Amir looks as though he would enjoy nothing more than to set Notus on fire. “Since when does Father welcome traitors back into our realm?”
My sentiment exactly. Although without Notus, I would likely be dead, torn apart by the darkwalker in the library. He is here to protect Ammara. That, too, is important.
“You understand the pressure Father is under. The drought persists. Trade is in decline. Darkwalkers continue to multiply for reasons unknown. Notus’ power is a boon to Ammara during this time.”
“What does it matter that the South Wind has power if he flees at the first sign of trouble? There are others able to protect us. Others that are more trustworthy.”
He is right and he is wrong. There are others, but none possess the South Wind’s might.
“If Notus doesn’t stop staring at you,” Amir growls, “I will pluck out his eyes and feed them to the crows.”
“Please don’t,” I say. “You’ve been drinking.” As have I.
Tossing back the rest of his wine, he places the empty glass onto a table. A lethal gleam coats his eyes like a fine polish.
“Amir,” I warn.
As my brother takes off across the room, I lunge for his arm. “Wait.”
He shakes me loose. I spin like a leaf in the wind.
“Amir!” I speed after him, nearly colliding with a group of governors in my haste to reach him. Notus’ female companion, I’m pleased to note, has fled. Good riddance.
The South Wind greets my brother with a low bow. “Amir.”
The king-to-be’s expression hardens. “That’s Prince Amir to you.”
“My apologies, Prince Amir.”
My brother bares his teeth. Tuleen tries to get his attention, but she may as well attempt to corral a wall of stone. Amir’s will is unbending. We are alike in that way.
“You have a lot of nerve, returning to Ishmah,” he spits. “Father may have his own ideas about what this realm needs, but the moment I take up the crown, I will banish you to the Wastes.”
At this point, the majority of the guests have gathered to witness the affair, forming a half-circle around us. Notus does not fall prey to Amir’s antagonism. Instead, his glittering black eyes slide to mine, and they hold a question.What does he know?I fear to answer.
Stepping between the two men, I push a hand against my brother’s chest. “Amir, stop. As I said, Father requested Notus’ return. You cannot fault him for answering the king’s summons.”
“I can, and I will.”
Five fingers gently wrap my upper arm. Notus’ hand is so broad he’s able to encircle the limb easily. “Will you explain,” he murmurs against my ear, eliciting a shiver from me, “or should I?”
“Take your hands off my sister,” Amir snarls.
When Notus refuses to remove his hand, my brother lunges, but doesn’t expect the South Wind to sidestep so quickly. A night sipping on wine has dulled his reflexes. He slams face-first into a nearby table. It tips, sending a group of spectators into a messy sprawl. Plates and cutlery topple onto the floor. Glass shatters.
King Halim watches the spectacle with mounting horror. Meanwhile, Prince Balior observes with arms crossed, mouth a pitying slash. The princess, the king-to-be, and the South Wind in a tangle? Such gossip will live on for years.
“We’re leaving.” My voice cuts low as I turn toward my sister-in-law. “Tuleen, please ensure Amir reaches his rooms safely.” I gesture to a nearby guard for aid.
As Amir struggles to his feet, face curdled red beneath his beard, he draws his blade. And I am already in motion, stepping between the sword and Notus’ heart.
14
THESOUTHWIND’SARM BANDSacross my chest, yanking me against his body as a wall of wind encases me so completely that when I reach out, it feels as if my palm presses against hard stone. A tremor runs through Notus’ frame. His breathing possesses a ragged edge.
Only now do I realize what I have done: inserted myself between a weapon and its intended target. It shouldn’t matter. Notus cannot die by a mortal-made weapon. Yet I moved without thought.
“Release my sister,” Amir hisses. The tip of his sword scrapes the surface of the air-hardened wall.
