“You think the bond between us may break?”
“No, Arwa. But I think we may feel a little more—human.”
“Really?”
He paused, but only for a moment.
“No,” he admitted. “I think we’re—changed.” He held his hands before him, pale brown, knuckles bruised. Dazzling white glass, fingernails like points of light. “We walked too far. I am sorry, Arwa. I wish I could have saved more of you.”
“You saved all of me that matters,” she said. “And I regret none of it.” She could feel the realm of ash within her and without her. Iria, Ushan, the daiva with their great wings—they whispered within her. Her family of the dead.
She had the possibility of a family of the living now too. Amrithi who were not decimated. Amrithi who had their own clans, and lived within Irinah’s desert, and carved out a life from the Empire’s control. This was her heritage.
“Perhaps one day we’ll simply walk into the realm of ash together,” she said quietly. “Step into the realm, walk to the end of the path, and see what lies beyond even ash.” She sat up, wincing a little. “But not now. Now we have a plan, and I’d like to see it through.”
“Of course.”
“But I would like to stay for a time. To recover. To know my sister,” Arwa admitted. “And… there are other Amrithi. Here. In her clan. Perhaps they know everything I gleaned from the realm of ash. Perhaps. But I would like to return the knowledge regardless. It’s their own, after all. And then…” She looked at him. “I’d like to see what we could do, you and I. I’d like to bargain with the Hidden Ones. I’d like to teach others like me the Rite of the Cage. I’d like to spread the knowledge of prayer, and grind Parviz’s reputation to dust, as I promised him. I’d like to walk the breadth of the world, before I walk deep into the ash again. Zahir, would you join me?”
He looked at her and smiled—a true, real smile that blazed on him like light.
“Arwa,” he said. “I’d like nothing more.”
Her marriage had been a heavy thing, a yoke of hurt and unknowing and duty, and it had smothered her. She hadn’t thought she would ever want anything like it again. But this, hands upon hers, the curve of his smile, the trust of him.
That, ah. That she would have. A lifetime of bravery. A lifetime of this.
All the rest, she thought, could wait.
Two days later, Eshara arrived. She limped into the tent after Zahir, her face bruised and swollen, gait heavy. When she saw Arwa, her face—ah.
Arwa worried, for a moment, that Eshara would weep.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Eshara snapped by way of greeting. “I tripped trying to get your damnable retinue to safety. I would have stayed to protect you, but it seemed pointless for all of us to die. Sohal was angry about it, though. He said he would have stayed and protected you, when the widows started blubbering at him.”
Her tone was light enough. Still, there was a shadowed, haunted look to her face that belied her words. She looked at Arwa’s shoulder. Looked up. “You’re still alive, then?”
“I told you I’d try my best,” said Arwa. “I’m glad you left, Eshara. I wouldn’t have wanted to mourn you.”
Eshara lowered her eyes. Zahir kneeled by Arwa’s side. She felt the roots between them, the sureness of him in two worlds, and held out her hand. He took it.
Eshara began to speak once more.
“After we made it to safety—after a full night hiding in the desert, by the way, and wasn’tthata thrill with a handful of hysterical pilgrims—we made it to Jah Irinah. The locals were restless, saying soldiers had angered the daiva, driven the spirits into frenzy. They said anyone who walked into the desert would be ripped apart. I tracked down the Amrithi guide we’d been recommended. I offered him all the money I had to take me back to where we’d last been. I thought at least I could…” She swallowed. “Well, I thought they might have killed you there. I thought I’d see you buried. He refused.”
Eshara bent forward. Tucked Arwa’s blanket around her legs, not looking up. “He came and found me this morning. Said his Tara had told him to find me, whatever that means.” She lifted her gaze. “I think your sister might be important, Arwa.”
Of course her sister was important. The other Amrithi deferred to her. She hadamata. She’d survived the Maha’s service. She’d seen Arwa somehow in the space between worlds, in ash and dreams and desert, and reached for her. And she was Arwa’s family. That was enough.
“A Tara is an Amrithi clan leader,” Arwa said simply.
“Well, I’m right, then.” She hesitated. “I assume—you haven’t found the Maha’s ash?”
A pause. Then Arwa shook her head and Zahir said, “No. There was nothing to find. He’s beyond our reach.”
Eshara cursed, and Arwa met Zahir’s eyes.
She had asked Mehr to bring Eshara here not for affection alone. Eshara had risked her life for their task—for the bare scrap of hope the Maha’s ash offered.
