Nasir and Altair barreled into the hall, frazzled by the scream. Lana came running from the opposite end, something clutched in her hand, but it was Kifah who shoved past them and threw open the double doors.
Her stricken voice carried from within. “Bleeding Guljul.”
Nasir halted the guard rushing to the room, apprehension settling on his shoulders. Haytham would be on their heels as soon as he checked on his son.
“Allow no one inside. Not even the wazir,” Nasir commanded.
The guard began to protest. “By order of the true sultan.”
Ceding with a reluctant nod, the guard barred the doors as footsteps thundered down the corridors. Nasir pushed past Altair and Kifah and stopped short in the lavish bedroom.
Blood. Matting the gray furs, staining the white rug, pooling on the wide tiles. Three men lay brutally mutilated against cushions meant for leisure. Fates worse than death.
Despite it, he was relieved Zafira was not here.
“They’ve been—” Kifah stopped with a gag, turning to Altair and doubling over. “Cut in half.”
Something moved at the edge of his vision, and Nasir drew his scimitar as a figure stepped from the shadows and into the moonlight.
Feeling drained from his limbs. Zafira.
In her hands was the Jawarat, a wicked grin in the dark.
The others froze, but she looked only at him, her gaze sliding from the disbelief on his face that he couldn’t mask quickly enough to the scimitar he should never have unsheathed.
Understanding dawned in the wild ice of her eyes, and they were back where they began in the ruins of Sharr. She lifted her chin, baring her neck as if inviting his blade.
Or challenging it.
Blood trickled from her palm, and an empty silver vial lay by her feet. Dum sihr. Why? he wanted to ask her. The moment Altair had passed the Jawarat to her earlier today, Nasir had seen the brightening in her gaze, the buzz in her limbs. He knew it had used her voice to speak, but he had never expected this.
Lana was the first to move. She darted forward and shoved a cloth to Zafira’s nose before she could react. Zafira fought back for barely a moment before she fell in her sister’s arms, eyes drifting closed, lashes fanning in the moonlight. Lana struggled against her weight, and Nasir eased her to the floor, laying her on the cleanest part of the room.
Her breathing was calm, unlike the riot inside him.
“I knew something was wrong when she walked away as if she didn’t even know me,” Lana said softly. She picked up her damp cloth with a trembling hand. “It’s why I brought this.”
Nasir brushed the hair from Zafira’s face. He wanted to tear the Jawarat from her slack fingers and fling it into the fire. Instead, he turned to the others still rooted in shock. “None of this leaves the room.”
“Are you mad?” Altair let out a smothered breath. “You don’t need to tell us. She’s our friend, too.”
Nasir was surprised by the relief that belied his exhale.
“But there is no denying what she’s done,” Altair added. “Killing a caliph of Arawiya is no small matter.”
“I’ve killed a caliph.”
Altair gave him a withering look. “In your right mind, you killed—”
There was a wet slide and sickly plop as one of the guards’ entrails fell to the tiles. Nasir’s stomach rolled. Lana peered closely.
“—a caliph,” Altair continued with a grimace. “In her right mind, she would never have done this.”
“He was cut in daama half,” Kifah said, frenzied. “They all were.”
“Pin the death on someone else,” Lana suggested, oddly calm.
They turned to her.
Lana didn’t back down. “After everything she’s done—”
“We’ll fix the blame on an ifrit,” Nasir said. “One we disposed of before opening the doors. It’s violent enough that the guards will believe it.”
It was far more believable than the truth.
Lana touched the Jawarat pensively, as if listening for a tune none of the others caught. “And there’s nothing wrong with her mind. It was the Jawarat.”
“Then we take it away from her. I’ll keep it,” Altair said.
Lana held it close. “The only way to rid someone of a poison is with the poison itself. We can’t rip it away from her,” she stressed. “She’ll go mad.”
“And until she learns to control it, she will be capricious.” “Until she learns to control it, she’s dangerous,” Kifah
growled.
Lana shook her head, staring unflinchingly at what remained of the caliph. “She was always angry. If you lived beneath his rule and lived the way my sister did, you would know that the caliph had invited this upon himself a long time ago.”
There came a pounding on the doors. More guards, no doubt.
“I will never forget the day I first saw her, when I learned the selfless huntress was no ruse but who she truly is,” Kifah said with a shake of her head. “If that book is going to make her as unsalvageable as the heart the Lion stole might soon be, then I suggest we destroy it.”
“At the cost of her life,” Nasir growled.
Kifah paused as if she had forgotten that one, terrible fact, then said in a measured tone, “I would rather die at a merciful hand than live a monstrous life.”
Nasir glanced at Altair, mortified when something akin to agreement shone in his eyes. She had done something wrong, horribly wrong, but if there was anyone who understood the desire for a second chance, it was Nasir. If anyone understood what it was like to wish they could begin afresh, unjudged and untainted, it was him.
She had given that to him. She saw him as a boy when everyone else deemed him a monster. Even if the world and all it contained gave up on her, he would not.
“No one’s taking it away from her,” Nasir ruled.
Lana was watching him, relief bright. “Nothing is without salvation, right?”
