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“And why are we killing him?” Nasir asked, apathetic.
“As you said, the ifrit looks like the man the Sarasins admire. Therefore effortlessly controlling both ifrit and human armies. It’s simple. We get rid of him, we command in his stead. Short term, of course. Until we get rid of the Lion and appoint someone better suited for the task.”
Perhaps it was because of Zafira and her honor, her rectitude a drop of white in the fabric of his dark world, but Nasir’s first thought did not involve killing the caliph, ifrit or not. It was odd how that change had come about within him.
Kifah took his silence as acceptance. “Controlling a horde of ifrit will prove tedious, but this way, we will at least be able to restrain the mortal Sarasin army and use them to hold the ifrit in check.”
Nasir looked at her sketch. “A blockade.”
She nodded once.
It was easy enough sneaking into the Sarasin palace when he was the rightful prince and no place was off-limits. Now, with the Lion eager for his head and ifrit to contend with? Nasir sighed. “All right. Consider him dead. Is Zafira not any part of this plan?”
Kifah paused with chagrin. Altair looked regretful. “We’re leaving just after noon. Zafira needs rest, most certainly, but she also needs to return to herself. Laa?”
“She’s still herself,” Nasir said quietly. “She hasn’t become some sort of wild beast.”
It pained him to speak the words, and he was relieved to see it reflected in Altair’s eyes. Haytham tried to hide his confusion as no one filled him in.
“If she’s stable tomorrow, she can join us. Yes?” Altair looked at Kifah.
“Without doubt,” she said.
For a long moment, the three of them stayed mired in Zafira’s absence until Kifah dragged her finger along the third path, returning them to the plans. “Then we have the falcon.”
“Who will head straight for the Hessa Isles and deliver a note, which I’m still piecing together because the timing has to be right. We’re going to need the Silver Witch’s help,” Altair said without meeting Nasir’s eyes.
If the wazir noticed
Altair’s hollow tone, he pretended not to.
“Haytham remains here gathering intelligence,” the general continued. “Meanwhile, Kifah and I will locate the rebels in Sultan’s Keep while you ride for Sarasin. We won’t be able to communicate, so much of the plan’s success will rely on a schedule.”
“It seems to me,” Nasir said, “that much of the plan relies on chance.”
“Chance keeps us alive,” the oaf replied.
“The chances,” Nasir gritted out, “of you finding my blade at your neck are currently quite high.”
Altair flashed him a grin. “I love it when you speak so filthily.”
Nasir’s ears burned. Kifah leaned back, eyes bright. Adversely, Nasir felt he could sleep forever after everything that had transpired.
“And?” he asked, sensing there was more.
His brother’s smile was wolfish. “Well, there is another thing. It’s more chaotic than my usual style, and it’s certainly not your style. It’s risky and dangerous. And, uh, flashy.”
All things the general adored.
“But it’s guaranteed to draw my—” Altair stopped short, remembering Haytham. “To draw the Lion out.”
Nasir looked between him and Kifah with creeping dread.
“So, Sultan Nasir, how do you feel about arson?”
CHAPTER 73
Zafira woke beside a warm body. Instead of limbs and skin and dark hair, she thought of blood and tendons and entrails. She was afraid to look. Afraid she wouldn’t see her sister’s smattering of freckles but the colorless bones of her skull.
