“I see.” Vile taste or not, King Halim would not want to appear feeble in front of his guests. No king would. It is the only argument in my arsenal. “What ifIgave it to him?”
“At the very least, it’s worth the attempt.”
He discreetly passes me a small glass of green liquid. We part ways, and I visit the king at his seat. I bow as a sign of respect. “Father.”
“Sarai.” He glances over my shoulder with blatant disapproval. “Where is your betrothed?”
“Notus will be here.” He promised. Yet I wonder how deep my foolishness runs, to trust the word of a god whose promises have become lies.
The king does not appear amused. “I was referring to Prince Balior.”
I whittle my mouth into something resembling a smile. Of course he was.
“Firstly,” I say quietly, mindful of the eyes and ears turned our way, “Prince Balior was never my betrothed, considering I had already promised myself to another. Secondly, I know you disapprove of my relationship with Notus, but please believe I am only doing what is best for Ammara.”
“Best?” he hisses. “How can this be best? The South Wind is powerful, certainly, but he does not possess the information we need.”
“As I said before, I am happy to discuss it with you—in private.”
King Halim stares at me with all the indifference one would expect toward a particularly lazy hound, not his daughter. “It seems to me you have already made your decision. As far as I can tell, it would only be a waste of time.”
It is not easy masking the hurt that rises, edged and bristling with points. “Is that how you view me? A waste of time?”
“You are putting words into my mouth.”
“I’m only stating what you yourself have already established.”
Father shakes his head in frustration. We have always bumped shields, he and I. “Don’t you care for your life?” he whispers.
“Of course I do.”
“Then why this farce with the South Wind?”
It softens me momentarily, to hear the pain in his voice. If the curse weighs on me, then it certainly weighs on him. I have often wondered if he blames himself for Ammara’s precarious position, my impending death.
“I don’t expect you to understand my choices,” I say, “but I wish you would trust me enough to let me live a life that is meaningful, in whatever time I have left.”
King Halim looks elsewhere. He is confused, torn in some way. Perhaps brokenhearted. But I cannot take responsibility for emotions that do not belong to me.
Tugging aside the fabric of my dress, I offer the glass of medicine. Father blinks in surprise.
“I know things have been hard lately,” I say, “but the physician told me it’s important for you to drink this. Will you do so, for me?”
His eyebrows slash low over his eyes. “Sarai—”
“Please.”
And now I let those shields fall. I allow Father to see how I worry for him, how I lose sleep over nightmares in which I learn that he has passed without having said goodbye. King Halim is a hard man, but he is still my father, and he was willing to give up this kingdom for my life. That is something I will never be able to repay.
I’d like to believe my vulnerability placates him, since he gestures for me to come forward and downs the remedy without argument. When I whisper “Thank you,” he drops his eyes.
“I’ll come check on you shortly,” I promise. Then I cross to the other side of the room, taking my place at Tuleen’s side. The dull hum of conversation expands to a roar in my head. She glances at me in concern.
I sense the South Wind before I see him. A hot breeze invades the space, smelling of the desert at high noon. There, near the arched doors emptying into the garden—citrine robe, black trousers, ivory headscarf.
It feels like an inevitability, that his gaze should find mine from across the room. Notus strides toward me, and my heart flutters. I’m not ready for this. I need more time. There must be no indication that we are more than passing acquaintances.
Turning my back on him, I begin to engage Tuleen in inane conversation.
