Despite the madness overtaking the city, a wave of security enfolds me, and I absorb these words into my skin until I almost believe him. “I need to do this, Notus.” Reaching up, I cup his cheek in one hand, thumb pressed against the bristle of his facial hair. “Will you help me?”
The intensity with which his gaze pierces mine is too much, yet I do not pull away. His is a strength I yearn for. “I won’t be long,” I promise him.
Notus utters a low oath under his breath, but he follows me without further argument. The chipped facade of Haneen’s door comes into view. I rush inside to find it empty. “She’s not here.”
“Unsurprising.” He paces the small area in evident vexation. “She likely fled deeper into the city. And we have wasted valuable time. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” I pick up a long strip of fabric near her stool: Haneen’s headscarf. I recognize the pattern.
Frowning, I peer down at the dirt floor, solidified by the press of a thousand feet over decades. Our footprints are marked fresh. But I see no footprintsleavingthe space.
And then I spot a curtain hanging from the back wall. It has been pushed aside to uncover a hidden passage.
The South Wind grips my arm. “I’ll go first,” he says.
Gloom shrouds the passage, which smells of minerals. Cracks run through the clay-hardened walls. Perhaps a quarter mile on, the tunnel empties into a small chamber, where the bard sits, a shawl warming her shoulders as she works her loom. She crisscrosses the threads and packs the weft with a large gazelle horn, utterly unconcerned by our presence. “Hello, Princess Sarai.”
Notus plants himself in front of me. Sweet—but unnecessary. Once I’ve regained use of my tongue, I ask, “How do you know who I am?”
“Shall I count the ways?” With her threads secure, she begins the next row of color. “Your tread. Your scent. Your accent and choice of words. All these things reveal to me your status.”
Her attention then shifts to the South Wind. Her wide, milky eyes rest somewhere to the side his face. “And there is a man who travels with you who smells of the desert. He has visited me before, but only once, and at a distance. Is he your guardian?”
The South Wind stands near enough that the heat of his body prickles my flesh, even beneath my sweat-dampened dress. I swallow. “Notus is my betrothed.”
Haneen smiles. “See?” she replies. “There are plenty of things I still don’t know.”
“I was worried for your safety,” I explain to her.
Her smile stretches wider. I have never seen a more serene expression at so violent a time. Indeed, she appears quite comfortable, nestled in her multicolored blankets and pillows. “What of your own safety, child?”
“I am well looked after.”
“I can sense that.” She angles her head toward Notus, who regards her with narrowed eyes. If I’m not mistaken, he is uncomfortable beneath the blind woman’s scrutiny.
“Come with us,” I urge. “You’re not safe here.”
“Because I’m blind?” At my lack of response, she chuckles. “I would argue that I see more clearly than those with eyes unclouded. Do not worry, my dear. I have survived nearly nine decades’ worth of trouble.” And she weaves another line of thread onto her loom with a complete lack of concern for the screams erupting beyond the passage walls. “The darkwalkers do not frighten me.”
Daring, or foolish? I do not care to know. “Regardless, I don’t wish to see you succumb to a brutal end.”
Haneen lifts her gaze, copper hands resting atop the strung threads colored sapphire and ginger and blush. “There are worse fates,” she says.
The South Wind steps forward. “You may come with us, if you wish, but if not, we must take our leave. There are others who may still be saved.”
“You are correct, dear boy.” At this, I fight a burgeoning smile, for I wouldn’t consider a god who is millennia old aboy. “Go. Do not worry about me. I am as safe as can be.”
Notus takes my hand. “We must go,” he whispers to me.
Yes. But— “I’ll be back,” I inform the storyteller.
“I know,” says Haneen.
Outside, the souk is even more crammed with people than it was minutes ago. Some roads must be blocked, forcing people to use the narrower footpaths. As a result, the majority of the stalls have been crushed underfoot.
“This way,” Notus says.
“No.” I stay his hand. He appears moments away from tossing me over his shoulder and taking to the skies, propriety be damned. “The city gates have malfunctioned. They must be shut.”
