Chapter 29
Nahlah
“What is blocking you?” I asked, my voice fighting against the relentless wail of the wind.
The tempest’s fury swallowed Rami’s reply; his movements—usually so sure and controlled—wild and desperate.The grim realization that his powers were no match for this unnatural onslaught caused dread to take hold of me. Though elemental storm were rare, they were universally acknowledged for their unpredictable and lethal natures. But this one seemed almost sentient in its pursuit, as if it belonged...
The missing pieces of the Whispering Dune’s tale flooded me, slicing through my fear like a sharp blade. ”You need to let go of the reins!” I urged, placing my chilled hands on his arm.
“What?! It’ll kill us!” His fear of relinquishing control, even for a moment, was obvious in the tight grip he maintained on Huriyah’s reins.
I shook my head, a sudden conviction strengthening my voice. “I couldn’t remember it before, but in the tale, the Whispering Dunes only spoke to those who first surrendered, allowing themselves to be guided.”
His gaze bore into mine as rain dripped from his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks, his completely soaked jellaba clinging tightly to the contours of his muscular frame. “I don’t know if I can do that,” he admitted.
”Rami,” I pleaded, tightening my hold. ”If this is the only way to reach the Whispering Dunes, then we need to stop fighting it!”
He swallowed hard, his reluctance clear in the tight clench of his jaw. After a moment”s hesitation, he nodded, releasing the reins.
As the sun dipped behind the dunes, Huriyah came to a halt, turning his head and nickering softly. ”We”ll stop here for the night,” Rami announced, as if translating for the horse. While he dismounted easily, I struggled to muster the strength to move, every muscle in my body aching from fatigue.
It had been three hours since Huriyah began running at an astonishing speed. The moment Rami had released his hold, Huriyah had pressed forward with unwavering determination, never tiring or slowing for a moment, as if he was being guided by an unseen force that was carving a path just for us.
The rest of our journey was relatively smooth, except for the two times Rami tried to take the reins. Each attempt on his part only seemed to stoke the tempest”s fury. The path would swiftly close, and the storm descended upon us savagely, as if in retaliation. Only when he completely relinquished control again did we find respite from the relentless onslaught.
As Rami began pacing the perimeter, his eyes calculating as he wove the protection wards, I watched him through narrowed eyes. The dreadful day had made us increasingly irritable with one another, and though we”d barely spoken, I found myself irrationally annoyed with him.
“Must you do that before we even set up camp?” I asked, sliding off Huriyah’s back and flinching at the feeling of my cold, dirty clothes sticking to my body.
Rami’s gaze flickered to me, a hint of annoyance flashing in his eyes. “We are currently in a place that is literally not on any map. If you’d like to invite a dune viper—or worse—to join us, then certainly,” he replied, his voice dripping with contempt. “But I would rather get them in place before night falls.”
“Trust me, a dune viper’s company, or worse, is preferable to yours,” I retorted, tossing the bedrolls to the ground harder than necessary.
“Yes, because you’ve been such a delight,” he countered. “Would you start the fire? Or must I do everything?” He flicked his wrist without waiting for a reply, and the supplies appeared beside me. Ignoring his jab, I knelt down and arranged the brush and sticks, my chilled fingers struggling to grip the flint. After a few attempts, a spark finally ignited, and the flames roared to life, casting a warm light against the encroaching darkness.
“Can’t you use your powers for other things?” I asked, watching as the shimmering purple barrier materialized around us, looking thicker than it had in days past.
“It depends,” he said, lifting the saddle off of Huriyah before summoning a wooden water trough and a pile of honeyed apples.
“What about something practical?”
“What could be more practical than keeping creatures of the night and of legend from consuming us?”
“Yes, not being eaten by monsters is important,” I agreed with an eye roll. “But what about giving us a feather bed or a feast?”
“And give you more reasons to grow complacent?”
“Complacent?!” I exclaimed, eyes widening in offense. “I’m not the one relying on powers for every little thing!”
”Those powers saved you more than once.”
“They didn’t today!” I snapped, the words escaping before I could stop them. Instantly, guilt washed over me, and I quickly apologized, ”Asif.” I knew that he”d been trying his best today, pouring every ounce of his strength into the wards. He”d done everything to protect us, and I”d witnessed firsthand the helplessness he”d experienced when his powers failed.
Unfortunately, I knew my annoyance wasn’t just because of the day”s events. I was also tired of his unpredictable behavior. One moment, he ignored me or made snide remarks; the next, he treated me like a lover, or acted as my fierce protector. It was confusing and irritating, leaving my heart conflicted.
Hurt flickered across his face before he turned away, peeling his soaking wet jellaba off. As if my conflicting emotions weren’t enough, the pure desire I felt watching him further compounded my frustration. Before I said—or did—something else I would regret, I returned my gaze to the fire, preparing the last of our dried meat. As he sat down across from me, wearing a clean kaftan, I gave him his share, and he handed me a banana and three clementines.
I stared into the cracking flames as we ate, my thoughts drifting to The Whispering Dunes. I wished I could talk to Amu Sinbad or Ummi to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything else about the tale. If I was being honest, I wished I could just talk to them, period. Though the mark on my hand was still there, I couldn’t help but worry. What if the Sultan knew of a hidden loophole and was waiting for the opportune moment to break the oath? Being Amu Sinbad’s daughter had taught me that trust was an illusion, and with the right motivation, anyone would betray you.
“You know, Huriyah,” I mused, trying to distract myself. “The first thing I’m going to do when we get back is take the realm”s longest, most blissful shower.” He tossed his head as if in approval before showing me the underside of his hoof. “You want to get your hooves cleaned?” I guessed, and he whinnied in delight, prancing in a tight circle. “That sounds good,” I laughed. “I also want to get a full body massage at the hammam!”
I didn’t expect Rami to join the conversation, so when he cleared his throat, I glanced over in surprise. “If you want, I could help with that,” he said hesitantly, his face quickly reddening. “With the shower part, not the massage.” He flushed even deeper as he hurried to explain, “I would just supply the water!”
Amused by his flustered state, I raised an eyebrow. “How would that work?”
He gestured toward the sand across from us. Under his command, the grains rose and swirled, shaping into a half-circular alcove that provided a semblance of privacy. “If you’re comfortable, I can direct a stream of water over you,” he explained, his eyes not quite meeting mine.
Weighing the pros and cons, the lure of a proper wash battled with the awkwardness of his offer. Eventually, the thought of cleansing away the accumulated dust, sweat, and other things I didn’t want to dwell on tipped the scales.
“Okay,” I agreed, popping the last section of my clementine into my mouth and getting to my feet. I grabbed my shawl, an unopened bar of soap, and a red kessa glove from my satchel before stepping into the alcove, quickly shedding my wet clothes.
“Ready?” Rami’s voice, closer than expected, sent a flush of awareness through my entire body.
“Yes.” When a shock of icy water poured down on me, I recoiled, leaping back with a startled screech. ”What are you doing?!” I demanded, chills spreading across my skin.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need it warmer?” I could hear the smirk in his tone, and though he couldn’t see me, I shot him my most ferocious glare.
“Y... yes!”
“As you wish,” he replied in amusement, the water warming a moment later. Kessa in hand, I lathered the fragrant rose and saffron-scented soap over my body, relishing the feeling of its silky foam. As I scrubbed away the dead skin, the remnants of the storm, and the desert’s accumulated grime, I fe refreshed and rejuvenated. Tackling my hair was a tougher task; it took patience and half a bar of soap, but eventually, I felt as clean as circumstances would allow.
“Done!” I called out, and the flow of water tapered off, disappearing into the sand like it was draining away.
“I thought you might need these.” As Rami”s arm appeared around the corner, holding a large towel and a folded set of clothing, I shrieked, quickly covering my naked body.
“Rami!” I exclaimed, my face flaming as I eyed the black lacy undergarments. ”Where did these come from?!”
“I didn’t know what the Sultan would allow you to take, so I packed a few things.”
“And you”re just giving them to me now?” I blurted out, hiding my embarrassment behind a veil of annoyance.
“We”ve had more pressing matters than your wardrobe,” he retorted sharply before sighing. “Just take them.”
The clothes were clean, dry, and smelled of fresh sandsilk lilies, bringing me a sense of comfort and a reluctant appreciation for his thoughtfulness.
Tossing the dirty clothes aside, I settled onto my bedroll, comforted by the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being clean.
“What are you doing?” I asked curiously, tilting my head to the side. He was sitting across from me on his bedroll, a piece of charcoal in hand, a parchment unrolled on his lap.
”I’m mapping the routes we took today.”
”Oh, that”s a great idea.” As I watched him draw, a sudden realization dawned on me: the beautiful sketches I’d seen while looking for the watch were his. This meant the small room was his as well. Why would Rami be living in a cramped closet of a room inside the Sultan’s chambers? It didn’t make sense, especially considering he was captain of the guard. The more I learned, the more confused I became about their relationship.
I cleared my throat tentatively. “Shukran for the shower,” I ventured, rolling my eyes when he responded with nothing more than a curt nod. Annoyed by his wavering temperament, I reached for my bag. As Rami guessed, the Sultan had only allowed me to take a comb, soap, a kessa, undergarments, two spare kaftans, two pairs of sirwaal, and supplies for my menses.
With a deep breath, I set out to tackle the tangled mess that used to be my long, beautiful locks. It was such a gnarled disaster that after five minutes, I was ready to cut it all off. When a stubborn knot seemed to snatch the comb right out of my grasp, I winced, yelping in frustration as my attempts to free it only seemed to anger my hair further.
“That won”t work,” Rami murmured. “You’ve gone too long without caring for it.”
“I haven’t exactly had the time to maintain it properly with everything going on.” I shot back, trying to pry the knot apart with my fingers.
“You’re making it worse; it’s too much of a disaster now.” Completely unruffled, he tilted his head to the side, studying the parchment.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re an expert on the maintenance of long hair, given that short mane of yours,” I countered with a glare, tempted to throw my last clementine at his head.
”Excuse me for trying to help,” he snapped, his calm demeanor cracking.
“Pointing out that my hair is a disaster is not helping. So, unless you have something actually helpful to say, then please...” I trailed off as he set aside the parchment, wiped his hands on the fabric of his black sirwaal, and gracefully rose to his feet.
With guarded curiosity, I watched his deliberate approach, my body tensing as he settled behind me. His long legs stretched out on either side of mine, his alluring scent of spicy amber and sweet florals enveloping me. He tapped my hand, waiting until I released the comb’s handle before taking it himself.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked out as he gathered my hair in his free hand.
“Helping,” he murmured in concentration, his fingers meticulously coaxing each strand of hair free. His movements were surprisingly tender, igniting a strange, fluttering sensation within me. I sat in stunned silence for what felt like an eternity, unable to find any words. Twice tonight he’d gone out of his way to make me comfortable. What was happening?
When the comb finally slid free—the stubborn knot giving way a moment later—I sighed in relief, my scalp aching from all the tugging. But to my surprise, he didn”t stop. His movements shifted into the more purposeful motion of brushing through the length of my hair. I closed my eyes, letting the steady, soothing strokes lull me into a relaxed state. After the trials and hardships of the last few days, it felt wonderful to be cared for.
”Here,” he said, his voice breaking my contentment. I took the comb from him, feeling a tiny spark of disappointment that it was over. I opened my mouth to thank him, when his palms smoothed my hair back from my forehead, and he began dividing it into sections.
“Are you braiding my hair?” I burst out in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied, weaving my locks into what felt like a complicated pattern.
In my shock at this turn of events, I couldn’t help but ask, “Have you secretly been working as a khadim at the palace?” I couldn”t help but giggle at the image of him standing behind Princess Yasmeena every morning, styling her hair.
Surprising me further, he let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and inviting, stirring something within me I squashed down immediately. There would be no more swooning over the fae helping to ruin my life!
“No,” he said, a smile in his voice, “but I had a younger sister, and her hair was like yours.”
His use of past tense when speaking of his sister instantly sobered me. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered. No matter how much I longed to distance myself from him, nobody deserved the pain of losing a loved one.
His hands stilled. “Thank you,” he murmured a beat later, his fingers deft and assured as he continued to plait my hair. Once finished, his strong, muscled arm wrapped around me, palm up. “Can I have the band?”
I handed over the black band, and as soon as he finished securing the braid, he let his hands drop.Now that he was no longer focused on untangling my hair, the intimacy of the moment truly settled in. While traveling, we were physically closer. Yet this simple act of him brushing my hair stirred a deeper emotional connection, leaving me unexpectedly overwhelmed by my feelings.
Eventually, he broke the silence, clearing his throat. “We should rest if we want to set out at dawn. Hopefully, the map will be updated by then.” Rising, he conjured a canteen of water for me before checking Huriyah’s water supply. After slipping off his shoes, he settled onto his bedroll, one arm draped over his eyes.
I pulled the braid over my shoulder to inspect his handiwork, surprised to find a delicate lattice design with tiny silver flowers woven through the strands. I watched him, my mind racing with questions I had no answers to and emotions I was struggling to identify. Night after night, my growing doubts had tormented me—escalating with each passing day.
The uncertainty surrounding his loyalties and his relationship with the Sultan, along with the authenticity of our bond and whether he’d been aware of my identity as the Heartseeker from the start, had all grown into a clamor I couldn’t ignore. Tonight, the need for clarity pressed heavily on me; it was time for answers.
“Why did you do it?” I whispered. A slight movement from him sent a surge of anticipation through me. Part of me yearned for his response, eager for answers, while another hoped for his continued silence, fearing what his words might reveal.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“We all have a choice,” I immediately countered.
“Not all of us,” he replied just as quickly, a sharp retort that left me frowning.
“Meaning?”
The ensuing silence was thick, the night’s sounds—the crackling fire, chirping insects, Huriyah’s soft snores—the only evidence of life beyond our tense exchange. The pause lingered, stretching until I was sure he’d chosen quiet over further discussion.
“Survival doesn’t always allow for choices,” he answered at last. ”Sometimes, the only thing that matters is making it through another day alive,” he murmured, his words laden with an unspoken burden.
His admission stirred something within me—an understanding, a flicker of empathy. I knew the weight of survival all too well, the way it stripped away the hope for anything beyond the next breath, beyond the constant need to endure. If my most recent suspicions were correct and Rami was bound by the whims of the Sultan—whether through a bargain gone awry or a misunderstood boon—then he was as much a victim as I was. Perhaps even more so, painted as the villain in a story that offered him no happy ending.
Though the pain of his betrayal remained, the revelation that his actions were not by choice chipped away at the edges of my anger. This shared plight, this parallel path of being trapped by forces greater than us, forged a thread of understanding. Was it possible that there was a genuine connection between us that went beyond lust and anger?
“Was all of it a lie?” The question tumbled out before I could stop it, and I immediately braced myself for the rejection that would seal the wounds of humiliation.
But his response came instantly, a clear, unhesitating affirmation. “Not a single moment was.”
Following his declaration, a heavy weight engulfed us. Though I didn’t know if I could ever trust him again, my resentment softened as I took comfort in knowing our connection went beyond the Sultan’s manipulations.