“Your sister,” Notus says gruffly, “or my wife-to-be?”
It is so silent I hear the click of my swallow. Then: whispers. They stir the air into a frenzy, until no area of the ballroom is left undisturbed by the rush and roar of this oncoming wave.Did I hear that correctly? Princess Sarai and the South Wind? Engaged? What of Prince Balior? It cannot be true.
Amir belts out a laugh. It is a loud, garish racket, made sloppy by the amount of wine he has consumed this evening. Tuleen shrinks in mortification.
“First,” Amir sneers, gaze locked on the South Wind over my shoulder, “you deny a direct order from the heir to the throne. Now, you spout a claim that is so implausible it is borderline comical. Release my sister, before you embarrass yourself further.”
“I will release her,” Notus states with equal scorn, “when you lower your sword.”
A few gasps ring throughout the ballroom.
The South Wind and I stand on one side of the barrier; Amir and Tuleen stand on the other, the attendees crowding at their backs. They are moths, drawn by the bright of candleflame. As such, no one notices the palace physician escorting King Halim from the ballroom. No one but me.
“Remember who it is you address,” Amir snarls. “Release my sister, or I will have your head.”
“You will not,” I snap.
Amir’s eyes flick to me in confusion. In this moment, he looks so much like Fahim that it hurts my heart. “Then we will duel, and whoever is left standing will be granted the honor of taking the other’s life.”
Notus unsheathes his scimitar. The curved weapon glints brilliantly, its edge nicked by many a battle. I have observed Notus whet and polish his blade time and again, with painstaking care. No one can best the South Wind in a duel. He is graced with powers far beyond those of any mortal. Should they lock blades, I am certain it will end with my brother drenched in a pool of his own blood.
“Put that away,” I growl to Amir.
“He dishonors you in spewing these falsehoods.” His sword does not waver. “I will not have it.”
I glance around the room. So many eyes, so eager for blood. But one person in particular is absent: Prince Balior. “Notus does not lie,” I admit quietly, hoping to diffuse the situation. “We are engaged.”
Shock ripples through the crowd. Amir is like the sculptures lining the Temple District, those holiest of deities forever entombed in arid rock. “You think me a fool?” His lips have thinned to the point of being nonexistent. “I will not have it—”
“It is no deception,” I snap as the tether to my patience begins to fray. My brother, the most stubborn of King Halim’s children.
“Father gave you his blessing?”
“Not in those exact words, but he has always admired and respected Notus. It is a good match.”
The information leaches through the gathering, first as ripples, then massive swells as guests begin to question the legitimacy of the announcement.King Halim? His blessing?Let them talk. None would dare question the king.
Eventually, my brother lowers his sword a fraction. “I don’t understand.” Much of his earlier scorn has depleted, too overwhelmed by confusion to endure. “You know the ways in which this god has wronged you.”
I know. Roshar was not the only one who helped me gather the shattered pieces of myself after Notus vanished without a trace. Amir did as well. But I fear a greater threat to Ammara than a broken heart. The South Wind might be all that stands between this kingdom and utter ruination.
“Amir,” I say pleadingly. “Put your sword away. Please.”
I may as well have demanded he strip naked, so insulted does he appear. “Only if the South Wind sheathes his own weapon.”
Notus’ left arm is still banded around my waist. His right arm is held out, sword aloft. I touch the underside of his wrist in silent inquiry.
At once, the South Wind sheathes his sword. Amir follows, and only then does the wall of air dissipate. The room swells with a collective exhalation, numerous attendees fanning themselves, having found the display to be both exhilarating and alarming. It will, to be certain, be the most entertaining social event of the season.
Amir catches Notus’ eye. “We’re not finished, you and I.”
The South Wind says nothing, only watches my brother storm from the room, Tuleen at his heels.
As the crowd begins to disperse, I jostle my way toward the refreshment table, snatching a cup of water and downing its contents in one swallow. Its bracing coolness washes the dryness from my throat. The display has shaken me more than I care to admit. What is a woman to do with her back against the wall?
I expect Notus to have followed me, but I spot him halfway across the ballroom, striding with purpose toward the corridor. The sight of his retreating form seizes my heart.
I’m moving before I’m aware of it, my cup abandoned, shoving aside guests left and right. I catch his arm before he reaches the hall. “Where are you going?”To meet your mystery woman?He was certainly moving with enough haste.
