“Does your father know you’re here?” he asks in a low, welling pitch, more vibration than sound.
“You are well acquainted with King Halim.” Despite my quickening pulse, I continue to peruse the merchant’s offerings. “I imagine you can answer that question yourself.”
Notus enters my periphery then. This large, broad, sturdy man who, despite our similar height, overwhelms the surrounding space. It enrages me, that he should still have this effect on me. I shove the feeling down as deep as it can go, grinding the sentiment beneath my heel until it is dust.
“The guards put your life at risk in allowing you to enter the city without an escort,” he says in disapproval. “That is no laughing matter.”
I tuck my tongue against my cheek. Clearly, gold is not enough to guarantee their silence. “I am Princess Sarai Al-Khatib,” I state, plucking the mirror from the table and lifting it to the sun. “I may do whatever I like.”
“Your position grants you certain privileges. Of that, there is no doubt. But you must consider the dangers, Sarai—”
My head whips toward him. “Do not speak to me so informally, sir.”
I do not believe the South Wind is breathing. Then again, neither am I.
Deliberately, I place the mirror back onto the table with the utmost care. I will my spine into hardened brick, my mind into stone. Yet my heart is wounded. I feel its cry beneath my ribs, for to look at this immortal is to remember all that I have lost. I once believed I was enough for the South Wind. Certainly, he was enough for me. All I wish now is to ask him why.Whywas I not enough? Was I too hotheaded, too ambitious, too proud?
Eventually, Notus dips his chin in compliance. “Forgive me, Princess Sarai.”
My throat thickens with an unexpected rush of sorrow. For there was once a time when I was Princess Sarai to all but him.
“You’ve been following me,” I manage to choke out. “Why?”
A woman hauling a massive barrel of grain cuts between us in an attempt to squeeze through the hectic market. The South Wind steps to the side until she has passed. “Your father asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re here?”
Notus does not reply, and my heart sinks. It is all the answer I need.
Pushing past him, I delve deeper into the chaos of the souk. The storyteller’s hour nears. On the heels of misery, always, is anger. Who is he to speak of danger? He cannot understand how high the palace walls rise.
Frustratingly, Notus follows, carving a path with ease through the throng. We pass a cluster of women dyeing fabric in large wooden tubs.
“Are you capable of developing your own opinion,” I challenge, “or must you always do the king’s bidding?”
“Your safety is the king’s priority.”
I scoff, sidestepping a malnourished dog as I turn down a calmer path between two buildings. “How ironic.”
“What, exactly, is ironic about this situation?”
“If Father wished to keep me safe, he would have stationed you as far away from me as possible.”
Despite the obvious insult, Notus’ tone remains even-keeled. “You are not making his life any easier by placing yourself in harm’s way. Do you think a cloak will stop someone from recognizing you? Hurting you?”
Harm’s way? What utter horse shit. “The Old Quarter is one of the safest areas of the capital,” I retort. “Even if I were recognized, no one would dare lay a hand on me. It is in everyone’s best interest to uphold security.” Ishmah is, after all, the heart of Ammara’s trade. Due to our depleted resources, the majority of its citizens depend on goods acquired from far-reaching villages, and increased crime would only lead to a decline in business. They would not risk losing their livelihood to hurt me.
“You are not as safe as you are made to believe.” He slots into place behind me, his wide frame a blockade against the rising tide of passersby. This, too, I remember: how his body would shift in a reflection of mine. “There have been reports,” he continues. “Two women were reported missing by their families just this week. Last month, a young man was found mutilated in an alley, evidence of a darkwalker attack.”
My blood sparks with dark energy, a dull pulsation of climbing rage.
“Even today—”
I spin around. Only quick reflexes prevent Notus from slamming into me.
“Stop it,” I hiss. “You’re trying to frighten me. It will not work. This ismyhome,myrealm. You are a visitor at best, an outsider at worst.”
Notus gazes at me steadily, brown eyes watchful above his face scarf. Emotion flickers there and is gone. Sorrow, if I am not mistaken.
