“So,” he says.
I straighten in my chair. “So.”
“How do you suggest we go about this?”
That is a question I have examined thoroughly, in varying shades of light, at every manageable angle. And I still haven’t the slightest clue.
“To be honest, I’m not sure.” At the very least, this discussion requires a full stomach. I dip a carrot into hummus and pop it into my mouth with a satisfying crunch. “We’ll need to spend time together.” My eyes dart to his face, then away. “Not that I care to humiliate Prince Balior further, but if we can rub salt into the wound, it should be enough to drive him from the city.”
The South Wind pauses with the rim of his cup at his mouth. He does not appear thrilled, but at least he doesn’t argue. “Very well. How should we spend time together, aside from sharing breakfast?”
“To begin,” I say, “it would be a little easier if you stopped avoiding me. How are we to put on a convincing front if you fail to attend meals with the king?” Despite his ailing health, Father remains keen. He will know something is amiss should Notus continue to stay away.
He looks away guiltily. Through the windows, Ishmah’s shining rooftops glint beneath a yellow sun. Mount Syr shimmers in the far distance, reduced to a smudged hill of barren rock. “I’ve my duties to attend to.”
Somehow, I knew Notus would say this. “Can’t someone cover for you?”
A muscle pulses in his jaw, but he nods, saying, “I’ll ask around. I… suppose it couldn’t hurt to question if the guards have seen anythingsuspicious regarding Prince Balior or the labyrinth.” When he next catches my gaze, a little zing of energy darts through me. I hurriedly shove a cucumber between my teeth. “It could help determine our next step.”
I nod, chewing as fast as I can. Mouth half full, I manage, “It might offer additional insight about the b—” Except instead ofbeast, a fat glob of saliva slips from the corner of my mouth.
A rush of heat consumes my face. By the gods. Snatching my napkin, I wipe the saliva from my chin while Notus looks on, holding back laughter. I glare at him, and he clears his throat, saying, “What will happen when the prince has returned to Um Salim?”
Right. Because once Prince Balior is out of the picture, there will be no need for this charade. “We’ll need to break the engagement.”
The South Wind shifts in his chair. The toe of his boot nudges my ankle. I try my damndest not to examine that touch too closely. “I imagine you’ve already formulated a story for the court?” He sounds… indifferent? Frustrated? Difficult to say.
“No.” Crumpling the napkin in my fist, I reply, “But don’t you worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“Sarai.”
I startle, my surroundings coming into focus. I’m sitting across from Ibramin in the music room. At his back, the wide bay window frames the palace orchards, pink blossoms clinging to bare tree branches.
“Apologies.” I offer him a wan smile. “I was momentarily distracted. What were you saying?”
He drums his fingers against the strings of his instrument. The bright, percussive sound suggests a rare impatience. Inwardly, I wince. My lesson began nearly an hour ago, yet instead of completing my counterpoint exercises—today’s topic is melodic shaping—I’ve spent the majority of that time trying not to think of Notus, with various levels of success.
“The Ishmah Symphony is performing tonight,” he says. “I have an extra ticket. Do you wish to accompany me?”
My initial shock gives way to something far more tender and bruised. I cannot remember when I last attended a concert, one where I was not performing myself. “Father expects my attendance for tonight’s ball, unfortunately. Perhaps another time?” Before Ibramin can respond, the bell tower tolls the hour of three, signaling the end of our lesson. I’m up and heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week, sir.”
“I will not be here.”
I pause with my fingers curled around the door handle. Slowly, I turn to face Ibramin. “Oh? Will you be visiting family?”
“No, Sarai.” He sighs, glances down at his instrument. “I am leaving Ishmah.”
The first tendrils of unease begin to slink through me. “But you’re coming back, right?”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “I do not know.”
My mouth opens, then snaps shut. I swallow, force my mouth open again. “When did you decide this?”
“Last month.”
“And you did not think to tell me?”
“To be honest, I did not think you would care.”
