She knew there was no spirit there, nothing but desert air and fractured memory. Yet her mind conjured her all the same, over and over again.
And no matter how fiercely Alina tried to push the image away, she could not.
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘I will be strong.’
Hessa’s smile, even imagined, lit up the fading day. ‘Youhave always been strong, amira.’
Alina looked away, unable to bear the ache. ‘I’ve never been strong,’ she whispered. ‘But I’ll learn to be. For you. For Ash.’
Hessa sighed, the same familiar sound of exasperation that used to make Alina roll her eyes. Even in death, it seemed, she could still be annoyed by her.
‘Salla nanaha.’
Alina snorted, taking another bite. ‘I’m not a silly girl.’
Without thinking, she held out a piece of fruit only to curse herself under her breath.
‘I need to be better than Saren. A better warrior. So I can kill her.’
‘Karafa, amira,’ Hessa chided, shaking her head and spitting into the sand.Careful.
Alina said nothing. She let her focus drift back to the dunes, letting the silence settle like dust around her.
She hadn’t dared tell anyone she still saw Hessa as vividly as if she’d never died.
They would worry. They would whisper.
They would think she’d lost her mind.
And she couldn’t afford to lose anything more.
‘I miss you,’ she whispered, her voice no louder than the wind, soft enough that no mortal ear could have caught it. But the presence beside her was no mortal. It was merely the shadow of something, someone, who had once been heartbreakingly real.
Alina turned to look, but the ghost had already vanished, leaving only the silence behind. With a sigh, she cut another slice of fruit and chewed it with irritation.
The sun began its descent, spilling hues of burnt orange and crimson across the sky. For a moment, the blaze of light blinded her and when her vision cleared, her breath caught.
Two figures were sprinting towards the city gates.
She recognised the clothing instantly, as well as the way their feet kissed the sand like dancers, every step fluid, familiar.
Dunayans.
Without pause, she dropped the fruit and reached for her hidden throwing knives. Her hand moved on instinct, swift and sure, prepared to strike before the strangers could come any closer. Surely they had followed her trail, sent to kill her for what they believed. For Hessa’s death.
Alina pressed herself low against the rooftop, blending into shadow, her eyes sharp and unreadable. Her breath slowed. She waited.
She closed her eyes, as Hessa had once taught her. Not out of fear, but discipline. She remembered the way they had crouched together in the dunes, unmoving, silent, waiting for hours. She breathed in, then out, counting heartbeats in her head.
There wasn’t much time before the guards spotted them, but Alina remained still. Measured. Patient.
Then she opened her eyes and raised the blade, ready to end it with one clean throw, a dagger embedded between those white eyes.
But she didn’t let go.
Because she recognised them.
Her body froze, the knife trembling ever so slightly in her hand. She knew those faces, those shapes, those movements as if they were her own.
