Every color that makes you. Rimaal, he might as well quit now and become a bard.

It was true, though. Color had held no value until her. She was everything Nasir was not. She saw her father die, stabbed in the heart by her own mother—a horror he never could have guessed because she took her pains and sorrows and funneled them into anger and rage and action.

Whereas Nasir was always tired and sad and … there.

He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and the closer he went, the more he burned—but what happened when a moth’s wings caught fire?

He trudged up the stairs, knowing they had to move soon if they wanted to track down that elusive vial of blood and find Altair. Nasir had never been to Alderamin, and he wasn’t enthused at the prospect. Nor did he think it was right to use Zafira for her affinity as if she were a tool at their disposal.

You’re one to talk.

He paused before his door and stepped, instead, closer to hers, pressing his brow against the ebony. He always knocked softly, so that if she was engrossed in something, he wouldn’t be disturbing her.

So far, she had responded to every knock.

And instead of setting him at ease and flaring satisfaction, seeing her filled him with a fear he craved and did not understand. A sort of dependency in danger of growing into an addiction.

Before he could skim the wood now, however, he heard it: the low murmur of a male voice on the other side, followed by

the heady sound of her laugh.

His mind blanked. He took a quick step back, tripping on the rug.

Safin weren’t known for their chastity. Their debauchery and revelry matched none—any one of them could have charmed her. Khara, even a sand qit on the street was more charming than him.

She laughed again, so softly that it felt a sin to hear it.

Nasir stumbled into his room. Shadows unfurled from his palms before he could stop them, and he laughed bitterly from the edge of his bed, at the control he believed he’d achieved.

He exhaled slowly, flicking his gauntlet blade free before retracting it and repeating the movement again, and again. A killer, that was what he was. A blade made for ending lives. A monster on a leash. How was this moment any different from the last time he had been in Sultan’s Keep?

Anyone who could make her laugh so freely, so beautifully, was better than he could ever be.

But oh, how he wished he could act as selfishly as he felt.