Amir attempts to stab the South Wind amidst the tussle, but a gale rips through the chamber, scattering parchment like a thousand leaves. The wind’s intensity forces Amir to his knees. Tuleen claws the edge of a bookshelf to avoid being flung into a wall.
My heart throbs, and I swallow thickly. So, this is what it has come to. Notus will destroy Amir, the palace, the realm, so long as he believes they stand between him and my whereabouts. I can only watch the disaster unfold.
The soldiers regroup and charge. I gasp as Notus sidesteps a brutal swing, only to narrowly avoid another strike to his back. He releases a small cyclone of air, which hurls men into walls and topples furniture. Two guards are knocked unconscious. A vase explodes in a shower of clay fragments.
I’m leaning fully against the mirror, palms flat, the tip of my nose pressed to the warm reflective glass as though I peer through a window. Heartbeats later, Notus has successfully disarmed the guards. Amir lifts his sword, at the ready.
“Amir, stop.” Tuleen grabs her husband’s arm desperately. “Notus isn’t our enemy.”
“You’re wrong, Tuleen.” He attempts to dislodge himself from her grip, yet the woman holds fast. She is stronger than I believed. “It’s because of this immortal that my family is dead, splintered apart.”
“If you can’t see that Notus loves Sarai,” Tuleen snaps at her husband, “then you are blinded by more than pride.” She’s shaking—with fury, I suspect. “DarkwalkersandPrince Balior’s forces overwhelm Ishmah. You know we can’t fight them alone. If you’re going to make an enemy of the divine, then I question your intellect as well as your capacity to rule.”
Amir gapes at his wife even as my mouth quirks in approval. Tuleen has spirit. I admire that.
In the end, Notus lowers his weapon. “Please,” he says to my brother. “Tell me where Sarai is.”
Amir looks to his wife in frustration, then sighs and sheathes his sword. “Gone,” he says, and begins to pace.
“Gone?” The South Wind looks to Tuleen, back to Amir. “Gone where?”
My brother’s robe snaps around his cloth-clad legs. He strides toward the window, peers into the shadow-choked city, the sunflickering like a grimy orb behind the opaque cloud. “My sister’s life was fated to end on her twenty-fifth nameday.” Slowly, he turns to face the South Wind, expression etched by grief. “She’s dead.”
Notus is petrified, hollowed out from shock. Four, five, six heartbeats pass. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lifts his hands, presses his fingers to his temples. “If this is a jest—”
“It’s no jest,” Amir says. Again, he peers out the window. “I wasn’t aware that Sarai had been cursed. Our father only told me shortly after I arrived back in Ammara. And now it’s too late.”
Notus shakes his head, faster and faster. I see the heartbreak in his eyes, a devastation that is total, a storm breaking over him. I lift my hand to my mouth with a soft cry of pain. “She can’t be dead,” he says weakly. “The curse was about the drought. She told me…”
“The drought was only part of it.”
The South Wind doesn’t appear to be listening. He is deep, deep within his mind, where no harm can befall him. “We fought,” he whispers, and the agony contorting his features is a mirror of my own. “She wanted closeness, but I kept her at arm’s length. Your father’s death hit her hard. I didn’t want to push her away, but—” He falters, gazing around the room with childlike confusion. “I tried to make it right. Last night, I sent flowers to her room by way of apology. I’d hoped to talk about it today.”
Amir straightens from his slumped posture, suddenly keen. “What kind of flowers?”
Notus blinks, perplexed by the question. “Black iris.”
It is quiet but for the crack of a scream in the distance. I close my eyes. Grief made me careless. I should have recognized the flowers. I should have recognized a lot of things. But what I most regret is wounding Notus so deeply. Would things have turned out differently between us, had he known of my early demise?
My brother then sags against the wall with red-rimmed eyes. “The touch of black iris is what was fated to kill her,” he explains, voice hoarse. “How did you acquire them? Father banned them from Ammara.”
The South Wind presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. A broken sound falls from his mouth, and another. Heartbeats pass beforehe’s able to speak. “I ran into Prince Balior in the halls. I wasn’t in the right state of mind and may have mentioned the argument between Sarai and myself. He offered me the flowers, claimed they were Sarai’s favorite. I wasn’t aware of the ban. If I had known it was a danger to her, I would never have…”
His voice breaks. Tears slide down my cheeks, and I wish I could step through this mirror and comfort him properly. It is what he would do for me.
To my surprise, Tuleen comes forward, head cocked curiously. “You claim Sarai is dead, but I’m not so certain.”
I straighten to attention. Notus and Amir do as well.
Amir says, “If Sarai touched black iris, then she’s dead. That is what was foretold.”
His wife regards him calmly. “Then where, pray tell, is her body?”
“What do you mean where’s her body?” he snaps. “It’s…” But he trails off in realization. He hasn’t the slightest clue. I struggle to wrap my mind around the implication as well. My bodyshouldbe in my room. But Notus visited my room and found nothing.
Both men regard Ammara’s queen in stupefaction. It is almost comical, their wide eyes and gaping mouths. “When Amir told me of Sarai’s curse,” Tuleen explains, “I took it upon myself to complete my own research. The Library of Ishmah is, after all, one of the preeminent research institutions in the realm—”
“You?” Notus stares at her. He is scarcely taken off guard, yet this small woman has managed to do exactly that. “You were the one who visited the back rooms?”
