The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 20: Sandstorms

During the hour it took for the servants to prepare their carriage, Inna eyed the storm from one of the Tower's many balconies. Arran stood at her side, silent, his hands clenched around the iron railing. He had sent a servant to search for his father earlier, but Farooq had gone out into the city, and with him, Arran's only chance to say goodbye. They couldn't afford to wait for his return. Inna felt Arran's hurt as if it were part of herself; it reminded her of her mother, bedridden and her skin transparent as a ghost's in those final days.

She laid a hand on his, even if it was just to distract herself from the threat on the horizon. He looked up, his eyes clouded with emotion. "Together," she said. She poured every glimmer of hope, every bit of determination and willpower into that one word.

To her surprise, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, until his warmth enveloped her. Any protest died in her throat as she returned the embrace. He smelled like the bars of jasmine soap in the guest chambers' bathrooms.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me," he whispered against her hair.

She smiled. "Thank you for adding some adventure to my boring life."

Laughter rumbled in his chest. "By now you must know that a moment spent with me will never be a dull one, princess."

She opened her mouth to answer, still caught in his arms, when someone cleared their throat. Inna and Arran scurried away from each other, faces flushed. Perfectly normal behavior for so-called siblings, of course.

Inna was the first to regain her composure. She regarded the servant in the doorway with questioningly raised eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Your carriage is ready, Your Majesties," the servant announced with a slight bow. Inna recognized her as the girl who had been gossiping about Arran in Rabyatt's bedroom. "Hashim is waiting for you downstairs."

"Thank you," Inna replied. "We'll be down in a minute."

The girl bowed once more and slipped back inside, as soundlessly as she had come. Inna cast a sideways glance at Arran. "Are you ready to go?"

He gave her a weak smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Each time her foot landed on a lower step of the stairs, Inna felt as if she was descending into a dark crater, apprehensive about what lay waiting for them at the bottom. Thunder crashed in the distance, reverberated within her bones. She squared her shoulders and steeled herself. As soon as we're out of the city gates, we'll take the carpet and fly far away from here, where our enemies can't follow.

Hashim greeted them with his usual stiff nod in the courtyard, his head inclined at just the right angle not to offend the royalty. The carriage driver, a dark-haired man barely of Arran's age, flashed a sunny smile to compensate for the butler's sullenness, and the corners of Inna's mouth turned up in response. Her eyes flicked to the carriage's roof, where the flying carpet rested rolled up on top of their scarce amount of luggage.

She turned to the butler. "Take down the carpet. I shall keep it with me; I don't want the desert sand to settle beneath the fibers and damage the patterns." With the intensity of her gaze, she dared Hashim to scowl at her for holding him up even longer. Zazi's head peeked from the shawl draped loosely around Inna's neck to contribute with her own share of intimidating stares.

Of course, he executed her order without complaining. However, she caught a fleeting glimpse of appraisal on his face, and she saw what he must be seeing: an old, worn carpet, its colors so faded it hardly seemed worth the effort to protect the thing from the elements. With a grunt, Hashim placed the carpet in a corner of the carriage's cabin, holding open the door for Arran and her when he was done.