I lift my head, wipe my dripping nose. To my astonishment, tears sheen Father’s eyes.
“You are my daughter,” he says softly. “My greatest and most unexpected gift. If you truly believe you are not enough, then I have failed you as a father. I have always been proud of you, Sarai. Always. I’m sorry I was never able to tell you.”
I nod, unable to speak amidst the weeping.
“You ask what the realm needs?” he says. “Sarai. Just Sarai. That’s who Ammara needs, who Amir needs, who Notus needs.”
Notus. I wonder where he has gone. “He hurt me when he left. I feared he did not care for me.” Feared he did not love me, as I loved him.
“I understand why you would feel anger toward Notus, but the fault is not solely his. Fahim played a large part in his departure.”
Only the rattle of Father’s lungs interrupts the quiet. A peculiar numbness begins to spread across my face. “What are you talking about? What does Fahim have to do with Notus leaving Ishmah?”
“You didn’t know?” Father searches my eyes. “Fahim demanded that Notus leave. I was not aware they had spoken until Fahim told me what he had done later that evening.”
“He—” I falter, suddenly unsure. “Fahim sent Notus away?” I always assumed Notuschoseto leave. Father never refuted it.
I snatch my hand from his. “Why?” I croak. “Why would Fahim send him away? He knew what Notus meant to me. He knew that I loved him.” Loved him still.
“I don’t know Fahim’s reasoning,” he says, voice weakening, “but I do know he was remorseful after the fact. He dispatched scouts to search for the South Wind in the weeks that followed, hoping to call him back, but Notus was never found.”
For what reason would Fahim make this decision? It was not his life. Neither was it his business. Perhaps he feared my happiness, feared who I was when I was loved and free. Was it because he was unable to experience the same, as heir? Because it was yet one more thing he must give up to be king?
Yet even as my ire grows, I deflate. What does it matter anyway? Fahim is gone, and what’s done cannot be made undone. Though I question why Notus never mentioned this to me; not once did he fight the words I’d weaponized against him. He allowed them to land where they would inflict the greatest pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I whisper.
Father is momentarily lost for words. Rarely am I allowed to witness such deep emotion as the sadness and regret now painting his features. “When Fahim was discovered,” he says, a quaver to his words,“my world changed. All of ours did. It didn’t seem important to fixate on the past, knowing he would not return. And… I suppose a part of me wished to shield him from your anger, even though he was no longer with us.”
A lengthy moment passes before I have the strength to speak. “Does Amir know?”
“No. He took Fahim’s death quite hard, as you know. I did not want to taint the image he had of his brother.”
It’s too much. To learn that the anger and resentment I’ve held on to has been misdirected? That it was Fahim’s decision that carved this hole into my life? Yet Notus didn’t fight my brother on this. He left, in the end—without me. How do I go about repairing that hurt? How do I heal?
“Papa.” I wipe my streaming nose with the back of my sleeve. “What will happen when you’re gone? Who will teach Amir how to rule? Who will guide Ammara through darkness?” And what will happen once my nameday arrives? How am I to protect our realm if I am no longer alive to stand between Prince Balior and the labyrinth?
“Sarai.” He grips my hand with surprising strength. “Brightest and fiercest of my children. I am confident you will find a way.”
“I don’t know…” A shudder runs through me, and a coarse, wounded sound falls from my mouth. “I don’t want to face this alone.”
“You are strong. Stronger than you believe. This I know.” Together, he lifts our hands, brings them to my damp cheek. “Promise me you will not mourn me when I am gone. I have lived a full life, fuller than I believed was possible. You and Amir will find your footing, in time.”
No matter my efforts, I fail to control my mangled weeping. There is so much we haven’t said to each other. “Papa—”
“Promise me.”
All at once, the fight goes out of me, and I press my face against his reedy chest. “All right,” I whisper. “I promise.”
23
IT IS A FLAT GRAYmorning when King Halim takes his final breath.
We gather at his bedside—Amir and I. Tears wet my brother’s cheeks, but I avoid making eye contact to offer him some semblance of privacy. Instead, I stare down at the lump beneath the blankets. I have been carved hollow of feeling. This man is not my father. King Halim was fiery, animated, beloved by all. This? It is a pile of old bones.
We sit in silence until the priest bestows the blessing that will grant the king safe passage into the afterlife. Shortly after, he takes his leave. I’m not sure what to say. I have lost a mother, a brother, and now a father. Soon, the curse will claim my life, Amir forced to rule alone atop the earth where our bodies are buried. Already, I ache for him.
Reaching out, I take my brother’s hand. His fingers curl, gripping with bone-breaking strength.
