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“Your throne will be yours,” Zafira promised. Once the Lion was vanquished, and Arawiya stopped teetering at the edge of this dangerous precipice, she would help her. Enough people knew who Zafira was, and Haytham was a man in position who would do what was right. He would help them. The people should know by now how twisted the caliph’s words were. If they didn’t, they would learn—or she would shove the truth down their throats.
“I…,” Qismah began, and tapered off with a nod. “Shukrun.”
The caliph’s daughter braved a glance at Lana, and in a clear attempt to do something, she tossed wood into the fire, pulling back when it hissed, her hood falling farther from her head.
That was when Zafira saw Qismah’s hair—shorn like a man’s, dark curls glinting bronze. Kifah was bald, of course, but that was a commonality in Pelusia. In Demenhur, the longer a woman’s hair, the more beautiful she was deemed. No one would dare lift a blade to a woman’s mane. Trimming it was as unseemly as pretending to be a man.
Trimming it was an act of disgrace.
Liquid fury replaced the blood in her veins, burning hotter than the bluest flame. She barely felt the throb of her arrow wound.
Let us redeem ourselves for leaving you. We will please you.
He will die for what he has done.
She did not know whose thought that was, whose vow that burned bright. She was on her feet. The Jawarat was in her hand, and turmoil ached in her bones, fighting against its pull and failing, failing. This wasn’t the chaos she had come to recognize and steel herself against. This was the fervent need to recompense. To atone. And it caught her off guard.
She couldn’t tell where her thoughts began and the Jawarat’s ended. Lana’s mouth shaped her name, but Zafira heard nothing. Qismah hurried away, terror morphing her pretty features. The hall hurried past in a blur.
It wasn’t until Zafira stood before two large double doors, the Jawarat clutched tight, that she knew where she was going, danger carving her path.
CHAPTER 69
A good part of Altair thrived on refusal, and it came alive the moment the Jawarat imparted its eerie message through Zafira. He refused to believe
one of his lovely aunts’ hearts was fading to black inside his father.
Sultan’s teeth, he had quite the family tree.
Regardless, he would wring this for what he could. He had been desperately searching for a match to light a fire beneath the dignitaries’ arses and rally their aid, and this new revelation was it.
“What did Ghada say?” Kifah asked as he unfurled the Pelusian calipha’s missive.
“If her answer was affirmative, she wouldn’t have sent you a letter,” Nasir said, sharpening his sword. “She’s down the daama hall.”
“I cannot wait until you and your impeccable ability to rouse hope are crowned king, brother boy,” Altair drawled. “What a gloomy day that will be.”
Nasir’s reaction was a downward turn of his mouth.
The prince was right, but Altair read it aloud for Kifah’s benefit. “‘Pelusia is all that stands between Arawiya and starvation. We cannot, in good conscience, invite the Lion’s wrath. Regards, Ghada bint Jund.’”
“A better excuse than the Zaramese caliph’s, at least,” Kifah consoled herself. The reed of a man hadn’t even offered an excuse.
This was it, then. Two caliphs had refused to join their efforts to defeat the Lion. Leila was on her way to claiming her mother’s throne in Alderamin, while Sarasin’s throne remained empty still, the man most promising for the job dead before he could claim it.
Altair threw open the doors and stepped into the hall, spotting a servant tossing almonds into his mouth. “Oi, you there. Where are Haytham and Ayman? Make haste.”
The boy responded with a gesture that would have had him decapitated, had Nasir been on the receiving end. But Altair was only a general, and the boy answered to his caliph.
“Is that so?” Altair drawled. “Do it now, pint. By order of the true sultan.”
“True sultan,” Nasir repeated when he stepped back inside.
“If you aren’t going to use the title for anything useful, I will.” Altair rubbed his beard. “What else can we do? Summon a nice feast? A few bodies to keep us warm?”
Nasir’s ears flushed red.
“Kifah, dearest?” Altair called. She retracted her spear. “Remind me to check on Nasir’s ears the next time Zafira’s around, eh?”
