Chapter 34
Nahlah
Ipushed myself to my feet, trembling with rage as I broke into a run, heading for the room I shared with Kenzie. I was desperate to lay eyes on her, Alauddeen, or Amu Sinbad. The soldiers had carved a path of destruction deeper into the Mirage, and guilt clawed at me as I passed by the bodies of my people—my family. Despite the roiling in my stomach, I forced myself to look at their faces, to remember the innocent lives taken too early.
Our door was hanging askew as I stumbled inside, and the room was in complete shambles. My books were ruined, with ripped pages strewn across the floor amid shredded clothing, crushed jewelry, slashed fabric rolls, and broken jars of beads and glitter.I turned in a circle, taking in the wreckage, when a weak, gasping rasp caught my attention. Heart pounding, I immediately rounded the corner of the divider separating our sides of the room, my stomach dropping as I spotted her red curls.
“Kenzie!” I exclaimed, hurrying to her side. Slumped at her desk and surrounded by sewing supplies, she was clutching a bloodied dress tightly in her hands.
“Nah...lah?” she asked, her voice barely a gurgle, agony written across her face.
“I’m here, I’m here!” I said reassuringly, grasping her cold, clammy hand.
“He... he t... took them,” she coughed, blood staining her lips.
”Who?” I asked, my voice frantic. ”What did he take?”
“Sultan. My w… wings... It’s your f... fault,” she whispered. Her rose-colored eyes met mine briefly, filled with pain and accusation, before her hand went limp in my grasp.
A horrified shriek tore from my throat as her body fell forward, revealing brutal gashes stretching from her shoulder blades down the length of her back. The sight of the raw, mangled flesh, as if someone had violently torn her beautiful wings from her body, brought back memories of the mounted wings in the Sultan”s chambers. The mere thought of hers being added to his collection caused bile to surge up my throat.
“I’m so sorry, Kenzie,” I sobbed, my apologies a desperate, useless whisper against the unfolding nightmare.
I remained slumped on the floor, clutching the purple, blood-stained dress. It was my size, in my favorite color, with hidden pockets—something Kenzie always did for my clothing. She’d been making this dress for me, and she’d died because of me. Overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The realm around me was a blur of pain and regret.
As I sat there, lost in the fog of grief, the distant clash of steel seeped through the walls, Alauddeen’s familiar voice, seething with fury, pulling me back to the harsh reality. “You’ve taken everything,” he bellowed. “Just leave the rest of us be!”
I scrambled to my feet, my soles slipping on the slick floor as I staggered to the doorway, gripping the frame for support. Ala’s normally white jellaba wastorn and soaked in blood, his massive frame tense as he faced off against a soldier, two others lying dead at his feet.
With a primal growl, he lunged, his sword clashing with the guard’s in a shower of sparks. Moving in a violent dance—metal screeching against metal—they seemed evenly matched. But it wasn’t long before Amu Sinbad’s training shone through, and as Ala’s blade swiftly sliced through the man’s abdomen, he dropped instantly.
Sliding the sword free, Alaudeen pushed his hair out of his face, his eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of me. His expression quickly shifted to one of hatred as he charged toward me, seizing my arm and shoving me against the wall.
“Are you happy?” he snarled, his face inches from mine.
“Of course not!” I gaped at him, horror-stricken.
He released me abruptly. ”Leave, Nahlah.”
“No! We need to help the survivors!”
“We don’t need your help,” he spat furiously. “Almost everyone is dead. Those who aren’t will soon succumb to the soldiers and the flames. You brought Sultan Ghazi to our doorstep. Leave so the rest of us can die with honor.”
”Ala,” I pleaded, tears welling in my eyes. ”You don’t understand. I made that deal with the Sultan to protect all of you!”
Whirling, he pointed a finger accusingly at me. ”Don’t you dare—” His words cut off abruptly as a scimitar burst through his chest from behind, blood splattering across my face.
“Alauddeen!” I screamed as he staggered back, looking down in disbelief at the protruding blade. The guard behind him twisted the hilt as if to ensure his demise, and a strangled cry fell from Ala”s lips before he crumpled to his knees.
“How can I help?” I begged, sinking down beside him, tears springing to my eyes as his breathing grew ragged.
Blood bubbled from his lips as he clasped my wrist, pressing my hand against his chest. “Now the blood of your people,” he coughed violently, pushing my blood-soaked hand away weakly, “is on... your... hands.” With those final, devastating words, he fell backward, his body stilling.
Crying out in anguish, I gripped his sword tightly, each heartbeat pulsing with the weight of loss and vengeance, driving me forward with a singular purpose: to avenge my fallen family. I had to find Amu Sinbad. If anyone could stay alive while keeping the survivors safe, it was him.
I sprinted through the destroyed kitchens and past the treasury, where guards joyfully looted, paying no mind to the death and destruction around them. The scent of blood grew stronger as I approached Amu Sinbad”s quarters, my heart sinking at the thought of what awaited me inside.
Pushing the door to his study open, my hair fell into my face, obscuring my view of the devastation within. His once cherished treasures were missing from their shelves, his maps and books ripped and scattered amidst the debris of broken windows and smashed furniture, proof of a fierce struggle.
Carefully stepping around his desk, I paused, a numbness overwhelming me as I stared down at him. His body lay broken, his silver hair matted with blood, his clothes torn and stained red. A wave of nausea hit me; I wanted to flee, tolose myself in battle until I, too, fell. But this was Amu Sinbad—my father, my mentor. I couldn’t just leave him like this.
Grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair, I knelt beside him, draping it over his form. “Forgive me, Amu,” I choked out, swallowing hard against the sorrow. I didn’t want to remember him in this state, yet I forced myself to etch his final brave moments into my soul. As I reached down to close his eyes, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly. I shrieked in surprise, quickly steadying myself as he blinked slowly. “Amu Sinbad! Can you hear me?”
His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine as he nodded weakly, his voice raspier than usual. “I regret many things in life, yet my biggest one…” he trailed off, his breath labored as a troubling gurgle rose from his chest, blood flecking his lips.
“Don’t worry, Amu,” I said reassuringly, tears streaming down my face as I gently wiped his face. “There’s no need for regrets. You are an honorable man, and the universe owes you a debt.”
“My one regret,” he continued, his voice growing stronger despite his complexion growing paler, “is taking you in.”
Pain—sharp and profound—stabbed through me, and I reeled back as if struck, completely stunned. “What?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
His fingers dropped, hooking through the bracelet he’d given me. “Your parents would have been... so... disappointed in... you...” His words faded, and with one last burst of strength, he snapped the bracelet, the links clattering to the floor, the bee charm clasped in his bloodied fingers.
“No. No!” The word escaped me as a choked sob, the weight of our situation bearing down on me as I pressed my forehead against his chest, succumbing to grief. I sat there for minutes, hours, maybe even days, holding his icy hand, crying until I had no tears left.
It wasn’t until a shadow passed over us, briefly darkening the light from the broken windows, that I sat up, the eerie feeling of being watched—of being stalked—washing over me. Trembling, I turned to find Irfan, his form fully solid and menacing, his teeth bared.
”Irfan,” I whispered, raising my hands slowly. The shadow panther paced angrily back and forth, his expression that of a hunter who’d cornered his prey. My heart raced as I searched for any sign of recognition in his piercing silver eyes. Would he remember me? Or would I become a victim of his primal instincts? ”It”s me, Nahlah.”
As if processing my words, he cocked his head to the side. But as his gaze dropped to my hand resting on Amu Sinbad”s blood-covered chest, his demeanor shifted. Leaning back on his haunches, he released a vicious, high-pitched snarl before lunging.