#makram

Ihsan sat with the crush of the news, composing his voice and his manner. Naime was strong, but he did not know if anyone was as strong as all this. "What do you need?" he said. If she could not answer, he would pick something and act. Naime drew a shuddering breath. He could see, in the set of her jaw, the shimmer in her eyes, she was blaming herself. For all of it. Doubting herself as she rarely did. pg.367-368

"Elder Attiyeh has sent a missive," Samira said, reaching to fuss at a bit of Naime's hair. "The Agassi is missing." Ihsan exhaled, capturing his dread in ice. He kept his face as neutral as Naime's usually was. Aysel stiffened, her lips pressing tightly together to hold back whatever questions she had. The color leached out of her golden skin, and a tickle of magic stirred in the air. Samira continued, "A contingent of riders has been missing since they went north to Dar Afir to scout supposed Republic activity in the area." Ihsan remembered Makram mentioning them. "The Agassi took a section of his men to search for them. Master Attiyeh says only two of the Agassi's men returned, claiming an ambush conducted by both Sarkum soldiers and Republic centurions. The section was slaughtered, and the survivors could not find the Agassi...or his body." "They are..." He could not say the words. "It appears that Al-Nimas and the Republic have some kind of accord, yes," Naime said, her voice dull as fresh hewn granite. pg.367-368

"You have no idea, do you?" he said, curious. He turned her face one way, then the other. "Poor, simple child. You do not even know what you are. What you can do. What you can help me to do." She clawed his head, digging at his eyes with her nails, and brought a knee up into his groin with all the force she could manage. He doubled forward with a grunt, releasing her. Nesrin tumbled to the floor and jumped up to bolt, but remembered Reyhan. In her moment of hesitation, the Grand Vizier recovered and caught her by her hair, wrestling her to the floor on her belly. "I cannot abide a fool who does not even know themselves" He pinned her to the tile with a knee in her back and a hand on her shoulder, the other in her hair, smashing her face against the floor. Pain like a knife slicing her open went through her newly healed skin, as if someone were trying to peel her like a lemon. She cried out. Black swept over her, dragging her into the emptiness of her dreams. Reach for me. "Rings," the Grand Vizier said, like an order, and the room flickered back into existence. Cemil crouched in front of her and held his open palm out to his father. Nesrin gulped a breath, and when she squeezed her eyes shut, she was back in the dream. Reach. The voice was hollow. Yet, everywhere. Male, but millions. It was echoed, into darkness, into ages, beyond existence. Old, and new. Demanded. Break. pg.359

Neither did sleep offer her a respite. Her dream...or nightmare...had been growing stranger. More real. More insistent. Nesrin did not understand it. Always it began the same. In a place where nothing existed. It was not that it was dark, just emptiness. Voices whispered, hundreds, if not thousands—words in languages she did not understand. They tumbled under and over each other, in chorus and dissonance, so that every now and then a word would echo alone that she did understand. Wake. Every time the word came, her body ached. At the edges of her vision, green glowed. But she could not find its source. She could not move to obey the command. She wanted to. Was afraid to. Each time she tried, the scar that wound her body blazed with ice and fire, as though she were ripping apart. But tonight was different. There was something with her in the darkness. Something she could not see or feel. A presence nonetheless. Nesrin knew, without looking, without seeing, something was wrong. She craned her neck, straining against whatever cocoon held her curled around herself. She managed just enough, a fraction, the tiniest turn of her head. All she saw was a shift on the peripheral of her vision. Something trapped. The awareness of it was a connection, and for a moment, enough to send her heart racing. Nesrin felt panic. Not her own, but someone else's. Panic—and wrath. Something reached for her, a tendril of ending that terrified her. pg.341-342

His father’s marriage had been arranged. But Mazhar had known Lalam, even if they had not been friends before, and there had eventually been love between them, though nothing like the love between Omar and Dilay, or Naime and Makram. Ihsan thought he might be capable of the former, a friendship. But to love? That ability had burned in Wheel fire, along with his magic. pg.119

"Be safe." Naime's words faded like ripples as the image wavered. "Return to me." "Always," Makram said. The women's figures melted into the basin. He dropped his hand from Ihsan's shoulder and let his head fall back. No one spoke, allowing him a moment. Ihsan wondered if he was ever permitted that, as a commander in a battlefield that spread two nations. pg.31

"Do you have more for me?" Makram asked quickly. The figure of Naime shook her head. She appeared to stare straight ahead, but Ihsan knew she was taking in the watery figurine of Makram on her side, just as he gazed fiercely at hers. They stood silent, and Ihsan wished he could be less intrusive for them, even as a thin flutter of jealousy made his mouth sour. Naime needed Makram. For so many Turns, it had been her and Ihsan, together against everything, bound by family and shared trauma. But what she needed now was a blade, not a shield, the only thing Ihsan had ever been good for. He could not settle himself into a purpose, now. pg.31