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“Shut up,” the Huntress snapped when she drew near.
Altair flinched, to Nasir’s satisfaction.
“I came back only because I know you’ll follow me otherwise, and I’m tired of the two of you breathing down my neck.”
“Do you even know what it feels like to have a man breathing down your neck?” Nasir asked. What did you just say, idiot? He was spending too much time with Altair.
Even the general looked surprised. Kifah snorted, and Benyamin prayed to the skies for patience.
The Huntress paused, and Nasir saw the exact moment when she recalled a memory. How hard was life when your very thoughts played out on your face? Her fingers drifted to the ring, telling him the rest.
Realizing her mistake, she met his eyes defiantly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“With your stupid mockery of pity.”
He laughed, a dry sound. “Did you think yourself in love with him?”
She didn’t answer, and her silence made him push harder, for the others watched. For he was his father’s son.
He stepped closer. “Let me tell you a secret, Huntress: The dead man loved you, but you did not.”
“Bleeding Guljul, leave her be,” Kifah said, hand against her bald head.
“Death is the one thing certain in human life. Why does it still come as a surprise when it happens?” he asked.
“You know nothing of love or loss,” the Huntress hissed, and Nasir flinched from her gaze, so cold it burned. “You’re likely among the privileged who tumble a different woman every night, only to kill her by sunrise.”
Nasir donned a wolfish smile. “Fancy yourself Shahrazad, then?”
The strangest look crossed her face before she spun to Altair. “Give me that.”
“Me? What?” Altair bumbled, eyes wide. She stalked to him and reached for one of his scimitars. He was taller, but she was tall enough. She stood on her toes and pulled his blade free with a slow hiss, nicking his shoulder.
Kifah lifted an eyebrow at Altair’s bewilderment. “This will be interesting.”
The Huntress leveled her stance. Something in her gaze gave Nasir pause. Something more convoluted than anger, for anger he knew how to defeat.
Something feral.
He dropped his hand to his sword, body humming, blood racing, grateful for the challenge. Benyamin rushed between them, stirring sand, but Nasir had settled into a fighting calm, and he wasn’t about to stop.
“Step aside, Alder. She’s a woman, not a decrepit old man. She doesn’t need your protection.”
Benyamin canted his head. “What makes you think she needs protecting?”
CHAPTER 47
Zafira hadn’t the faintest clue how to use a scimitar. But how hard could it be? It was just double the length of her jambiya.
All right. Maybe triple.
It winked like spun gold with the reflection of the sand. She had sparred with Deen often enough to know she was good with a blade. She just hoped the wretched prince wouldn’t call her bluff, despite the better half of her brain saying he would. But if her heart led to her hunt in the Arz, couldn’t she charm a blade into his heart?
She blinked at her dark thoughts. Emotion was a terrible thing to act upon. But he had insulted Deen. Worse, he had been right: She had never loved Deen the way Deen had wanted her to.
When Benyamin stepped away, concern wrought on his brow, Zafira knew her notions were his, too. She tossed her satchels to the sand and held the scimitar a little higher.
