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Fairel shuddered. “How terrible. Then why do we celebrate the Awaleen with the Alcalah?” Because it is the nature of humanity to celebrate the things that want to kill them.
Her slurred voice echoed in his head. I believe you. As though Arin cared to win her confidence. She was caustic and contradictory. Every time she opened her mouth, she pulled Arin to the very limits of his patience. This Jasadi was the human equivalent of spilled ink over the meticulously drawn lines of his map. Whether he could refrain from breaking her neck until the end of the Alcalah was one question for which Arin had no answer.
The shadows shifted, and I nearly shrieked at the dark figure seated on a chair near the opposite wall. My vision adjusted to the dim light. I found myself staring into Arin’s impassive face. “Have you returned?” he asked. I leaned my head against the wall. Vaun was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered how long Arin had sat there. “I never left.” He stood, the bottom of his coat rippling around his boots. “Yes, you did.”
Locating his room was laughably easy. It was the only one besides my own with its own set of guards. Wes and Jeru did not look pleased to see me. “Ren came by to tell us he couldn’t find you,” Wes said. “I took a bath.” “Your hair is dry.” “I didn’t wash it. Let me pass. I have a matter of urgency to discuss with the Heir.” Jeru glanced at Wes with a shrug. “He told us she could enter as she pleased.” My brows lifted. He did?
I fluttered my hand in an imitation bow. “I have acquired quite the array of skills under your tutelage. After considering the benefits of Vaida’s offer, I have decided they do not outweigh its hazards. Namely, living in a second kingdom torn apart by war with Nizahl.” At this, Arin broke out into a grin. My heart, which had done an excellent job of beating for my nearly twenty-one years of life, stuttered at the sight. The wonders of tonight would never cease.
I scanned for Arin and found him tucked into an alcove, arms crossed over his chest. The only color in his black ensemble was a violet belt around his trim waist and the matching detailing on his coat. He had brushed his hair back, but a renegade silver lock fell over his temple. Broad-shouldered and polished, Arin observed the others with feigned boredom. A predator playing at docility, probably contemplating the creative ways someone could try to kill him. He was the most achingly beautiful threat I’d ever seen. Arin glanced up and froze. A myriad of emotions flashed over his features, too
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If anyone was going to kill Arin of Nizahl, it would be me.
“First stab wound?” I asked faintly. Rovial’s blessed beard, what was happening in the walls of the Citadel? “Who?” “Assassins, maybe? We could only speculate.” Sefa sighed. “A painful past is no excuse. I would never defend the Nizahl Heir to you. But I wanted you to know, because… the way he looks at you sometimes. Like you are a cliff with a fatal fall, and each day you move him closer to its edge.”
Arin studied me. My smirk faded. I had worn a thousand faces in my twenty years. Fooled friends and enemies with my false names and empty smiles. But sometimes, like now, Arin gazed at me a certain way, and I thought he saw it. My true face, hidden beneath the debris. I wondered what it looked like. I wondered why in a world ripe with monsters and magic, only he could see me so clearly. “Good night, Suraira.”
The most articulate man in the kingdoms rendered speechless by Hanim’s handiwork. “What happened to you, Sylvia?” I laughed. It was alarmingly choked. “You are not the first to use me for your own ends. I have a legacy of disappointing people, you see.” I kept my attention fixed over Arin’s shoulder as he reached past me. He pressed a black gown with buttoned sleeves and a violet neckline into my arms. “I am still waiting,” Arin said. “Waiting?” I had learned to defend myself against every version of Arin. Devised strategies to safeguard against his ever-twisting mind and sharp tongue. But no
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Arin looked at me until it started to hurt. A covered thumb slid across my cheekbone. “What appeal can reason have in the face of your tears?” I stared at him. The silky locks of silver hair falling around his ears. His death-defying scar. The shape of his mouth. A mouth I had watched speak terror in the eyes of men and spin the axis of destiny to his unyielding will. A lethal, poisonous mouth. One that curved upward under my heavy gaze.
“You little liar,” he whispered. Choked and low. “You maddening Jasadi girl, I cherish your tongue too much to see it cut out of your head.
It didn’t feel like betrayal. It felt like wandering through the woods for an endless night and finally stumbling into the dawn. It was the feeling I had at the sight of Mahair after hours of catching frogs by the moonlight. The rush of Hirun around me. Fairel’s giggle and the click of Rory’s cane. Anchors, real and solid, pinning me to earth. I smiled shakily. “I will make frequent use of it, then.” After a lifetime of running, he was my homecoming.
Cursed knowledge, Raya would say. How could I walk away after knowing how he felt in my arms? My name whispered in his wrecked voice—how could I allow anyone else to say my name after him?
