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“Someone is bound to make mention of the need for a Sarasin caliph. Or of the taxes.” And then he must have realized how the words sounded, how useless and incapable they made him sound. “In any case, his focus is on the feast. Once it’s over, we’ll implore him again. And we’ll petition more aid and renew our efforts.”
Seif looked unconvinced but kept quiet. It was as if without Aya to reprimand him for being uncivil, he was suddenly less so.
Or perh
aps it was the opposite. Perhaps losing her had made him lose hope, and he could summon nothing else.
* * *
Zafira didn’t ask why Kifah was following her back to her rooms, silent and stiff. She didn’t need to, because she understood. Sharr had bound them in a way not unlike her bond with the Jawarat: They were tethered more tightly than even family and lifelong friends could be. Circumstance had brought them together, and the wounds of the island still haunted them, clutching them in an iron fist.
They had been five, and now they were three. She didn’t need to hear it from Kifah or see it in Nasir’s eyes to know: They were afraid one of them could be next.
Zafira paused awkwardly for a guard to open her door while Kifah absently tapped her spear against her leg.
“Are you going to come in?” Zafira asked.
“Only for a moment.” Kifah brushed a hand across her bald head as she entered the room. “The Nine Elite are here—well, eight of them. As is my calipha. I haven’t seen her since disobeying her orders and trekking across Arawiya, but I’m going to pay my respects.”
“Oh. Do you want me to come with you?”
Kifah looked surprised by the offer. “Laa. But you should know that Ayman is here, too.”
Zafira froze. Ayman al-Ziya, the Caliph of Demenhur.
“Oi, don’t look like that. Don’t you have something to gloat about?”
No, Zafira didn’t have anything to gloat about. She had gone to Sharr, she had returned whole, and then everything had fallen apart. They’d lost one of the five hearts and the book needed to restore them. They’d lost Aya, Benyamin’s wife. Altair had betrayed them. The sultan’s medallion was broken, but the people were restless. Magic was still gone.
So is the Arz, Yasmine reminded her.
Zafira’s response to Kifah withered and died when she saw Lana, freshly bathed, listening to the conversation and wearing an expression that further coiled dread in her stomach.
“Go see the caliph, Okhti,” Lana said flatly, a tone she had clearly obtained from Yasmine. “You didn’t hear what he said after you left for Sharr. He deserves to die as much as the sultan does.”
Zafira frowned hesitantly. “Your murderous tendencies are getting to be a little too much.”
Lana shrugged. “I’m only talking. It’s something people do, right? When they care for each other?”
That tone again. Zafira winced. Kifah gave her a look that said she was all on her own, and left, closing the door behind her.
“I’ll see him later. At the feast,” Zafira said to Lana.
“When were you going to tell me?” Lana asked as she sat back down in her nook with her notes and little vials of liquids. The mat she had dragged beneath her was the same hue as her moss-green dress.
Zafira took her time removing her shawl, deciding to play the fool. “About what?”
“Ammah Aya. What happened to her?” Frustration stressed her words. “You’ve been avoiding me all morning. Where—where is she? I knew I hadn’t seen her come with the rest of you yesterday, but then I thought she was busy, or didn’t want to see me. That’s not true, is it?”
Zafira settled on her knees beside her.
“Only a dastard wouldn’t want to see you,” she said gently, weighing her words. She picked up a tiny sprig of dried thyme. “Remember when you said that we’re broken?”
Wariness pinched Lana’s gaze. She latched her fingers together in answer, knuckles tight.
“When the world dealt its blow, we snatched up all our pieces and kept moving. We knotted our fraying ropes and kept climbing. We didn’t stay broken, you and I. But Aya did. She couldn’t let go of her son, and so she saw him in you. She couldn’t forgive the truth, and so she saw it in the Lion’s drivel. Aya didn’t climb that rope. She let go.”
Zafira bit her cheek, seeing Aya’s hand in his. The look in her eyes.
