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, noman 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. “Yourequested that we spend time alone together.Yousent your chaperone away. You all butbeggedme to touch you.”
“I did notbegfor 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.
7
AN IMMENSE FUNNEL OF WINDcarves up the darkened sky and plummets toward the earth. It hits the ground with a shattering roar, an incensed mass of air and sand and debris. An uprooted tree crashes to my right. Zainab rears before fleeing into the forest.
Only I am spared the vicious gusts that snag cloth and snap trees. Eyes slitted against the spitting sand, I watch a blurred silhouette materialize behind the swirling cyclone. The South Wind: he who commands the hot summer winds.
