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Zafira and Yasmine. Yasmine and Zafira. That was the way it had been for as long as Zafira could remember. Her oldest memories were filled with Yasmine; Yasmine running through the snow, Yasmine arguing with Deen while she braided Lana’s hair, Yasmine’s warm hand clasped in her own. Their friendship was the only thing that had gotten her through her father’s death and the following unravelling of her and Umm's relationship. She would never forget how Yasmine had encouraged her to start hunting alone, and had carried her confidence with her into the Arz. Although Yasmine had made her stance on the Hunter’s male persona very clear, Zafira knew that she would always be able to rely on Yasmine’s unwavering support.
Yasmine had been a fixture in her life for so long that she wasn’t sure when, exactly, her feelings for the other girl had grown more complicated. Never quite understood why the label of sister couldn’t be applied to Yasmine when Deen had always fallen into the comfortable category of brother. All that had mattered to her for so many years was staving off starvation, and protecting the four people in Arawiya that she truly loved. Lana, Umm, Yasmine, and Deen. It was the five of them against the world.
Until Misk came to their village and flipped Zafira's world upside down.
While Zafira would never be able to pin down the moment that she had fallen in love with Yasmine, the second that she realized the extent of her feelings was forever seared into her memory. It was at a village gathering, late at night. She could remember the feel of Yasmine’s warmth as she pressed against her, laughing at one of Deen’s jokes, and Zafira had looked away for only a second to make sure that Lana was okay, chatting with her school friends. Yasmine’s laughter had trailed off, and Zafira had traced her gaze across the room, seeing a handsome young man with his eyes set firmly on Yasmine. Letting out an amused sigh she had turned to Yasmine, expecting the usual reaction. A roll of the eyes, a brief giggle, perhaps a particularly harsh look thrown in the admirer’s direction depending on how much had been drunk that night.
But instead Zafira was stunned by the awestruck expression on her friend’s face, her lips slightly parted. And then, to her absolute astonishment, Yasmine lifted her hand to wave. Zafira hastily yanked her arm back to her side.
“What in Arawiya are you doing?” she hissed, shocked when Yasmine didn’t even reply. It was as if the girl hadn’t even heard her. There was a brief rustle of fabric, and then Yasmine was gone, swept into the fray, walking towards the stranger even as he made his way towards her. In that moment, all that Zafira could feel was anger at being abandoned without even a word, for a man of all things.
Later, of course, after she had gone home and was lying in bed, everything made horrible, horrible sense. It only grew from there, the fierce jealousy that would be summoned at the mere mention of Misk’s name. She wanted nothing more than for the man to go back to Sarasin, to leave their little family alone.
To Zafira’s horror however, Misk’s presence in Yasmine’s life only seemed to grow as the days passed. More and more frequently Yasmine was abandoning plans with her to hang out with Misk, only furthering Zafira’s vendetta against the man as the months dragged on, her hopes of the Sarasin leaving dimming more each day. It all came to a head eventually, when Yasmine invited her over for the first time in weeks. In hindsight, she should have realized what was going on before Yasmine had thrown open the door and shoved her hand into Zafira’s face.
“Engaged?” Zafira said, feeling as if time itself had suddenly stopped, frozen at the sight of the delicate ring shimmering on Yasmine’s finger. “To Misk?” Her friend laughed breathlessly and rolled her eyes, cheeks pink from exhilaration.
“No, to the za’eem. Who else? Oh, Zafira, it was so romantic. He asked me to go for a walk, took my arm and led me over to the garden…” Yasmine’s voice seemed to grow quieter, spiraling into the ever-present snow drifting down past the windows. Or perhaps it was only the sound of Zafira’s heartbeat, growing louder and louder, pounding in her chest. She had just enough awareness to force a smile to her lips, nod at whatever it was that Yasmine was saying. All she wanted was to scream.
Marriage? Already? She knew that it was coming, had been for a long time now. Ever since the courting had begun she could feel that her time with Yasmine, time with Yasmine being hers, was running out. She could see it in the way that Yasmine would stare off into the distance, an unfocused, dreamy expression on her face, or in the growing collection of expensive jewelry that shone at Yasmine’s neck and arms.
This shouldn’t have been a surprise, and yet Zafira understood at that moment that it didn’t matter, she could have had all the time in the world to prepare and the news always would have felt like this. Like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and was being squeezed, suffocated as if it were trapped in the Arz itself. Yasmine was still talking, still beaming, looking happier than she ever had before. Happier than Zafira had ever seen her before.
Zafira startled as her friend took her hand in hers, snapping back to the conversation. Yasmine was laughing as she said: “I mean, if this doesn’t stop the gossip, I don’t know what will. If anyone had ever suspected that myself and the Hunter were a thing, this would surely dispel any rumors.”
Zafira had not felt such pain since she had watched her mother drive that stake into her father’s heart.
Later she could not remember how she had made it through the rest of that conversation. How she had been able to bear Yasmine’s lovesick rambling, wishing as always that it was for her instead of Misk, that she was the one who Yasmine spoke so passionately about.
It might have been easier to bear if she could make herself hate the man, if Misk was anything other than a kind, handsome, young man whose only flaw was his caliphate’s reputation. As it was, she only felt guilty for her harsh feelings, when the four of them would sit together and chat, and it would seem as if the Sarasin had been a part of their little group ever since she and the Ra’ad siblings had met. But then he would look at Yasmine, stare at her with nothing but want in his eyes, and she couldn’t help the rush of fury that seized her by the throat. The worst part, though, was always her friend’s reaction.
Those gorgeous eyes, that stunning face, unguarded in her display of emotion, telling Misk, without saying a word, that all of his feelings were reciprocated. Every night Zafira would dream of that look being given to her, of sliding her hand into Yasmine’s thick hair and drawing their lips together.
Deen’s presence used to be of some comfort to her, for although it was obviously different for him, he was losing Yasmine too. He had told her, the night of the engagement, that he was afraid of how lonely the house would feel without his sister in it. She had made him laugh despite her own sadness, saying that at least the villagers would have a new source of gossip, as it would seem to them that the Hunter had been taken with the other sibling after all. It had pleased her, at the time, to lift his spirits, although the heaviness of his gaze afterwards should have been yet another warning.
His feelings for her had changed recently, becoming more noticeable since Misk had started courting Yasmine. Where Zafira had never seen Deen as more than family, it was clear that she hadn’t been a sister to him for quite some time.
She had hoped that ignoring the shy looks and hesitant fingers wrapping around hers would discourage Deen, ending this thing between them before it even began. And then he asked her to marry him.
What could she tell him? That she could never love him as he loved her? That she would never be able to look at him without thinking of his sister? That she would never be able to touch his skin without imagining it was Yasmine’s body under her hands instead?
Looking into his wide, hopeful brown eyes she couldn’t bring herself to give him a hard no. The truth would break his heart as much as it broke her own, and for what? In a cruel twist of fate, Zafira never ended up having to confess.
Staring into the fire that Benyamin had lit in an attempt to bring them warmth on the endless sands of Shaar, Zafira felt glad that at least Deen had died thinking that she loved him, that they would someday be married. Deen’s death had only solidified her feeling that she and the rest of the zumra would die on this cursed island. If someone as kind and gentle as Deen Ra’ad couldn’t be spared, what did the rest of them deserve, killers that they were?
Across the fire Altair and Kifah were laughing at the scowling Prince of Death without fear over a comment that Zafira had missed. Benyamin was reading, squinting his eyes to see in the flickering light of the fire. Looking at these people who she had met only days earlier, Zafira was startled to realize that they were quickly becoming among the stark few that she called family. At that moment, she made a decision.
As much as part of her heart would always lay with Yasmine, it was time for that dream to be banished. On Shaar, nothing was ever certain. If she was going to die here, she wanted to be at peace knowing that her loved ones back in Demenhur were safe and happy, and she would never be able to do that if she couldn’t accept Yasmine’s marriage. It would have to be enough, for their relationship to always be a what if and nothing more. Misk would keep her safe and happy, and Yasmine would forever be her dearest friend. She could be satisfied with that.
The next few months were so chaotic and painful that her frayed relationship with Yasmine only drifted farther down her list of priorities, helping her draw the line with her feelings. That, coupled with the hard losses of Benyamin and Umm, the Lion’s return, and her evolving connection with Nasir pushed nearly all of her pain regarding Yasmine out of her mind. After she and Nasir were married and she was newly made Calipha of Sarasin, Yasmine appeared in her thoughts less than ever before. It was a shock then, when one night, as she lay wrapped around her husband’s back with her arm thrown over his waist, she was overcome with emotion. Nasir stirred and grabbed her hand, reading the tension in her body even in his loose, half-asleep state. Zafira blinked back tears at both the deep sadness that she had never truly banished on Shaar, and at the fact her husband could sense that something was wrong and was trying to comfort her, despite being nearly unconscious.
She squeezed him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, reassuring him to fall into sleep. She loved her husband more than anything, was so grateful that they had survived everything and come out stronger. He was hers and she was his. And if a small part of her occasionally dreamed of long hair and delicate hands and a life that only ever existed in her mind….
Well. It was nothing that Nasir would ever know.