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“But he can’t take the throne,” Kifah said, furrows lining her brow. “Every kid knows that. The Gilded Throne allows only the blood of the Sisters or the ones they’ve appointed.”
Seif and Aya exchanged a look.
“Perhaps,” said Seif. “Yet we’ve no knowledge of what the Jawarat will impart to him, what loophole the Sisters knew of that he will now know of. Regardless, he would be a fool to breach the palace before he understands the Jawarat. I’ve had safin scouring the city to no avail.” He worked his jaw. “I will send for more men.”
The wariness in his tone rang like a bell. The noose was tightening around them, and it was her fault.
“I’ll go.” The words spilled from her. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin, but found herself unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’ll go to Alderamin. To Bait ul-Ahlaam. I’ll find the vial of si’lah blood, and I’ll use it to find Altair, the heart, the Jawarat, and the Lion before he moves for the palace. Before he can do anything. I’ll fix this.”
Impossible. The echoes of the Jawarat’s voice clung to her, even now.
She shook its derision away. It might have been a lengthy list, but all four would be together. Of that, she was sure.
“Okhti, no,” Lana whispered.
But what did she understand? She could walk into a riot and heal a man, but she could not understand what the long burden of responsibility was truly like. Zafira had spent years caring for her people, doing right by them, always and always.
Until today. When the Jawarat had spoken using her voice. When she had, as Seif said, given the Lion the Jawarat with a silver bow. She stared at her hands, remembering what they had done in that ghastly nightmare. Suddenly the Jawarat’s vision was no longer
so implausible.
She would leave at dawn. Laa, she would leave now.
“There’s more,” Kifah said, turning to Zafira. “I was about to come find you—look.”
She lifted the crate from the low table and opened it. The hearts gleamed darkly in the slanting light of the lanterns. No. It wasn’t the light that made them appear darker, they were darker.
“They’re dying.” Lana peered inside, voice small.
Zafira’s own heart stuttered, her breath almost painful. Magic was why she’d set off on this course, why she’d left her home, her life, her family.
It was dying before her eyes.
That was when they came in, nine in all, dressed in rich hues and styles straight from a tailor’s fantasy. Benyamin’s High Circle. Beautiful and merciless, armed and cruel. Tattoos curled around their left eyes, marking them with the values they upheld over all else. She thought she’d heard others roaming about the house when she’d first arrived, but assumed she was hearing things when no one joined their meals. Pride. Not even Seif ate with them. Zafira contained herself, masking the awe that threatened to take over her features.
Kifah’s voice was soft. “They’re going to take the hearts.”
Zafira blinked at her. The word “take” rattled in her skull.
Her first thought was of Deen and Yasmine’s parents, of how they had clutched their only son when the Demenhune army had come to take him away, months before they were drafted as apothecaries themselves.
Skies, calm down. The hearts were not her children. They were simply the insignificant pieces of cargo she had risked her daama life upon a nightmarish island to attain. Nothing more.
“Shouldn’t that be us?” she asked stupidly.
Kifah looked at her. “We can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, we’re giving them the easy task. Ride a horse, climb some steps, insert a heart into the empty rib cage of a minaret. Khalas.”
Her smirk widened when several of the safin shot her dirty glares.
Lana, who had forgotten to keep her mouth closed when the safin stepped in, finally unearthed her decency. “Will it stop the hearts from…” She trailed off, unable to finish her question.
Seif carefully wrapped three of the hearts in silk and passed them to the safin, who stood in ternary groups. “No one knows if restoring the four hearts will put a stop to their rapid deterioration, not without the fifth to set the Sisters’ magic in motion. What’s certain is that they are no longer safe here. The High Circle will restore each heart and remain on guard until we prevail.”
The Lion swept his gaze around Zafira’s room again, searching for them, molding into Nasir once more.
With a shiver, Zafira watched as the safin took the hearts and boxed them with delicate hands, held them with care. She bit her tongue against words of caution. How could she demand they be careful when she’d all but gifted the Jawarat to the Lion?
Seif kept the fourth heart for himself.
