LITMIR.BIZ

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      “You’re dealing with Thabit when he hears about this,” Ali said to Aqisa, half-stumbling down the path. They had almost reached his home. “You know how much he hates—” Ali broke off.

      Two women were waiting for him outside his tent.

      “Sisters!” he greeted them, forcing a smile to his face even as he inwardly swore. “Peace be upon you.”

      “And upon you peace.” It was Umm Qays who spoke first, one of the village’s stone mages. She gave Ali a wide, oddly sly grin. “How does this day find you?”

      Exhausted. “Well, thanks be to God,” Ali replied. “And yourselves?”

      “Fine. We’re fine,” Bushra, Umm Qays’s daughter spoke up quickly. She was avoiding Ali’s eyes, embarrassment visible in her flushed cheeks. “Just passing through!”

      “Nonsense.” Umm Qays yanked her daughter close, and the young woman gave a small, startled yelp. “My Bushra has just made the loveliest kabsa … she is an extraordinarily gifted cook, you know, can conjure up a feast from the barest of bones and a whisper of spice … Anyway, her first thought was to set aside a portion for our prince.” She beamed at Ali. “A good girl, she is.”

      Ali blinked, a little taken aback by Umm Qays’s enthusiasm. “Ah … thank you,” he said, catching sight of Lubayd covering his mouth, his eyes bright with amusement. “It is much appreciated.”

      Umm Qays was peeking in his tent. She tutted in disapproval. “A lonely place this looks, Alizayd al Qahtani. You are a great man. You should have a proper home in the cliffs and someone to return to.”

      God have mercy, not this again. He stammered out a reply. “I-I thank you for your concern, but really I’m quite content. Being lonely.”

      “Ah, but you’re a young man.” Umm Qays clapped his shoulder, giving his upper arm a squeeze. A surprised expression came over her face. “Well, my goodness … God be praised for such a thing,” she said admiringly. “Certainly, you have needs, dear one. It’s only natural.”

      Heat flooded Ali’s face—more so when he realized Bushra had slightly lifted her gaze. There was a flicker of appraisal in her eyes that sent nerves fluttering in his stomach—and not entirely unpleasant ones. “I …”

      Mercifully, Lubayd stepped in. “That’s very considerate of you, sisters,” he said, taking the dish. “We’ll make sure he appreciates it.”

      Aqisa nodded, her eyes dancing. “It smells delicious.”

      Umm Qays seemed to recognize temporary defeat. She wagged a finger in Ali’s face. “One day.” She gestured inside as she left. “By the way, a messenger came by with a package from your sister.”

      The women were barely around the bend when Lubayd and Aqisa burst into peals of laughter.

      “Stop it,” Ali hissed. “It’s not funny.”

      “Yes, it is,” Aqisa countered, her shoulders shaking. “I could watch that a dozen more times.”

      Lubayd hooted. “You should have seen his face last week when Sadaf brought him a blanket because she felt his bed ‘needed warming.’”

      “That’s enough.” Ali reached for the dish. “Give me that.”

      Lubayd ducked away. “Oh no, this is my reward for saving you.” He held it up, closing his eyes as he inhaled. “Maybe you should marry her. I can intrude upon all your dinners.”

      “I’m not marrying anyone,” Ali returned sharply. “It’s too dangerous.”

      Aqisa rolled her eyes. “You exaggerate. It has been a year since I last saved you from an assassin.”

      “One who got close enough to do this,” Ali argued, arching his neck to reveal the faint pearly scar running across his throat just under the scruff of his beard.

      Lubayd waved him off. “He did that and then his own clan caught him, gutted him, and left his body for the zahhak.” He gave Ali a pointed look. “There are very few assassins foolish enough to come after the man responsible for half of northern Am Gezira’s water supply. You should start building a life here. I suspect marriage would vastly improve your temperament.”

      “Oh, immeasurably so,” Aqisa agreed. She glanced up, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Lubayd. “A pity there is no one in Bir Nabat to his taste …”

      “You mean someone with black eyes and a penchant for healing?” Lubayd teased, cackling when Ali glared at him.

      “You know there’s no truth to those idiotic rumors,” Ali said. “The Banu Nahida and I were merely friends, and she is married to my brother.”

      Lubayd shrugged. “I find the idiotic rumors enjoyable. Can you blame people for spinning exciting tales out of what happened to all of you?” His voice took on a dramatic edge. “A mysterious Nahid beauty locked away in the palace, an evil Afshin set to ruin her, an irritable prince exiled to the land of his forefathers …”

      Ali’s temper finally snapped as he reached for the tent flap. “I am not irritable. And you’re the one spinning most of those tales!”

      Lubayd only laughed again. “Go on inside and see what your sister sent you.” He glanced at Aqisa, holding up the dish. “Hungry?”

      “Very.”

      Shaking his head, Ali kicked off his sandals and ducked inside his tent. It was small yet cozy, with ample space for the bed cushion one of Lubayd’s cousins had mercifully lengthened to Ali’s “ludicrous” height. In fact, everything in the room was a gift. He’d arrived in Bir Nabat with only his weapons and the bloodstained dishdasha on his back, and his belongings were a record of his years here: the extra robe and sandals that were the first things he’d scavenged from an abandoned human caravan, the Qur’an that Sheikh Jiyad had given him when Ali started teaching, the pages and pages of notes and drawings he’d taken while observing various irrigation works.

      And something new: a sealed copper tube the length of his forearm and wide as a fist, resting upon his neatly folded cushion. One end had been dipped in jet black wax, a familiar signature carved around its perimeter.

      With a smile, Ali picked up the tube, peeling off the wax to reveal the blade-sharp pattern it had been protecting. A blood seal, one that ensured none but a blood relation of Zaynab’s would be able to open it. It was the most they could do to protect their privacy … not that it mattered. The man most likely to have their communication intercepted was their own father and he could easily use his own blood to read their messages. Likely he did.

      Ali pressed his arm against the edge. The scroll top smoked away the moment the blades drew blood, and Ali tilted it, emptying the contents onto his cushion.

      A bar of gold, a copper armband, and a letter, several pages in length. Attached to the armband was a small note in Zaynab’s elegant hand.

       For the headaches you keep complaining about. Take good care of this, little brother. The Nahid horribly overcharged me for it.

      Ali fingered the armband, eying the gold bar and the letter. God preserve you, Zaynab. Bir Nabat might be recovering, but it was still a hard place and that gold would go a long way here. He only hoped sending it hadn’t gotten his sister in any trouble. He’d written her multiple times trying to warn her off providing him with supplies, and she’d ignored him, flouting his advice as thoroughly as she defied their father’s unofficial decree that no Geziri was to aid him. Zaynab was probably the only one who could get away with such a thing; Ghassan had always been softhearted when it came to his daughter.

      He fell on his bed cushion, rolling onto his stomach to read the letter, Zaynab’s familiar script and barbed observations like a warm hug. He missed his sister terribly; theirs was a relationship he’d been too young and self-righteous to appreciate until

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