“At dawn, I’ll consider it. Perhaps.”
“Believe me, I know you’re competent with a blade,” Arwa said gently. The memory of his blade stabbing through the soldier’s neck would stay with her a long time. It absurdly comforted her.You were right. You are not as soft as your sister thinks you are, Zahir, and I am glad for that.“I’m sure you could dispatch a dozen of your brother’s men, if the need arose. But as we’ve discussed, I have spirits ensuring my survival. I can keep watch.”
“You’re mocking me,” he said, after a pause. Rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. “Fine. I suppose I can rest.”
“Good,” she said. “Lie down now.”
He muttered something unsavory under his breath, then lay down on the sleep mat. He was unconscious in minutes.
Arwa’s own eyes stung with exhaustion, her head full of ash. She did not have the energy to fear that palace soldiers would come crashing through the doors, as Zahir did. But she would remain awake for his sake. She tucked her chin against her knees once more and closed her eyes. She listened to the hum of the city, and didn’t open her eyes again until dawn lightened the sky and turned the dark of her closed eyelids red.
Aliye was waiting for them at the bottom of the ladder. Her lips were reddened, her kohl-rimmed eyes slightly smudged from sweat. She had been awake all night, but her gaze was still sharp. Urgent.
“Zahir,” she said. “I have a visitor for you.”
“A visitor,” Arwa repeated. She looked at Zahir askance, but his gaze was fixed on Aliye. He nodded slowly.
“Well.” Exhaled breath. “Could you take me to them, Aunt?”
Arwa nudged his arm, trying to draw his attention. He studiously ignored her. Kept walking.
Coward.
Aliye led them along the narrow corridor. At the end was a door; she drew the bar back and guided them through, to a bedroom. There was a woman within, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. She raised her head.
Arwa knew her.
“Eshara,” she whispered.
“Lady Arwa.” Something flitted across her face. An expression somewhere between disbelief and hope. “Lord Zahir. You both live.”
“You survived,” Zahir said. Voice tight. “I wasn’t sure. I hoped, of course.”
“It wasn’t my shift,” Eshara said. “I was lucky.”
“Reya?” Arwa whispered.
“As I said. I was lucky.”
They stared at one another, a long moment in which words were not spoken.
“You know Eshara, I see,” Zahir said finally, clearing his throat a little.
“Yes,” said Arwa. “She patrolled my corridor in the women’s quarters.”
“She’s a Hidden One born and reared,” said Zahir, looking between them like a man attempting to solve a dangerous puzzle. “As a girl, she attended salons at my mother’s home, with her own mother. She’s carried messages from time to time between Aunt Aliye and me, as a kindness to me.”
“That was brave of you,” said Arwa.
“I couldn’t tell you about me, of course,” said Eshara, her expression guarded. “I did not know if you could be trusted.”
I still don’t know, her gaze seemed to say. And why would she? Arwa had never won her trust. After their first conversation, she had barely spoken to Eshara, wrapped up as she’d been in the realm of ash and the promise of service to a higher purpose.
She’d thought Eshara despised Arwa’s own service. She hadn’t looked beyond that surface veneer of distaste. No doubt Eshara had never intended her to. That veneer had been its own protective veil.
“I’m here with news,” Eshara was saying to Zahir. “Do you have any idea what kind of rumors are sprouting up around your name?”
Zahir looked at Aliye.
