Chapter 6
6
D AWN FLAMES THE DESERT SANDS , yet the Red City still sleeps.
I arrive at the stables early to saddle the horses. Lamps flicker from their posts, producing small wells of amber light. The horses stir as I pass, dropping their heads over their stalls. Hoda, marked by a white star on her sandy forehead. Khaleed, whose coat is black as pitch. Shielded by stacked bales of hay, I am merely Sarai, a woman in the stables with the horses.
Zainab greets me with an expectant nudge against my shoulder. Of course, I have not arrived empty-handed. I present her the apple from my pocket. She consumes the fruit with an exuberant crunch.
“Hello, darling,” I coo, unlocking her stall door. “It’s been some time, no?”
Too long. Since Amir’s departure, Father’s expectations have climbed so high as to be nearly out of reach. I must attend every social event, every tedious political dinner. I must answer graciously. I must remember names, policies, ranks, titles. I must smile, always smile. Ask questions. Be happy, eager, engaged .
My throat cinches painfully, and I press my forehead against the mare’s muscular neck, struggling to breathe. Sometimes I feel as if I am little more than an ornament, something polished to catch the light, drawing the eye for a brief interlude.
Last night’s conversation returns in waves of increasing apprehension. I cannot shed the image of a babe in my belly. If Prince Balior possesses the answers we seek, that is what the future will hold for me. And if he does not? I will have wasted my final days catering to the whims of others.
It takes longer than usual to saddle Zainab. She prances in place, for she understands the weight of a saddle signifies a long, hard run. I cannot fault her for that. It is what she loves best. Generally, it is the hostlers’ responsibility to saddle the mounts, but I prefer completing the task myself. I have so little control over my own life. It feels necessary, taking matters into my own hands.
I’m slotting the metal pin into Zainab’s billet when an unexpected whisper of heat teases the ends of my hair. My skin tingles from the sensation.
Without turning around, I say, “Are you to be Father’s errand boy in addition to his guard?”
Hay crunches beneath the South Wind’s heavy tread. “I’m not here to deliver a message.”
“Then why are you here?”
When he fails to respond, I turn to face him. Tendrils of ebony hair poke from beneath his equally black headscarf. His eyes, glittering like beetles on hot desert rock, sit beneath thick, strong eyebrows. Even after all this time, he is still the most handsome man—god—I have ever laid eyes on. The Lord of the Mountain must truly hate me, to test me this way.
“I am to accompany you on your ride,” he says.
I bite back a particularly venomous response. Lovely. Absolutely lovely. “If you recall from last night’s discussion, I will be properly escorted. Prince Balior will see to my well-being.” Turning my back, I tighten the cinch before moving to saddle Essam, a handsome chestnut with coal stockings. I’m surprised Father is allowing the prince to ride him, considering his aggressive temperament. Not even I am allowed to mount King Halim’s prized stallion.
“With all due respect,” he goes on, “Prince Balior is a stranger. Until your union as husband and wife is made law—”
“You mean until he is in my bed?”
A muscle twitches in Notus’ jaw. I am petty enough to claim it as a victory, though paired with the triumph is the confusion this interaction holds, because there was a time when the only person I wished to share my bed was the immortal standing before me.
With admirable effort, I refocus my attention on Essam. “There will be time enough for Prince Balior and I to get to know one another. I understand you’re not from this realm, but these are our customs. Courtship, then engagement.” Which can only be broken if one of the parties renounces it. “A longer engagement is the norm, however, there are advantages to a shorter one such as mine—”
“You are not engaged,” he clips out.
And why should that bother him, I wonder? “Not yet ,” I say with a smile.
The gleam in the stallion’s golden eyes is my only warning before he lunges, teeth clicking shut where my hand had been moments before.
“Brute,” I growl. He sidles toward the stall wall, making it impossible for me to secure the saddle.
The South Wind presses forward. “How can you trust that the prince’s intentions are noble?” An unmistakable edge roughens his tone. It is so rare a thing I’m temporarily distracted from my task and fail to see Essam lunge until his teeth are clamped around my elbow. I swat at him. He rears. The saddle slips from his back. Heavy hooves slash toward my face.
A warm band of air wraps itself around my waist and snaps me back into a hard body. Notus exhales, breath stirring the crown of my head, and I am falling into memory: our bare legs tangled in pale sheets, eve darkening the open window of my chambers. Notus’ head tipped back, his mouth parted, his low, agonized groan shivering through me as I played between his legs with hands and tongue and lips until he spent himself in my mouth…
I swallow thickly. My nipples rise to points beneath my dress.
As though sensing my body’s response, Notus curves one large hand around my hip bone. “Sarai.” Low and impossibly deep.
Wrenching free of his grip, I stumble toward the opposite side of the stall. I have been careful to avoid sharing space with the deity who discarded my heart as if it were nothing more than a filthy rag. It hurts that I still remember. That my body still remembers.
I’m no corpse. I am incredibly aware of this immortal’s virility, the span of his chest, the hard cut of his muscled arms. Now he is here, forcing himself into my life, and I haven’t the slightest notion why. He left. Clearly, I was not enough for him to stay. So why does he pretend to care about me?
The South Wind studies me for a moment before saying, “You claimed you never wished to marry. Why now, after all this time?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Yet Notus does not retreat. Rather, he steps forward, pushing me further into the stall. The dry scent of the desert air clings to his robes.
“You conform to your father’s wishes. This isn’t what you wanted for yourself.”
He is right. I hate that he is right. “Time passes. People change. I’m not the naive girl I once was.” My teeth clench as I fight to contain all the emotion I’ve repressed over the years, the pieces I’ve buried longing to tear free. “Perhaps you did not know me as well as you thought you did.”
Brushing past him, I grab the saddle from where it had fallen and toss it onto Essam’s back.
“Perhaps,” he concedes, angling toward me. “But I still find it hard to believe that you would be so foolish as to place your trust in a man you have known for a handful of days.”
“Prince Balior is trustworthy.”
“You are certain of that?”
Something in the South Wind’s tone gives me pause. “If King Halim claims Prince Balior is trustworthy, then he is. I trust Father’s judgment.” I hesitate, then ask, “What business did he have at the labyrinth yesterday?”
Notus’ eyes narrow in suspicion. “How do you know the prince visited the labyrinth?”
“The how matters not,” I clip out. “Though I noticed you’d deserted your post when I arrived at the courtyard.” I maneuver Essam against the wall, keeping him pinned while I attempt to secure the billet. The stallion, however, possesses a much wider girth than my mare. I struggle to slot the pin through the hole.
“Let me.”
The South Wind’s warm hand covers mine. His callused palm is rough against my skin. I should retreat, yet my traitorous body continues to respond to his proximity. Gods, what is wrong with me?
I promptly withdraw, angling away so Notus will not notice my quickening breath. He finishes saddling Essam with ease. The brute does not even bite, as if calmed beneath the immortal’s firm yet gentle touch.
“Does Father know you abandoned your station?” I demand. “I suppose I should not be surprised, seeing as how disappearing is what you do best.”
Notus stiffens, and pain darkens his eyes. I’m not prepared for how swiftly his expression eviscerates me. It is not enough to blindly hurl barbs and hope they scar. I seek to wound him as he wounded me. That is fair. Justice. But in witnessing his pain, the only thing I feel is an awful, curdling guilt. The truth is this: I loved him, would have given my life for him. Then he was gone without a word, without… anything.
“I realize that what I did all those years ago hurt you,” he whispers hoarsely. “But you do not know the full story.”
My lips quiver. I struggle to speak. “Then what is the full story?”
The blacks of his eyes are an impenetrable shell. “I would rather explain when you are more in control of your emotions. And preferably not in the stables where anyone can eavesdrop.”
A small, biting smile crooks my mouth. “Sounds like excuses to me.”
The South Wind regards me calmly. He neither cowers nor folds. Always, he plants his feet. He is the rock upon which the wind breaks. Ienvy him that ability. “I was called elsewhere on your father’s orders. That is why I was not at my post the other day. If you want to tell your father, be my guest. But it’s pointless to tell the king what he already knows.”
“Tell me what?”
I turn. Flanked by four men, King Halim stands in the stable doorway, posture flattened, wilting in the insufferable heat.
Do I trust the South Wind’s word, or might there be more to his claims than he is willing to reveal? Ignoring Notus’ warning glare, I reply, “That there has been a misunderstanding, Father. Notus seems to think he is to accompany me on the ride.”
“That is correct.” The king appears unperturbed by my obvious distress. “He will be your chaperone.”
Chaperone. Am I a child or a woman grown?
“I’m not certain I understand why I need a chaperone in addition to an escort, Father. Prince Balior is already accompanying me, and I’ve visited Kir Bashab frequently, as you know. I’m familiar with the trails.”
“Do not act dense, Sarai. It is not becoming of you.” A sweet reek perfumes Father’s robe: the incense used to help rid his wasted body of illness. On the days he is well enough to leave his rooms, the physician encourages him to take walks for his health. The king often visits the stables for this very reason. “You know as well as I do that the darkwalkers grow stronger. I will take no chances.”
“And you know as well as I do, Father, that darkwalkers do not typically emerge in broad daylight,” I counter, though recent occurrences would suggest otherwise.
“Must you always argue for the sake of argument?” he snaps. “Notus will accompany you. That is final.” He begins to exit the stables.
I should be used to the sight of Father’s retreating back, but it has the unsettling power of reducing me to a child, mindless with panic at his refusal to stay.
“All my life you have brushed me aside.” Despite the rigidity of my posture, the stubborn thrust of my chin, I am ashamed to hear cracks in my voice. “Yet now you act as if I am suddenly dear to you?” Whether or not he acknowledges it, Father remembers my relationship with Notus clearly, for once it came to light, it proved just how little he truly knew his own daughter. Is this punishment, I wonder, for having gone behind his back in my younger years, for seizing my heart’s desire?
Slowly, the king turns to face me. His expression hurts to look upon. “I don’t know what’s come over you of late, but remember that everything I do is to keep you safe. Time is running out, Sarai. What else do you expect me to do?”
I glance at Notus, who is frowning in mystification, likely at the king’s vague exclamation. There is some truth to what Father said. I would not be here were it not for him. He risked everything to save my life when I was a newborn. Perhaps I am being ungrateful.
Prince Balior abruptly appears in the doorway, hair freshly combed, beard oiled and trimmed. The rising sun hangs as a red star above his shoulder.
“Prince Balior. Welcome.” Drawing him near, King Halim bestows a kiss on the prince’s cheek. “I trust you slept well?”
“Indeed.” He bows to me. “Princess Sarai.”
I smile wanly, suddenly regretting having made this commitment to spite Notus, for I am left drinking its poison. “Prince Balior.”
The prince’s gaze flicks to the South Wind before settling once more on the king. “May I ask what the pastries that I received for breakfast this morning are called? They were delicious.”
“Ah.” A rare grin creases Father’s face. “They are our prized apricot tarts. I will ask the cook to send a fresh batch to your rooms upon your return.”
With that, the king departs, and we mount our horses. Prince Balior appears comfortable enough atop the stallion, directing him with a firm hand while Notus saddles a roan gelding. The prince regards the South Wind for an uncomfortably long time. “Will your guard be accompanying us?”
I offer him a strained smile. “Unfortunately.”
Five miles west of the capital, the landscape sheds its skin. Sand dissolves to hardened earth, parched red rock that wavers beneath the blistering air as the Ramil Mountains near. At the foothills, a ring of shocking greenery interrupts the otherwise monochromatic landscape, a thick density of tough, woody trees. Ishmah sits as a smudge in the distance, a rust-colored stain against the gilded backdrop of spreading dunes.
After sipping from my waterskin, I tuck the small container into the bundle of supplies tied to Zainab’s saddle. Sweat dampens my underarms, though my light linen dress ensures I do not overheat.
“Do you require a reprieve?” I ask Prince Balior as we ride shoulder to shoulder. “There is shade up ahead.”
“Unnecessary.” He sits astride the stallion’s broad back, reins slack in one hand, sweating quite profusely. Color slashes the paler skin of his cheeks. “The sooner we reach Kir Bashab, the sooner we can return to the palace—and a cooling glass of mint tea.”
My mouth quirks. “That’s fair.” From what I recall of my studies, Um Salim is located at a much lower elevation. Its coastal position provides a cool sea breeze that Ammara lacks. “It’s not much further,” I reassure my riding companion. “The journey will be worth it, I assure you.”
“I trust it will be.” There is a pause. “What is that formation in the distance?”
I look to where he points. Splayed across the flattened mountaintop, an ancient stone structure reflects the white light of the sun. “That is Mount Syr, the holiest site in Ammara.” Visited during the annual Festival of Rain, the monument contains a large dais and a vast stone chair that may have once been a throne.
“I see.” Clearly, I have piqued Prince Balior’s interest. “Might we stop for a short visit?”
I wince. Normally, I would agree, but I doubt our chaperone would permit an unplanned detour. “We don’t have the time, unfortunately.”
The prince frowns in disappointment. Again, he peers out at the holy site before facing forward with a sigh. “So many of our beliefs can be traced back to those ancient places. Even the labyrinth is a wonder. Though your guard would not allow me to approach when I visited it the other day.”
“I apologize for that. It is a measure of security, but I’m sure we can make an exception.” I offer him a small smile. “I will speak to Father.”
Sweat continues to drip down Prince Balior’s face, which he wipes with the cloth of his sleeve. “There’s no rush. If I am to one day rule Ammara by your side, all that is yours will become mine. There is time yet to explore it.”
I stiffen in response to his word choice. All that is mine will not become his. It will be shared.
Abruptly, the prince drops his voice. “Who is he, by the way? Your chaperone?”
I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder, where Notus sits astride his gelding. “He is the South Wind.”
Surprise flickers across my companion’s expression. “He is immortal, then? Weren’t he and his brothers banished from the City of Gods?”
Of course Prince Balior would have heard of the Anemoi, the Four Winds, divine brothers who possess enormous power, a wellspring always overflowing. And the prince is correct. Ammara is not Notus’ home. It is simply the place he was banished to.
“I didn’t realize he was loyal to King Halim,” the prince continues, a slight frown creasing his brow.
I hold my tongue. If I am to present Ammara as the image of strength, I do not wish to weaken it with the truth: that loyalty likely has nothing to do with Notus’ return.
Silence settles between us for a time. I’m rocked side to side as Zainab picks her way down the dusty path, small stones skittering beneath her hooves. Eventually, I find the courage to speak. “I apologize for the scene with my father earlier.”
He offers me a quizzical smile. “What scene?”
My expression thaws somewhat, that old shame dissolving far more readily than usual. The man is too kind. “Father and I do not often see eye to eye. He believes I require additional protection beyond the capital.”
“King Halim loves you. I cannot fault a father for looking after his daughter.”
Yes, and I do not make his life easier with my poor behavior.
Navigating Essam up a small incline, Prince Balior says, “These darkwalkers. They grow stronger, do they not? It makes sense that he would fear for your safety.”
The nearer my nameday draws, the tighter Father’s hold on my life. I can hardly breathe most days. “I suppose.”
“Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
It is what I have hoped for, desperately. A willingness, an open door. The darkwalkers are a concern, yes, but I also suspect they are linked to my curse. Investigating them may uncover clues about my fate. But I must tread lightly, for I must be eager, but not too eager; distressed, yet not completely consumed by despair. “I would welcome any insight, Prince Balior. But I don’t seek to place this responsibility onto you.” I lower my eyes. Desperate times. I am not above using my feminine wiles to manipulate the situation. “Surely you would rather spend your time exploring what Ishmah has to offer? Our temples are beautiful, as are the public gardens.”
Something plucks at my dress. I whip my head around, but Notus is staring off into the distance. I narrow my gaze. I’m certain it was his winds.
“I have no objection to visiting the gardens,” says the prince. “But I packed most of my research, if you’re interested in taking a look. I might be able to shed some light on how to combat these creatures. Or at the very least, learn where they come from and what they want.”
“I am indebted by your generosity, Prince Balior. Thank you. Though I had hoped we might spend time together without a chaperone,” I confess.
He glances sidelong at me, Essam tugging at the bit. “Who is to say we cannot?”
I straighten in my saddle. A rule breaker? Perhaps we are a better match than I thought. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we might find a way to lose your chaperone, if you’re amenable.”
As a matter of fact, I am. Fighting a smile, I carefully scan the terrain. Higher we ascend, small clouds of dust kicked up by the horses’ heavy hooves. Sparse, stubby brush claws through cracks in the rock, and cliffs sketch the horizon: plunging valleys, narrow ravines. Notus will not be easily lost. He watches, and he listens, and he knows.
“See that gorge?” I jerk my chin toward the red stone piling in the distance. “It is only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time. Halfway through, the trail will split. Take the path on the right. It will lead you to Kir Bashab. I’ll draw Notus away and backtrack to you.” I know this land as I do nothing else. The sand is in my blood.
The prince’s grin is positively wicked. “This should be fun.”
Notus follows our descent toward the gorge. Its smooth, red walls reach upward impressively, shielding the sky above but for a thin blue ribbon. Notus glances between me and the prince, eyes slitted against the harsh glare. I cannot read his expression.
As instructed, Prince Balior goes first. I make a show of securing my supplies to buy myself some time. Notus angles his gelding toward me. “I don’t trust him,” he mutters.
This again. “You do not know him.” I dab the sweat from my forehead with a square of cloth.
“Neither do you.”
My fingers tighten around the scalding leather of the reins. I welcome the burn. “You speak of trust, but you don’t even know the meaning of that word. Or did you forget that I once trusted you wholeheartedly?”
Some unnamable emotion flares to life in the dark wells of his eyes. “There are things I would explain to you,” he says quietly, “if only I were certain you would listen.”
All too easily, the past is present. “You had every opportunity to inform me that you were leaving Ishmah all those years ago, yet you did not. You never even told me why .” If he had informed me, I could have prepared myself. If he had provided a reason, it might have spared some of my pain. “Was it about your father?” If I recall, Notus didn’t have the best relationship with him. It was one of the reasons I opened to him so quickly.
“That’s none of your business,” he growls.
A retort sparks along my tongue, but I snuff it out, swallow it down. He is right. It is none of my business. But it wounds me, his reluctance to share.
Wheeling my mare around, I dig in my heels and plunge into the canyon.
Bent low over Zainab’s neck, I fall into the staccato of thundering hooves, the trail cutting this way and that. The sound of Notus’ pursuit erupts against the canyon walls.
He is an excellent rider, though his larger gelding cannot slip around the corners as swiftly as my streamlined mare. The trail divides. I angle left, squeezing through the shallow curves cut into the rock. Again, the trail splits. This time I go right, backtracking until the trail empties onto an expansive plateau. I sight Prince Balior in the distance, trotting toward the stretch of forest leading to the oasis, and I race to catch up. By the time Notus emerges from the canyon, we will be far from sight, deep in the thickening shade.
A low-hanging mist kisses my skin as I enter the wood, and I slow to a walk, tilting back my head to peer through the holes in the canopy, this dappling of sun and shade. Shortly after, we reach the oasis, its stunningly clear waters hemmed in by dense walls of stone.
Laughing, I swing down from my mount. “That was brilliant.”
“Indeed.” Prince Balior dismounts with a flourish, hair windblown, attractively disheveled. “I wasn’t certain you had it in you.”
My smile falters. It was a harmless comment. But the sting I experience is very real. “I was different as a child. Less afraid.”
“Weren’t we all?”
I rub Zainab’s velvety nose before she wanders off to graze. Essam drinks deeply from the still pool.
The shock of the prince’s hand on my lower back is enough to snap me to attention. I shift out of reach, suddenly wary. In Ammara, no man is permitted to touch an unmarried woman. And the prince is far closer than is appropriate. “Is there something I can help you with, Prince Balior?” At my back, the oasis laps gently ashore. But the lack of wind is strangely eerie.
He lifts his palms, fingers splayed wide in a gesture of innocence, though confusion clouds his expression. “I merely wish to spend time with you, Sarai.”
“Then you can do so at a respectable distance.”
“Respectable?” He laughs as though I have told the most delightful jest. “Surely that hardly matters, considering our imminent union?”
His words don’t sit well with me. Of course, not everyone in Ammara abides by tradition—my past relationship with Notus is evidence enough—but I have given the prince no indication that I am eager to part with my people’s customs in this instance. “You forget yourself. We are neither engaged, nor wed.”
“Yet.” At this, he smiles, a bit too sharply. “What difference is another month? Your father intends to announce the engagement quite soon, if I’m not mistaken. It is not unheard of to touch one another during courtship, so long as it is done behind closed doors.”
“Another month makes all the difference,” I state, unwilling to yield to his warped ideology.
Prince Balior stares at me. I am suddenly aware of how tall he is. A sword hangs from his belt loop. I assume he is skilled with the weapon. “I don’t understand,” he says, taking a step forward. “I assumed you abandoned your chaperone so that we could have some privacy.”
“I did.” I ease back a step, nearer to the oasis. The large boulders bordering the water prevent escape. My only option is to turn back the way we came. “But not for that reason. Don’t you wish to converse without being a spectacle?”
He shakes his head as though amused by my willful obstinance. “Sarai.” The curl of his fingers suggests the desire to clamp with possession. “Before long, our separate realms will become one. Why wait? No one ever has to know.”
Years earlier, I cared little of the consequences when I fell into bed with the South Wind. It was Notus to whom I gave my virginity. If Prince Balior learns that I am impure, it is entirely possible he will withdraw the marriage offer.
“We have not known each other for very long,” I say, struggling to soothe the alarm that has awakened, “so let me be clear. Until we are wed, we will not engage in any physical touch. We may spend time in each other’s company. That is all. I should hope you would respect the wishes of your intended.”
The prince scoffs. “ You requested that we spend time alone together. You sent your chaperone away. You all but begged me to touch you.”
“I did not beg for anything!” I snap.
“Your eyes told me otherwise.”
As my heels brush the edge of the water, a harsh breeze fractures the glassy surface of the oasis. Prince Balior stands nearer to the horses, blocking my way. Likely he recognizes the advantage of such a position, for he makes no move to give ground.
“Step aside, Prince Balior.”
His mouth twists into an ugly shape. “By all means.” He sweeps out an arm mockingly. “I promise not to touch you without your permission.”
I do not trust his word, this man I must marry. But Zainab is my only means of escape. She shifts in agitation as the wind strengthens to a howl, the air crackling, alive with sensation. Essam startles, bolting toward the trees as my attention snaps skyward. A sudden haze coats the sky overhead, its edges melting from brightened amber to a sickly yellow pall. Then a massive boom cracks the earth, and all at once, the sun goes dark.