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“An eternity of magical knowledge, and you didn’t think to acquire more of it yourself?” Zafira fired back. Skies, this safi.
“What about Bait ul-Ahlaam?” Lana asked, and Zafira paused, the name familiar. The House of Dreams. Nasir had asked the Silver Witch of it on the ship, and Zafira remembered her vexed reply. She felt like an idiot, knowing nothing of it when her little savant of a sister did.
Seif closed his eyes and released a slow, exasperated exhale.
“I’ve seen drawings of it in a book,” Lana hurried to explain. “It’s in Alderamin, isn’t it? You can find anything there.”
Aya canted her head. “The House of Dreams thrives because of its exaggeration, little one. I do not think anyone there will have a vial of si’lah blood.”
“No. Bait ul-Ahlaam is an exaggeration to those who aren’t looking for anything in particular,” Kifah said, to Lana’s relief. “My father’s made the trip from Pelusia more than once, and he always finds what he wants. Every daama time. Unfortunately.”
“I thought your father didn’t like magic,” Zafira said.
“He doesn’t,” Kifah said bluntly. “It’s a shop full of oddities, magical and non. Every tincture and herb once readily available in Demenhur. Soot from the volcanoes of Alderamin. Black ore. And it’s ancient. If any place would have a vial of si’lah blood, it’s one that’s been around as long as the Sisters.”
“It is possible,” Seif ceded, and Lana couldn’t contain her wide grin. Something in his gaze said he knew the place more intimately than through hearsay. Possibly been there himself, like the Silver Witch. “The keeper is known to … bargain.”
He spoke with the same hesitance, too. As if they had both discovered what they had needed and given far more than they had expected to.
Still, as much as Zafira loved magic, she wasn’t certain she wanted to commit the crime of dum sihr for a short burst of it. The last time she had slit her palm, she’d bound herself to an immortal book. Seif started pacing again, and she struggled to breathe. She headed for the foyer, feeling for the Jawarat in her satchel.
You fear, bint Iskandar.
“Should I not?” she mumbled. Speaking to the book aloud made her feel infinitely less insane than when she spoke to it in her head and the daama thing responded.
We are of you. We will protect you.
As if a book could protect her from anything. According to the Silver Witch, she needed to protect it, or she’d die with it.
Fear is but a warning to heed.
“A book that literally spews philosophy. Yasmine would love it,” Zafira said dryly, realizing a beat too late that the others had followed her.
“Mortals. Their lives are so short, they resort to speaking to themselves,” Seif drawled to Aya.
Zafira nearly growled. “My name is Zafira.”
“Don’t bother,” Kifah interrupted. “He sees our round ears, and we’re suddenly walking corpses. At least we know when it’s time to get in our graves.”
Useless talk will take us nowhere, bint Iskandar.
“Are we going to try the market?” Lana asked.
Breathe.
“Which of us will make the journey?” Kifah’s voice distorted.
Inhale.
“The bridge across the strait remains intact.” Aya’s words floated from far away.
Exhale.
“Give us the hearts and the Jawarat,” Seif said as Nasir watched her, only her. “We’ve put too much trust in mortals, and—”
Something inside Zafira snapped. A scream raged through her veins. Her hand twitched for an arrow.
We
