Thirty-six

Before

"Dani, can I show you something?"

I looked up at Maz's earnest face, and then down at his outstretched hand, and scowled. "Is this a ploy to get me back after I trounced you in the training field?"

He laughed, and the sound was deeper than I remembered.

"I promise I take my losses fairly."

"Good, because you have so many of them." A rueful smile curled my lips.

"How long will your father be with the emperor?"

"Hours. The emperor likes to go over every aspect of the sword. I don't know why, it isn't as if Vahid uses them anymore."

"Maybe he wants to be sure he will be able to fight even if he doesn't have access to any djinn power?"

"Well, then he needs lessons in swordplay as well as having fancy blades," I retorted. Then I looked up at him. "What did you want to show me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish.

"It's in my room."

I blinked at him. "Is this just an excuse to get me into your room?"

"What? No." He turned the deep shade of a plum, the flush creeping up his neck. I was laughing, but at his reaction, my humor dimmed. Suddenly my friendly teasing made my own skin hot. I brushed the neckline of my kurta, as if I could dust off the uncomfortable feeling that I had hit close to a truth I hadn't wanted to admit.

We'd kissed.

We'd fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around me, his breath on my neck. Sometimes I thought I'd imagined it all. But then he'd look at me with dark eyes, or our fingers would brush and it would become real again.

"What, then?" I heard myself say.

"It's easier to show you."

In all the times I'd visited the palace and practiced with him in the training yard, he'd never taken me to his room. The dining hall, the private salon where we would sit with his sister, but never his bedchamber.

Not that going to his room would have been strange before, but now I couldn't help but feel the heat of his body as he walked in front of me leading the way, couldn't ignore the rush of excitement in my chest as we made our way up the stone steps.

He opened the door to a large area, larger than I had supposed, with a front room connected to a bedchamber and a verandah overlooking the city.

I whistled long as I surveyed the lavish surroundings. It certainly bested my little room.

"The emperor wanted to ensure his adopted children were well taken care of," he said a little ruefully. "Anam's room is down the hall."

I walked over to the verandah and surveyed the city below. It stretched out like a bloated dust storm, thick and heady in some places, and sparse and grimy at the edges.

"At least you have a good view," I said flatly.

Mazin cracked out a laugh as he sat on the edge of his bed, rifling through the drawers next to it, looking for something. "You hate the city."

"True." I bit my bottom lip, weighing my next words. "So do you," I said softly.

His head shot up, his expression wary. "I never told you that."

I shrugged. "You didn't have to. You always seem so confined here, like your jacket is buttoned too tightly and you can't take in air. You were like that when I first met you. But in our village, you are more relaxed. Like you take the stick out of your arse when you arrive and put it back in when you are with the emperor."

He angled his head. "I can't tell if you are complimenting me or not."

I snorted. "Neither can I."

I walked over to the divan and collapsed on the plush cushions.

"It's different in the village." His voice was quiet and low, and something made me look up, made me think twice about wrapping myself in the prickly humor that I always did when emotions were too close to the surface.

"There's not the sense that everyone is watching you, waiting to see what mistake you will make. And no one seems to care about bloodlines, or how my true parentage will come out in the end." He sighed and walked to the balcony. I watched him, tracing the line of his shoulders with my eyes as they fell with the relief of shedding whatever he had been carrying. "When I'm in your village, when we train, when I'm with you—I feel like the only thing I'm being measured on is my skill with a sword."

"You are," I said simply. "That's the only thing that matters."

He looked over at me. His dark hair was silhouetted against the deep orange of the sky, and his eyes seemed sad.

"Maz?" I sat up. "What's wrong?"

"It's like I said. You don't care about who my family was, I don't have to overcome something about myself that I can never change. With you, I feel like I can be myself."

Something in my heart cracked at the sound of his voice. "Why do you sound so miserable about it?"

He gave a tight laugh. "Because I've just realized that your village is where I feel the most free. The rest of the time I am here, and mostly trapped in this cage." He gestured his arms at the over-the-top bedchamber.

"It's certainly a gilded one, though."

"It is, at that."

I picked up a handful of pistachios from a bowl nearby and popped them into my mouth, unsure how to respond. What was our friendship now that we'd kissed, confessed our feelings, held each other in the darkness? If he was free with me, what did I feel when I was with him?

Did I feel the same as when I sparred with anyone else in the training field?

No.

I knew that for certain. With him, when we danced on the open sand, our swords flashing in the sun, it was like lightning across an empty desert. When our blades met, it was a sigh of relief.

He felt like my match.

I choked on a pistachio at the realization, hacking a cough into the pillow of the sofa. Maz came around in alarm and began pounding me on the back. "Dani? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I choked out, waving him away. I sat up when he offered me some cold hibiscus tea and drank it greedily.

You've never been a coward, Dania .

But now, I felt like I was. He'd given me something real, and I'd just eaten some nuts in response.

I lifted my head, my breath catching at how close he suddenly seemed. He leaned over me, his eyes shadowed. Heat crept up my neck, but I didn't tear my gaze away from his.

You've never been a coward.

"I feel the same, by the way," I blurted out, my words a croak in my throat.

"What? You feel like you are in a gilded cage too?" He laughed lightly, not meeting my eyes, and I recognized what he was doing.

Giving me an out .

We hadn't talked about our feelings since that night a few weeks ago that almost felt like a dream now. But he'd been by my side for years, and when he went away, I yearned for him. When I heard the sound of his stallion's hoofbeats against our village path my heart rejoiced.

I wasn't going to let his be the only confession today.

"With you I feel like I can be myself too," I said quietly. "I feel free."

His soft intake of breath echoed in the silence between us.

And then, because I wanted to prove that voice in my head wrong, because I wanted to overcome that niggling piece of fear that told me to doubt, told me to stop, told me to do anything but what I was about to do, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his for the second time.

There was a beat of time in between my lips meeting his and his meeting mine back, and in that space, all the fear I held in my heart consumed me. What if he regretted what we did? What if, in the cold light of day, he wasn't interested anymore?

But then he kissed me back.

A hawk took flight in my chest, the power of its wings beating out of my skin and willing my whole body to soar.

He cupped my chin with his hands, the roughened calluses against my face making me lean in closer, devour him more ravenously, until we consumed each other.

I lay back on the sofa and he tumbled down with me, propping himself up on his elbows.

I unhooked the gold buttons lining his sherwani and peeled the coat from his broad shoulders. He then shrugged his tunic off.

I'd seen him shirtless before, especially after training when he washed himself off at the water basin beside the field. I'd always looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, not wanting anyone to notice the emotion flushing up my cheeks. But now, I had no cause not to stare.

"You're making me nervous. This is how you look right before you are about to stab me." He gave a small laugh.

"You know I never like to do anything halfway."

"Yes. It's disconcerting to have you put that focus on me ."

I inhaled sharply. "Unwelcome?" I asked hesitantly.

"Never." One word, said with a vehemence that took my breath.

"I…" I didn't know how to have this conversation, but there was something I had to tell him, so I wet my lips and began again. "Sometimes I get bad cramps," I blurted out. "When it's my monthly time."

He stared at me. "Do you have them now?" he asked, confusion lacing his voice at my abrupt change of topic.

"No, I'm not…" I shook my head and took a deep breath. "I'm not explaining myself well. Afra Aunty gave me pakaal tea to ease them. I drink it regularly." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "It's… normally used to prevent pregnancy."

"Ah." A flush crept up his neck as understanding dawned.

"Yes. Now excuse me while I go throw myself off your balcony."

He laughed, pressing me down to the divan when I attempted to get up. "No, don't do that. At least not before I've had my way with you."

I swatted at him, but my hand stayed on his chest. We both looked down at my fingers laid hesitantly against his skin. I ran them down, feeling the small scars littering his body, many of them from our fights.

"I've marked you," I said, wonder in my voice as I swept my fingers down to his navel. He sucked in a breath and I stopped my hand, my fingers curling into my palm.

Then his smile was slow and deliberate and I felt like I was about to combust. "Shall I tell you my favorite ones?"

He grabbed my hand, not waiting for me to respond, as if I could find my voice anyway. It felt like being at the edge of a storm, knowing the way forward was dangerous, but wanting to feel the cool rain on my face. He placed my palm against the side of his taut stomach, and I felt the raised skin there, like a hook.

"This one." His words were low. "Do you remember it?"

I tried to smile, but it was getting increasingly difficult to maintain light humor with the dark intensity of his eyes.

I don't even know how to forget.

"Of course. I'd just begun to train with scimitars."

"I thought I'd best you then, given I'd used mine so much more, but you swung your sword at the last moment, catching me in the side."

"I was beside myself," I blurted out. "I could hear your cry of pain in my nightmares for weeks. How can this be your favorite? The dirt turned red with your blood, I thought I had finally succeeded in killing you."

I felt the lift of his lips like they were against my own skin. "It was because of what happened afterward. You stitched me up, berating yourself the whole time, administering the salve with a touch so gentle I didn't know you were capable of it."

I swatted him on the arm and he leaned forward so his lips were inches from mine. "It was the most we'd ever touched outside of training, and I knew then I'd never be able to get you out of my skin. You marked me, but in more ways than one. I couldn't stop thinking about you, the way your hands felt. The apologetic smile when you applied the salve, the way your eyes grew dark when you concentrated on the stitching."

"What you are saying is that you liked it when I stabbed you." My laugh was a little breathless, my attempt at humor stuck in my chest. "Only I could find a boy who was as bloodthirsty as me."

He lifted my hand to his cheek, and I felt a long, ridged scar there, underneath the stubble along his jaw. "This one?" he asked, his voice as breathless as mine.

I swallowed. "The first time you beat me in an open fight. I'm sure this is your favorite."

He barked a laugh and it rumbled through him, making me deeply aware that he was shirtless on top of me. "Not because I won that bout, but because of afterward. Do you remember?"

I thought back to last year when it happened. It had been at the palace this time; my father had been commissioned to outfit the royal guard with new weapons and he'd been summoned more often than usual. I met Maz at the training yard, the ground flush with green grass instead of worn dirt, the knives so polished I had ached to bloody them up. We fought, and Maz had used my own move against me—sliding his sword along the edge of mine and then flicking backward so I lost momentum. But not before I had slashed him with the broad sword, marring his victory just a little bit with a wound of my own. I thought back to what we had done after the fight and remembered the sugary taste of kulfi on my tongue, the ice cream dusted with almonds—a rare treat we never had in the village. But mostly, I remembered the feeling of laughter rumbling in my belly and throwing my finished kulfi stick at Mazin's face after he brought up winning against me for the millionth time.

"Afterward," I said, thinking as I processed the memory. "We ate kulfi in the grass, and you told me about your mother." I smiled, remembering Anam running around, grateful we were finally paying her attention. "Then we played lattoo with your sister until her spinning top broke."

He nodded. "Your father joined us and we had dinner at the palace."

I nodded, thinking about the small room we'd gone to, not a large palace dining room, but a warm, cozy space usually used by the servants. Maz had told me that he and Anam normally ate alone at the palace.

"The best stewed lamb I'd ever tasted."

"It was the perfect day."

I nodded in agreement. He lifted my hand to the center of his palm.

"This one?" he murmured against my wrist.

I inhaled, my heart pounding so hard it was all I could hear. A spidery scar sat on the inside of his hand like an engraving. "Our first fight." I breathed out slow to calm my jumping pulse.

"Sometimes I rub the center of my palm when I'm missing you."

I closed my eyes briefly.

Then I took his hand in mine, placing his fingers on the outside of my knuckles on my right hand. "This scar is from the talwar my father gave you. Before you went north with the emperor."

He gave a slow smile. "You were so angry I'd managed to lay a hand on you."

I arched a brow. "I vowed you never would again."

He placed his hands on either side of my face. "And now?"

"I'd gladly retract that."

His breathing changed, hitching in his chest, and I felt the deep sound reverberate through me. His lips captured mine again, and then he helped me out of my light kurta, both of us taking off the remainder of our clothes until it was just our skin and the marks of our past between us. We'd helped each other heal them, but it was more than the outside scars. We'd been two lonely people who had been given solace in each other. I knew what Maz meant when he went through all the memories we'd had together. We had become intertwined, we were part of each other, and with him, I felt at home.

I brushed his back as he moved against me, feeling the other scars laced across it, many of them from the ugly parts of his life, the ones I knew he didn't want to remember.

"Shall I mark you again?" I asked, my thighs around his hips, my lips against his. "Shall I make you mine?" I whispered, tasting the salt of his skin.

He laughed against my mouth. "You already have."

I arched against him, the feel of us pressed together like stardust across the clear night sky, and together we mapped our voyage home.

"So, it really was just an excuse, huh?" I asked, my words on the edge of laughter.

Mazin rose up on his forearms, his hair delightfully mussed, a quizzical expression on his brow.

I grinned at him. "You asked me to come to your room so you could show me something?"

Clarity smoothed his face, and he hopped out of bed, not bothering to hide his nakedness as he went to a large wooden closet at the end of the room.

"You could at least throw something on," I groaned, a flush of heat rushing to my cheeks at the brief flash of nudity. I sat up and wrapped my hastily flung kurta around me.

"But that would have slowed me down," he called out, rummaging around the cupboard.

He returned with a triumphant look on his face, and I tried to look anywhere but at him.

"Put some clothes on!" I shouted, shielding my eyes.

He barked out a laugh. "How are you this sensitive? You've seen my body thousands of times."

"Not like this," I grumbled. "And not immediately after we… not like this."

"Fine. I'll get dressed. But take this first."

I snatched the box from his hand without glancing at him. He gave a rich laugh and threw on the long ivory tunic he'd discarded on the floor earlier.

"There, stop your blushes and open it. Proof that I didn't drag you to my bedroom to take advantage of you."

I arched a brow. "I think you'll find that I took advantage of you, " I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

He leaned over and kissed me. "So you did. Now open it."

I unfolded the pressed paper wrapping the outside of the small box. Curling wildflowers dotted the outside. I lifted the wooden lid from the top. Underneath was a small golden dagger, a pendant with a real blade, no bigger than my pinkie. The dagger had a halmasti head, and a curved edge, just like one my father had made.

"How did you…?"

"There is a jeweler up north who crafts custom pendants like I'd never seen before. He creates work for the emperor so I wouldn't be surprised if he supplied him with zoraat. He bends gold and steel into masterpieces. I asked him if he could create this, and he did it."

"It's perfect," I said, my throat thick with emotion.

"I finally found jewelry you'll wear." He gave me a lopsided grin. "And of course it's a dagger." Then he grew serious. "You'll wear it, won't you?"

I thumbed the scar on the edge of my knuckles and looked into his dark eyes. "I'll never take it off."