If the unknown archer killed Altair, Nasir wouldn’t have to see the light fade from the general’s twinkling eyes. Twinkling? Nasir was no coward. The only reason Altair wasn’t yet dead was because Nasir needed him. Altair was Nasir’s to kill. He didn’t want someone else to do his work for him, as tempting as it was.
He heard the archer’s bowstring tighten, the aim shaky but true.
He saw Altair, oblivious to the arrow pointed at his heart.
Nasir exhaled.
Three arrows flew at once.
CHAPTER 27
Zafira heard the snap of a bowstring: thrice. Everything happened quickly after that. She saw the arrow, spiraling toward her.
Then Deen, yelling. Hands on her shoulders, pushing her away. Her own bow was nocked with an arrow that she let fly, letting her heart lead it because she couldn’t see, couldn’t think. A rustle of something else behind her. The ground, rushing to her face. Sand, gritting against her cheek. Stone, hard against her bones. Sound, sound, sound, beating against her eardrums.
And then,
silence.
Before everything rushed back with a noise: a choked gasp for air. No.
Zafira scrambled to her feet. The greedy desert was already swallowing up the blood, sand reddening to black. Her vision wavered.
No. No. No.
“You fool. I told you, I told you.” She dropped beside him and searched for the arrow. She dared to hope, to wish, only for a moment.
Only to suffer. For the arrow had struck directly beneath his heart. Deen. Deen. Deen.
He tried to smile, but it looked like a grimace. His face had paled, hazel eyes dim, skin coated in sweat and a smear of blood. She shook her head. It was too late. Like when Baba had stumbled out of the Arz and she couldn’t save him. Like when Umm had pierced his heart and Zafira couldn’t save her.
She remembered those nights after Baba had died, those nights after Deen’s parents had died, when they had held each other, chasing away fears with simply the other’s presence. The years and years of him being everywhere, no matter where she looked.
He struggled, hacking a cough as he dragged something out of his pocket. It blinded in the sun. A gold chain and, at its end, a ring. He held it out in a loose and trembling fist.
“You would never wear one”—he gasped—“on your finger.”
The chain trickled like molten gold from his palm, and she picked it up, sand sticking to her damp fingers. The gold band swayed, perfect and unblemished. Nothing like Zafira.
“One moment, you wanted to explore past Arawiya, you wanted marriage, you wanted me. Then you turned around and joined this journey. You threw everything aside for—for this.”
Deen’s eyes slowly swept across her face. Zafira thought she would explode. If only you knew.
“Why, Deen?” she begged. “Why did you come to this island?”
“For you, a thousand times,” he choked, but she knew the rest of those words. Words he had said countless times before. His eyes flickered. A thousand leagues and a thousand sands. For you, a thousand times I would defy the sun.
He was always asking for the impossible. Always asking for what she wouldn’t give. She brushed her lips against his cheek, and he exhaled. This time, she wasn’t hungry for more. She longed for what she had already lost.
And hadn’t he told her that, when they embarked on this journey?
