She glances over her shoulder to watch him pluck at a stack of fabric, charcoal caught between his teeth. He rounds the table, muttering to himself, head ducked as he completes a brief sketch in his notebook. “He seems very passionate about his work.”
“He’s a passionate person in general, but especially when it comes to fashion. By the way, do you have a Zarqan?”
Tuleen faces me, clearly puzzled. “I do.”
“Don’t tell him. He’s obsessed with them and may take it when you’re not looking.” I smirk to show that I’m mostly joking, and Tuleen laughs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Roshar calls Tuleen over to take her measurements. Alone, I stare out the window, my thoughts beginning to stew. I haven’t spoken to Father since my emotional outburst. I’ve considered apologizing. But it hurts to scream into a void. Hurts more to know my voice might never be heard.
Minutes later, Tuleen resettles into her chair. “How are things with your engagement?” she asks quietly.
Oh, gods. My engagement—fake engagement—is not a topic of conversation I care to discuss. But I’ve treated Tuleen quite poorly since her return to Ishmah, and she’s never been deserving of the poison I myself have swallowed.
“Honestly?” I slouch lower in the cushioned chair. “Not great.”
Tuleen seems surprised by my candid response, though she does her best to mask it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
My mood darkens. The last couple of weeks have been absolutely excruciating. The torment of sleeping in the adjacent chambers to Notus, hearing every shift of his mattress through the wall… I haven’t slept well since he moved in.
“It’s normal, isn’t it?” I lift a hand in a gesture of indifference. “Relationships take effort. We all have our rough patches, right?”
Ammara’s queen-to-be does not seem to agree with the sentiment. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping,” she says, “but… I sense there’s a history between you and the South Wind.” She searches my face. Kind eyes, yet keen. “Or am I wrong?”
I’m surprised Amir hasn’t spoken to his wife about it. Then again, the South Wind isn’t a topic of conversation my brother cares to discuss.
“We were lovers years ago. We… didn’t part on good terms.” Indeed, I wasn’t aware we had parted at all until I found him gone. “I never expected him to return.” My jaw clenches. I force it to relax.
Tuleen’s face softens with a compassion I have not often encountered. It warms me even as I fight the urge to duck and hide. “You’re angry with him.”
At Notus, Father, my circumstances. The South Wind doesn’t deserve my anger. I know this. I’m trying to be better, to let go. It would be so much easier if a part of me—a larger part than I’m willing to admit—didn’t crave his affection.
“I don’t want to go too much into it,” I say, “but he broke my trust, and yes, we’re engaged now, but I learned my lesson once before. How can I trust that he won’t break my heart a second time?” And how pathetic I must look to Tuleen. I didn’t intend to bare my soul, but it poured out all the same.
My sister-in-law leans back, legs crossed, head tilted ponderously. “From where I stand, it looks like Notus is trying hard to rebuild the trust between you both.” When I peer at Tuleen in question, she elaborates, “When he looks at you, I see that he cares for you, deeply. But it seems to me you’re keeping him at arm’s length. He’s your betrothed.At some point, you will either learn to trust him, or you won’t. And if you won’t, it will in all likelihood destroy your marriage.”
Little does she know we won’t ever reach the wedding. “This goes much deeper than the surface, Tuleen. You claim he’s trying to rebuild trust? I don’t see it.”
“Why should he look upon a shut door and believe himself welcome?”
“You don’t understand,” I choke, fighting the sting in my chest. “Of course I would not let him in. Heleft.” And I had no one. My mother, dead. Fahim, dead. Amir, lost in the throes of grief. Father, too, distanced himself, as he had always done. “It’s obvious he didn’t want me.”
“You asked him this?” She regards me calmly.
I did not, for I was afraid of what he might say. I suppose a small part of me always clung to the idea that he left for something I had no control over, something that had nothing to do with me.
“He gave me his answer a long time ago,” I tell her.
She raises a sleekly groomed eyebrow. “Have you considered that he might be hurting too? Maybe he’s equally afraid of rejection.”
Maybe. But I have been blinded before. I dare not close my eyes for fear of it happening again.
For a time, she gazes out the window, and her attention eventually finds the labyrinth. She frowns at the structure, yet goes on, “I know how scary it is to place yourself in a vulnerable position, Sarai. Believe it or not, I experienced something very similar with Amir at the start of our developing relationship. It took him a long time to open up to me. I didn’t think he ever would. I guess what I’m saying is… I don’t want you to lose a world-ending love out of fear.”
My lips quaver. I press them together until they vanish into nothing. “Notus was welcome,” I growl, low and coarse. “He was always welcome. I wanted to be his home. I thought I was.” I’d given him my heart. I’d given himeverything.
“Maybe you still are,” Tuleen murmurs.
I want to scream, or flee. I will run until my lungs crumple and my legs collapse, and let the desert do the rest. But—enough. I’ve hadenough of thesewhat-ifs. History has been written. I cannot expend any additional energy questioning something I know is untrue. Notus is not mine. He never was.
