sunbathed face hovering above mine. Lips pull back from teeth in a wide smile as that face cocks to one side in my bleary vision.
“If it isn’t the Mourner sleeping in on this fine day!”
I bolt upright so fast my head almost collides with Eshe’s as I throw myself out of bed, only for my feet to give way. I wind up in a tangle of magenta skirts and bedclothes, twisted into such a constricting mess I very nearly draw a knife to cut my way out.
But I stop. Breathe.
It’s only Eshe.
With a sigh, I fall back to the floor and stare at the ceiling arching above me. Flowers are carved into the scrolling woodwork, and I trace their petals with my eyes as memories flood from last night.
He held me.
That’s my last memory. Did I dream it? I don’t think so, but . . . maybe?
If I hadn’t, then he did leave me at some point. He must have carried me to my bed and tucked me in. My eyes flutter closed. Why did I fall asleep? Why couldn’t I have stayed awake?
When I open my eyes again, Eshe’s face hovers just above mine. She’s grinning, cross-eyed, while using her fingers to pull down the skin under her eyes to make quite the expression.
I would have groaned if I didn’t give a quiet snort instead. “The cats dragged in a thief, it would seem. I was worried about you, idiot.”
Eshe’s clown-face rotates, her eyes unblinking, as though she is a very creepy doll.
I move to whack her stupid face with my elbow, and that finally makes her yank away.
“Worried about me?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow before flipping into a cartwheel. “I’ve told you—I have nine lives, like the apparent cats that dragged me in. I always have more to spare.”
I smile, scooting up into a sitting position. It takes me some time to unwind myself from my blankets, but during that time, I slowly become aware of how oddly . . . rested I am. What’s even stranger—
I’m starving.
There is a breakfast tray on the table. Steam wafts from a half-drunk cup of tea. Cinnamon curls into my nostrils, suddenly evoking an almost frantic hunger. I get to my feet, all but stagger to the settee—my face heating at last night’s memories—and stuff my face with thin bread slathered in hummus and piled with olives and tomatoes, a handful of dates with salt and goat milk butter, hunks of cheese, and spicy sausages.
I pay no mind to Eshe’s bugged eyes or raised eyebrows as she slinks to the seat across from me. The one the Neverseen King sat in last night.
“What happened?” Eshe demands when I lean back and lick my fingers.
Akhh, I don’t know the last time I was this full. It’s amazing. I almost want to lie down and go back to sleep.
“Who did this to you?”
I look up. “Pardon?”
“Who did this”—Eshe waves vaguely at the empty breakfast tray before me—“to you.”
I shoot her a narrow look. “What’s wrong with me eating breakfast?”
“It’s not wrong!” cries Eshe in exasperation, throwing up her hands. “It’s simply not like you! And for the record, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep. Something’s up. My guess is that it has something to do with a certain hunky shadow whose name starts with an N and rhymes with everbean sing.”
“What happened last night?” I ask as I pour myself a cup of qahwa. This brew is golden, and it tastes of saffron when I sip it.
“I smell evasion on you.”
“Does evasion smell like qahwa?”
“Did he kiss you?”
I blink. Set down my cup. Heat climbs up my neck. “No.”
A dark expression wars to overcome Eshe’s chipper mask. Does she believe I’m lying to her? Is it fear that flexes her jaw? Or hurt?
No matter what convoluted mess of feelings for the Neverseen King have tangled themselves inside me, Eshe comes first. She will always be first. Which means I need to be brutally honest with her, even if neither of us wants the truth.
“He has asked me to marry him,” I say.
There is no mirth in Eshe’s gaze. “And you’re considering it.”
Her tone sends my gut plummeting to the floor. My full stomach turns heavy and leaden. I don’t want her disapproval. I don’t want a rift in our friendship.
She is the only true friend I’ve ever had. I’m not losing her.
But what if she walks away from me? What if I cannot convince her to stay?
I get to my feet, stalk to the wardrobe, and rip open the door. Fresh clothes are folded inside. They’re dark brown and black—my usual colors. I peel off my ruined bodice and try to ignore the ache in my heart when I step out of the shimmering skirt. It’s as though removing the clothes I wore when the Neverseen King held me in his arms means that I’m letting go of those memories. Shortly, I’m dressed in fresh sirwal and tunic, with my knives in their proper places and a scarf over my hair.
“I am considering it, yes,” I say when I can delay no longer. “But I have made no promises.”
Eshe folds her arms across her chest. “Well, if he’s going to marry you, do you think he’d be open to the prospect of a second bride? I like the food here. We can be our own mini harem and take turns wearing the crown.”
She feels betrayed. It’s threaded into her tone, into the things she’s not saying. The temptation to bury my face in my arms—or resort to begging—is almost overwhelming. My shoulders sag, and I say quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“What do you want?” Eshe asks, leaning forward in her chair. Gone is the flippant ridiculousness that she wears like a second skin. “Do you want to marry him? Or is he coercing you?”
What can I answer her? I don’t for some time, as I attempt to unravel all the things I don’t want to admit to myself, much less her.
“Your heart is involved, then,” says Eshe, after the silence persists.
She knows me too well. I lift helpless eyes to her. “I don’t know what to do.” My head falls into my hands as my nails dig into my scalp. “If I leave, Jabir will find me. I know he will. I’m not going back, Eshe. I’m not going back to him!”
“No. You’re not. And if the Neverseen King doesn’t make sure of it, then I will.”
I almost snort. Eshe is no match for Jabir. Still, her sentiment calms me. She isn’t going anywhere. I let go of my head, rake my hair out of my face, and sit up.
She regards me seriously. “Nadira. This situation is very complex. Don’t be angry with yourself for being confused and frustrated.”
Another knot in my chest unwinds. Why didn’t I tell her everything as it happened? Why didn’t I seek her counsel before now? Why did I fear that she would abandon me if she knew everything?
Eshe is a better person than that.
“It is not a situation to be making rash decisions. Much less life-altering decisions, such as whether you will marry the man who kidnapped you or not.”
“Why do you think I’ve struggled so much?” I mumble, and almost give into the temptation to drop my face into my hands again. “It makes me want to run away. To prove I can leave, and then return of my own accord. To prove I’m not here because he forces me to be.”
I suppose I did run last night. I did leave. And I came back.
But that was for Eshe.
“Despite the kidnapping,” continues my friend, “I know you, and I know you don’t thoughtlessly trust people. In fact, it’s the opposite. But there’s something different here. Something in your face. Something in the fact that you slept and ate.”
Nervousness crawls down my spine at where this is going.
“There is part of you that finds the Neverseen King trustworthy. Despite everything. There is part of you that, dare I say, even . . . likes him.”
Now I definitely cannot meet her gaze. Heat roars into my cheeks.
“I’m right, then,” says Eshe.
“And if you are?” I growl, shooting a glare at her.
“Why do you trust him?”
My fingers twitch, aching for the solidity of a knife in my grip. My gut rolls into a knot, and I don’t want to voice the thought that immediately pops into my mind at her question.
Because he is like me.
“He promises to protect me from Jabir,” I begin slowly. “Even if I don’t agree to be his wife. He said he would protect me. If there was nothing good or trustworthy in him, wouldn’t he have promised it only if I agreed to be his wife? It would be his bargaining chip over me. He has been patient with me. Kind to me.”
He’s also threatened to kill me.
This is, indeed, quite the ugly situation. Now that Eshe has pointed it out, it’s hard to unsee.
“You’re not answering my question,” says Eshe.
“I wasn’t done.”
“You are trying to convince me to trust him. I’m asking why you trust him.”
I glare at her. She smirks back. I sigh. My hand has found its way to the back of my neck, where it scratches much too vigorously. When I try to speak, I squeeze my eyes closed. “Because . . . he has lost like I have.”
“Wicked people can lose things.”
“Don’t forget that you’re speaking to one,” I mutter.
“I’ll say it again. Stop trying to convince me to trust him. Tell me why you trust him.”
“I did!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re arrogant, cold, standoffish, untrusting, and a myriad of other things! Do you think I care?”
We glare at each other for a long moment. Something hot bubbles up inside me, something molten, but something undeniably true. And then, before I can stop them, the words are spilling from my lips.
“I trust him because he makes me feel seen and safe. He makes me want to believe I’m not a lost cause. He makes me hope for good. He makes me want more for my life. And with him, I have a purpose—a purpose that isn’t murdering for wicked men. A purpose of saving instead of killing.”
Eshe studies me. The silence between us echoes after my outburst, and I long for her to say something. To tell me I’m an idiot for feeling these things for the man who kidnapped me. She’ll tell me that it’s dangerous—insane, really—that I’ve almost begun thinking of him less as our kidnapper, and more as . . . a rescuer.
She ought to be concerned about me. I’m concerned about me.
But Eshe doesn’t look concerned. Her face is drawn in lines of consideration, not alarm. At last, her eyes lift to mine. “Then perhaps it isn’t your worst idea to marry him.”
“What?” I burst out. “You give terrible counsel!”
“Trying to escape with Kolb that one time topped this, almost certainly.”
“That was not my idea. That was Kolb’s, and believe me when I say, I learned my lesson!”
She chuckles. Then we’re staring at each other, as if there’s a million things we need to say to one another but it’s too much, so only silence has the weight to communicate the things on our minds.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Never better!” she chirps, leaning over the table to pour herself more qahwa. “I’m telling you, I’d consent to being chained in a dungeon the rest of my life if it meant I could keep eating like a queen.”
I give a small smile, lifting my own cup to my lips. After a sip, I ask again. “But how are you? Truly?”
Now it’s her turn to swallow several mouthfuls of qahwa before answering. The cup gives a little rattle when she sets it back down on the tray. “A little off-balance, I confess.”
I listen, waiting.
“I’m not an assassin,” she continues. “I am not accustomed to so much death and brutality in such a short span of time. There’s always violence on the streets, and I’m used to that. I have learned to avoid most of it. But that violence is done out of desperation, starvation. This is different. I was surprised last night when I caught Fathuna and Dabria giving each other a look. A look that told me something bad was about to happen. I was not expecting Fathuna to prick her finger right then and flick the blood onto the floor. It happened so fast none of us could react. Not even the Neverseen King. Not until several more shadow-beings like him spilled through another portal in the ballroom.”
If only I hadn’t run away, I could have helped. Maybe I would have seen it sooner, been able to act faster.
Unlikely. I was too confused after my dance with the Neverseen King last night to notice anything.
“How many?” I ask.
“Six. I think.”
“And they wreaked havoc on the ballroom?”
“It wasn’t so simple as that. Only a couple went crazy, going to grab me or the other women. Except Dabria and Fathuna. No one touched them. The Neverseen King took those shadow-people out quickly enough, but the others he didn’t touch.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told them to leave. One of them said something about being sent to take over the Bridge, and things escalated. There was a woman among them, and she kept saying something like, ‘Can you truly be intending to marry a human?’ It was a little challenging to keep up with what was happening since the argument got heated, and a lot of it sounded like gibberish.”
Another language, perhaps?
“That was when utter chaos ensued.”
“What? What happened?” I demand, gripping the hilt of my knife subconsciously.
“The shadow-things attacked the Neverseen King. And then Dabria flicked her wrist, and—believe me when I say chaos ensued—she had some ball of light in her hand. Like she had magic? From somewhere? Fathuna had her weapons out, and the two of them herded Gaya, Safya, and I into a corner. Dabria was saying things like, ‘Don’t worry. No one will get hurt if you cooperate.’ Which, obviously, I didn’t believe for an instant.”
Despite my pounding heart, I cannot help my slight smile. The Neverseen King is right. I don’t give Eshe enough credit.
If not for her, I probably wouldn’t still be alive today.
At the same time, Dabria’s voice drifts across my memory.
You need to know whose side you’re on.
I had assumed she was on the side of the Neverseen King. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Then one of the shadow-folks told the Neverseen King if he didn’t stop fighting them, he’d kill his humans. Which, I don’t appreciate being called his, but the fight did stop. He looked over at us, at Dabria and Fathuna. I was ready to throw myself at one of them, but Safya whispered, ‘Wait,’ to us, and at this point, I’m pretty terrified of Safya. So I listened. One of the shadows said something about being the new Bridge King—I didn’t know what in the Great Desert he was talking about—and how the Neverseen King had better not hurt his betrothed. Which seemed to be either Dabria or Fathuna, but I was too confused at this point.”
To think, all this was happening while I was contemplating my escape. A sudden burst of nausea hits me. I lean back against the settee. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all that food for breakfast. “And after that?”
“Honestly? I’m not quite sure. Safya attacked Dabria, so Gaya and I went for Fathuna. Everything seemed to happen at once. Lots of yelling. Fighting. And then it was over. The shadow-people were gone, the portal was closed, and the Neverseen King had killed Dabria and Fathuna. Just in time, too. Fathuna was about to take off my head, and Dabria was choking Gaya while fending Safya off with her glowing magic thing. There might have been a magical vine in there, too. I was slightly preoccupied with surviving to note the particulars.”
Yes, I definitely should not have eaten. I am rather inclined to vomit the contents of my stomach out the window.
“He was kind to the three of us, helping us and asking if we were alright. Then he told us to get back to our rooms as quickly as we could and bolt the door before the sun set. After that, he broke into a run, flinging open the ballroom door and racing into the hallway. He shouted your name. I started to go after him, to make sure you were alright, but he told me to get to my room and that he would make sure you were safe.”
My belly turns warm, flipping in a way that should make the need to vomit more urgent. Instead, it’s pleasant. Almost heady.
“Well,” says Eshe after a few minutes. “This is when you tell me your side of the story. Where you went. Why your gown was ripped. I need every juicy detail.”
“Did you find my note?” I ask. “The one I left in your knife sheath?”
“Was that what that paper was? I was a little busy when I drew my knife. I think it fell to the floor or something.”
I should have had the guts to just tell her about the opportunity to escape instead of writing it down. I just hadn’t wanted to commit to anything before I knew what I wanted. After drawing a deep breath, I explain everything that happened last night, from the moment I left—that I’d left because he’d asked me to marry him—to the moment I fell asleep in his arms. As much as I long to keep that particular detail to myself, I ignore the heat climbing into my cheeks and say the words.
Eshe deserves to know.
I tell her about Lulythinar. About the sultan’s first wife, who even now stares down at us from her mounted spot on the wall. I tell her everything he told me. It’s while I’m speaking, while my eyes roam everywhere in the room except her face, that my gaze snags on a slip of parchment sticking out from beneath the empty pitcher on my vanity.
A jolt ripples down my spine.
A note. From him.
Could I feign interest in the mess of cosmetics on the vanity to read it? Or perhaps pretend I’m cleaning? So Eshe doesn’t notice?
I stop myself. I am done hiding things from her.
“I think he left me another note,” I say as I stand and make my way to the vanity. My hands give a slight quiver as I slip the paper from beneath the mirror. Eshe leans precariously over the back of her chair, trying to catch a glimpse of the note I hold.
I fight every instinct and read the note aloud. “Nadira. I didn’t answer the rest of your questions last night. You want to know what happened to Hulla.” I draw in a shaky breath before continuing. “She is dead. The House is not the same at night. A precaution against things that might escape portals. I wasn’t fast enough to save her.”
Eshe says nothing. She sinks an inch lower into her chair, her skin going fractionally paler than before.
“You want to know why I didn’t tell you all of this at the beginning. My reasons were twofold. First, because I did not regulate the activities of those who chose to come and go, I did not want too many secrets to be spilled.”
It still angers me that we were free this entire time, and it was my own cautious nature that kept me from discovering the truth.
“The second reason,” I continue reading, “is simply that you were not ready to hear the truth. I know my palace is difficult for some. I wanted to allow you to adjust to the House first. Once you proved you could handle that, I’ve been trying to show you things without overwhelming you too severely.”
“I have not been overwhelmed for a single moment since I arrived,” proclaims Eshe with an irritable huff.
I almost smile . . . until I see the next line, and my mouth goes dry. I almost forget to read it aloud. After clearing my throat, I begin. “You also wish to know the details of my relationship with Safya.”
Eshe’s hand shoots up, her finger pointing at me. “I told you that you were jealous!”
“I don’t have to read my private correspondence aloud.”
She grins and pops back on her heels in the chair, holding onto the armrests. “Please, do continue.”
I give her an arch look. Then I continue. “You want to know how our private meal was. Which is, I daresay, a rather personal question. But because . . .” I trail off, my face turning hot.
“Because what?” Eshe demands.
Akhh, why did I decide to not keep secrets from her anymore? My face must be the color of a tomato when I manage to finish the sentence. “But because you were so beautiful last night and—”
Eshe chortles.
“—and . . .” Now my face burns brighter than a furnace. Sands and stars, why did he write this? He must have known I was going to read it aloud and meant to torture me. Perhaps to get back at me for asking him to kiss me.
“What? What, what, what? You can’t just choke and turn crimson and not read what he wrote! I’m much too invested!”
I glare at her. “I’m skipping this part.”
“Oh no, you don’t! If you skip it, I’ll come grab it from you!”
“How? You can’t reach it,” I say, grinning despite myself as I hold it high above my head.
It happens so fast I cannot react—and Eshe’s knife has flown straight through the air, through the note, and pinned it to the wall behind me. I whirl, but Eshe has already vaulted over the back of her chair, climbed onto my vanity and sent pots of rouge and khol rolling off the counter.
“Don’t you dare!” I shout as she leans over, reaching for the knife and the note embedded in the wall. When she only laughs, I launch myself at her. Not fast enough, apparently, for when I tackle her to the ground, she has the knife in one hand. We roll on impact, and I end up banging my back into the bed frame. Then I’m reaching for the knife, struggling to reclaim my note.
But it continues to be one of my greatest flaws that I underestimate Eshe, and she knows very well that I couldn’t hurt her. I certainly am not expecting it when she flips me over her back, then gives my shoulder a hefty shove with her foot, knocking me down just as I’m getting to my feet.
That gives her just enough time to start reading, “Because you were so beautiful last night and you—” She cuts off, shrieking and guffawing as I regain my balance and clip her feet out from beneath her. She rolls away from me, almost terrifyingly heedless of the knife she holds, then scrambles to her feet and runs behind the settee. That’s when she barely stops cackling long enough to finish the sentence on the page. “—smelled like the blooms of desert roses, rare vanilla bean, mingled with the most exquisite heartbreak.”
I can’t keep myself from flushing hotter. “He meant it to be mocking, for heaven’s sakes! That’s just what he does!”
That doesn’t stop her from letting out another peal of laughter. “The smell of heartbreak! Can you even imagine? Maybe it smells like rotten muskmelon, because my heart certainly breaks to have such deliciousness go to waste!”
“Give it back,” I growl from the other side of the table.
“I’m not done yet,” she manages between cackles. “Does he say anything else? Oh! Oh, what’s this?”
“Eshe.”
“Whoa, he calls you out here!”
I might actually die from mortification. “Eshe.”
Nothing will stop her from reading aloud: “My darling Nadira—sands, either he really likes you or he is mocking you—it touches me that you are so envious of the attentions I’ve given Safya. Now this is a little mean on his part. I think he likes it when you’re jealous.”
“Both of you take great sport in tormenting me,” I say sourly, dropping into Eshe’s chair and folding my arms across my chest.
She peers over the top of the Neverseen King’s note and waggles an eyebrow. “It’s what friends are for, darling Nadira.”
It is confirmed: this is the absolute worst decision I have ever made in my life. I hold my hand out to Eshe, glaring at her. “May I have it back, please?”
“Let me make sure he doesn’t say anything else about how you smell.” Her tongue slips between her lips as her brows furrow in concentration and her eyes skim the rest of the note. “Nope. Nothing more about your smells. It’s safe for you to read.”
She tosses it to me. It barely makes it over the back of the settee. I’m forced to get up to retrieve it. I make sure to shoot her my darkest glares. She only mutters, “Vanilla bean and heartbreak,” under her breath and giggles.
When I finally have the note in hand, I read the rest of it to myself.
My darling Nadira. It touches me that you are so envious of the attentions I’ve given Safya. While I must admit our dinner was pleasant enough, she is not the one I have asked to wed. She is not the one I write notes to every day. She is not the one who fills my thoughts.
I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again. You, Nadira al-Risya, are the one I want. I cannot begrudge you your hesitation to trust me, but it does put me in a precarious situation. If you will not wed me, I must find another.
If you find it any consolation, Safya is not ignorant of my need for an alliance instead of a true wife. She is aware that sentiment is not part of the agreement.
As for your final question, the one regarding my name, I must inform you that I could never give such a powerful thing to a human. I find your lot to be rather careless with names, and I cannot risk mine falling into the wrong hands.
I will, however, entrust my name to my bride. Such is her right.
With that, I must be off. There are enemies to vanquish and human kingdoms to neglect. I bid you good day, Mourner.
There’s no signature. I fold it in half and drop it onto the table. Eshe leans against the windowsill, streaming sunlight giving her dark hair a fiery red sheen. She smirks at me.
“So. You’ve successfully seduced the Neverseen King. How does it feel?”
“There has been no seducing!”
“I didn’t say it was purposeful seducing.” She cocks one wicked eyebrow.
“He only wants an alliance. He refuses to care about me. Or anyone.”
“And your point is?”
“That . . . he doesn’t want me like that.”
“Nadira.”
“What?” It comes out more defensively than I intend, but the way she says my name makes my hackles raise in defense. It’s even more alarming that her face has softened, and that smirk has disappeared.
“Do you want to marry him?”
“No,” I say immediately, and it tastes like a lie. “If I marry him, I’ll die.”
“Will you?”
“It’s very likely that I will.”
“Is that the only reason you don’t want to marry him?”
“It’s certainly a significant deterrent.”
“What if—just for this one moment—you didn’t think about life and death. What if you set aside your fear and your self-preservation—”
“A brilliant idea,” I say.
“—and what if you asked yourself what you want. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re not bound to anyone. You’re not bound to this palace, to the Neverseen King, and you’re not bound to Jabir anymore.”
“I might find myself bound to him if I’m not careful.”
“But right now, you’re free. You’re your own woman.”
Those words sink into my mind like a stone into the courtyard fountain. She’s right. I am free. If I wanted to leave this all, if I wanted to walk away forever, the Neverseen King would help me. I’m sure of it. He promised as much. He promised to protect me from Jabir.
I can choose my future.
So why don’t I want to leave?
“What do you want, Nadira?” Eshe asks. “It’s your decision.”
My decision.
It seems impossible that I could make my own decisions. I could live a normal life—far away, most likely. But a normal life nonetheless. I wouldn’t have to kill. I could bury my knives in the desert sand and never look back.
What if I never had to clean blood from beneath my fingernails? What if I never had to scrub it out of my clothes? What if I could forget these last two decades of my life as Jabir’s slave?
What do I want?
The truth is that I don’t know. I’ve known for so long what I don’t want that I’ve neglected to consider what it is that I actually do want.
As if reading my mind, Eshe says, “You should think about it.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
She gives a soft snort, scooting onto the window ledge and extending her short legs. “Not much, in truth. A full belly, a comfortable place to sleep, at least one friend. And I want to do things that make me feel alive.”
“Things like almost dying?”
Her eyes sparkle when she grins. “There’s nothing quite as intoxicating as almost dying.”
“I beg to disagree.”
She chuckles, and we stay like that for some time in companionable silence. Truly, I do not know how I wound up with a friend like her. Eshe is the only good outcome of Jabir forcing me to do these jobs. If not for them, I’d never have met her.
Perhaps, very rarely, good could come from bad.
“I also want to help the street orphans,” Eshe says softly. She doesn’t look at me when she says it, instead staring out at the courtyard below us, the birds flying through the sky. “I want them to be fed . . . and protected.”
Memory of our first meeting washes over me. The only blood I wasn’t forced to shed. The only blood I will never regret shedding. The lashes Jabir gave me for that city guard’s life were ones I relished. I would have taken a hundred more. No girl of fourteen should ever have to endure what that guard was doing to her when I found them on my way back from my third assassination.
I still remember when my eyes locked with Eshe’s for the first time. The gold-flecked brown eyes that slowly shift from the courtyard to mine now are different—and yet still the same.
“I’m going to take a walk and clear my mind,” I say.
“Have fun! If you need me, I’ll be in search of near-death experiences.”
I roll my eyes, but cannot help my somber smile as I open the door to my room and slip out.
