Zafira tried to puzzle over those words before she swung out of bed.

“Do you think I’ll die?” she asked. She padded to the elevated tub with a shiver. Clumps of snow still floated in the cool water Yasmine had probably brought in.

“Do you expect to live? It’s scary enough when you disappear into the Arz,” Yasmine said, and Zafira heard her recline on the bed.

Zafira glanced at her. “You’re awfully optimistic today.”

Yasmine shrugged. “It’s not every day the sister of your heart settles on a death wish.”

“I don’t have a death wish, Yasmine. We know I have a better chance at getting through the Arz and, because of it, Sharr. It could be completely different, but I have a chance where no one else does. Either way, we won’t even see another year before the Arz swallows us whole.”

Silence screamed between them as Zafira reached for her clothes and froze. This wasn’t the qamis she had left for herself. This was the dress she had worn to Yasmine’s wedding, only a lot shorter. She fingered the sharpened swirls along the deep blue shoulder and looked up.

Yasmine smiled. “I know how much you love that dress, and I also know it’s a tad tight. So, I … shortened it and made it a little looser. If you’re going to save the world, you might as well do it in style.”

Zafira laughed softly and slipped it over her head, the material soft against her skin. It was lighter, but Sharr wasn’t a snowy mess like Demenhur. Her cloak would help her bear the cold until she left.

“Promise me,” Yasmine said softly, “that if you die, you will die fighting to return to me.”

Zafira struggled to smile. “I would kiss you goodbye, but your husband wouldn’t like it.”

Yasmine sputtered a laugh and rushed forward, throwing her arms around her. Zafira wasn’t certain which of them trembled more. Yasmine pulled away and pressed her forehead against hers, and Zafira inhaled the scent of orange blossom and spice one last time.

“Come back, Zafira. No matter what. Victorious or not, come back.”

The cool water had numbed Zafira’s skin, but her blood was ablaze as she ruminated her next words, because she was never good at saying goodbye. “I don’t plan on dying. I plan on finding that daama Jawarat and coming back.”

It was only after she had said the words that she believed them.

Zafira left her room with a sense of finality, Yasmine trailing in silence. But the strength of her words faltered when she glimpsed into Umm’s room, Umm’s sleeping form denying them a goodbye. Zafira hadn’t thought she would miss her mother, but their conversation the day before had left her bereft.

Lana’s small shadow crept to her. She was bulked by her coat, dress hem trailing. She gripped her green shawl with fidgeting fingers, knuckles whiter than the cold allowed.

Zafira swung her satchel over her shoulder. “Ready to live somewhere else?” She still wasn’t sure how she would put the question to the caliph when she met him. Skies, the caliph.

“While you’re off dying somewhere?” Lana shrugged and bit her lip.

“There you go! The right questions are finally being asked,” Yasmine cheered.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Lana asked.

“I’m the only chance we have,” Zafira said, trailing her knuckles over Baba’s blue coat. The only vengeance Baba will receive.

“By dying in some cursed place? They’ll hail you as a martyr and celebrate you. Talk about you. That’s what happens in the books. But you’ll be dead and I’ll be … Okht, I’ll be alone,” Lana whispered.

Zafira’s eyes burned. “It’s what Baba would have wanted.”

“Don’t go in there on Baba’s name,” Lana pleaded, an edge to her voice. “He’s dead.”

“She’s right,” Yasmine said, voice soft. “If you’re going to risk your life, it has to be on your will. The living can’t survive with promises to the dead.”

It wasn’t just because of Baba. Why didn’t they understand? It was magic. It was their survival.

“Don’t you want magic?” Zafira asked, fervent. She looked at Lana. “Think of Baba’s stories—we can experience them, feel them. Live them. We’ll finally know what we were born with.”

“A life without magic isn’t so bad.”

“A life without magic is what stole the desert from us. And Baba. And Umm. Your parents, too, Yasmine. It’s what’s causing the Arz to grow.”

“Baba is gone, Okht. And Yasmine’s parents are dead. The Arz can grow. We can move elsewhere.” Lana’s eyes glistened with tears. She didn’t understand that they couldn’t go anywhere the Arz wouldn’t follow; no one in Arawiya could. “A life with magic means nothing to me if you aren’t in it.”

Lana’s words carved a chasm in Zafira’s heart. She swept her sister’s hair from her forehead, tucking it behind the shell of one ear. She brushed her fingers along her freckled skin, still soft as a babe’s.

She didn’t say all would be right. She did not say she would return. Or that Lana would be safe. She would waste no breath with false promises.

“Let’s go meet the caliph.”

CHAPTER 15