AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We need to decide if we’re going to Alderamin,” Kifah groused.
Nasir didn’t understand why. “Detouring so far for something that may not exist is a risk when we could easily gather forces and prepare for the Lion’s arrival here.”
She cast him a look. “You never struck me as the type to wait around.”
He wasn’t. He preferred having a mission to complete, a task to keep him focused. But without the Lion wearing his father’s skin and threatening him with innocent lives, he had no reason to seek out magic. Particularly when it was a plan as volatile as the alternative.
“Regardless of our decision,” Aya said, gripping a staff, “we will not leave without Zafira, laa? Come.”
Nasir stood his ground at the entrance of the wide room, the crate gripped against his side, the array of weaponry along the walls glinting in the light of the sconces. He looked Seif in the eye, daring him to comment on the wisps of black curling from his hands. He almost laughed at the irony: Magic lived in his bones, the very thing that had ruined his life. His blood was too mortal to use for dum sihr, and yet his si’lah descent denoted he would forever have magic, regardless of the minarets.
“If Zafira returns and none of us are there to receive her, she’ll think we’ve left,” he said.
“Breathe, Prince,” Kifah said. “If she could hunt in the Arz and return to her own bed every night, she can handle the sultan’s city.”
“She sometimes needs time to think alone,” Lana said calmly.
“She referred to herself as two people,” Nasir said flatly, pressing his lips closed when a tendril of black slipped free. “Did none of you hear?”
“It was not she who spoke,” Aya said, “but the Jawarat. It is a hilya, an artifact created of and imbued with immense power. Few hilya exist, as the Sisters forbade their creation after a tyrant beyond Arawiya’s shores harvested one for its magic and reduced an entire civilization to ashes.”
“That was back when safin thought it was smart to tr
ade hilya out of Arawiya,” Kifah said with feigned sweetness. “Yet, knowing what hilya are capable of, the Sisters created one themselves.”
“They had no choice,” Seif said harshly.
Kifah sat back, pointedly looking down the length of his unbuttoned robes as she tossed a sugar-coated almond into her mouth and passed the pouch to Lana. “There’s always a choice.”
“Oh, there’s more than just Arawiya?” Lana asked, eyes bright.
“Always has been. Arawiya is a tiny piece of the world. Magic wasn’t the only thing that disappeared ninety years ago. Our world shrank when the Arz popped up, because it covered the outer regions of the kingdom, caging us in. There’s a khara-ton of land out there, and people. An isle where greenery isn’t limited to oases, where leaves are bigger than grown men, and where beasts have tubes for noses. Another kingdom farther north where the people are paler than even the Demenhune and their snow, and just as relentless.”
Nasir was content with the size of his world, shukrun. “Is what Zafira said true?” he asked tersely, steering them back to the matter at hand.
“In a way,” Aya said, dipping her head. “The Jawarat is immortal. The Huntress is mortal. Hilya are made of power and memories, sentient beings in their own right. To willingly bind themselves to a mortal, or even an immortal for that matter, is rare. The darkest of them wish for bodily vessels; others merely seek companionship. It is odd that the Jawarat would choose her, but what she—they—said holds truth. Mortal bodies were not created to sustain souls for an eternity, however. Thus, the Jawarat’s immortality will grant her a life span longer than most mortals will ever see.”
“Khara,” Lana breathed.
“Oi!” Kifah snapped.
“Language,” Nasir warned, and Lana looked at him like his hair had turned gray.
“It is twofold,” Aya said, studiously ignoring them. “Safin understand immortality. Our hearts slow at maturity, our bodies remain unaffected by mortal ailments, but immortality is not the immunity of death, and the risk of her mortality itself has increased. Living forever does not equate to having an indestructible life, and it is far easier to destroy a book than a human. Destroy the book, and she will die.”
“The Jawarat is an invaluable artifact. No one in their right mind would destroy it,” Seif said callously, and Nasir loosed a steadying breath to refrain from decapitating him. “Every heartbeat I spend here is an insult to my perpetuity. The Lion will not idle in the enactment of his wrath.”
“It’s not wrath,” Kifah said with a shake of her head. “Wrath and rage burn quick as fire. Vengeance is the only fuel you can keep going for more than a century. The longer it takes, the sweeter the revenge.”
“He had his chance,” Seif said. If either he or Aya noticed the zeal with which Kifah spoke the words, neither commented. “A thousand times over.”
Kifah shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to wait until he learned it all. Who knows? There’s a fine line between the thirst for revenge and the hunger for power, and men have a hard time understanding boundaries.”
“I don—” Nasir started to protest.
“You’re a friend. You don’t count,” she threw at him.
Seif launched into another tirade, but Nasir barely heard any of it as those three words—You’re a friend—looped drunkenly in his mind.
