Nasir didn’t hear what her sister said, but when Zafira dropped to her knees, her sheathed jambiya striking the floor, it was telling enough. Go to her, you fool. His feet grew roots, tethering him to the ground, and the crate in his arms readied to shatter, so tight was his grip. Aya’s inhale shook. If there was any more melancholy within these walls, they would collapse.
Kifah broke the silence, shuffling forward and making him feel infinitely worse. “Zafira—”
“How?” she whispered, tugging the shawl from her neck as if it were a noose.
Her sister’s eyes widened in fear and anguish.
“Lana,” Zafira ground out, lifting her head, and Nasir was surprised by her anger. “How?”
“Okhti,” she whispered, gaze darting from Nasir to Kifah to Aya. “Not here—”
“Tell me.”
It wasn’t anger, Nasir realized. It was an attempt to hold herself together, to stop from falling apart. She held her shoulders tight, though he saw the ripple across them, the tremble that worsened as the heartbeats ticked on. He thought of closing the distance between them, reaching for her and rubbing the tension from her shoulders. That was what people did, wasn’t it?
Nasir gripped the crate tighter. He wouldn’t know—he was typically the one doling the killing strike, disappearing from the repercussions. Altair would know what to say and what to do, how to make her feel like living again.
“Do you remember when the Arz came back?” Lana asked. She shared Zafira’s delicate features, but where Zafira’s were sharpened by her colder coloring, the younger girl’s were warm, down to the bronze glint in her hair. “Right after you and Deen left.”
Nasir clenched his jaw at the mention of Deen. Zafira’s shoulders fell even lower.
“Soldiers started pouring into the streets, in black-and- silver uniforms, and … and masks. It … People stopped what they were doing. They couldn’t breathe, they collapsed in the middle of the street and choked until their lungs stopped working. I heard it. Saw it.” Her gaze flicked to Aya’s and back.
Nasir’s own lungs ceased to work as he pieced together the girl’s words.
“How is that possible?” Kifah breathed.
“It was a vapor,” Lana murmured, an edge to her voice. “It destroyed my entire village. I watched people die.”
Nasir had never detested anything as much as he detested himself in that moment. For though he had never had a hand in the vapor, in the fumes that had been harvested in Sarasin, his cowardice was to blame. His inability to stand against his father.
Kifah crouched beside Zafira. Aya strode to her, brushing a hand over Zafira’s hair. Lana held her hands.
Nasir remained where he was, the crate in his hands, the truth on his shoulders.
Because he had done it. He had killed Zafira’s mother.
