The sun was bright, like a raging fire in the blue sky. It made her eyes sting, tears flowing out of them and trickling down her cheeks. The salt made her dry skin itch. She wiped them away with her sleeve and kept walking through the sand blowing around her feet. Blasts of hot wind kept rushing at her, throwing sand burning into her face.

It was an uncomfortably hot day today, the sun unrelenting, the sky too bright to look at. The wind tore around them in circles it seemed, pushing them one way then another in searing waves. It was making the men restless. She could see it in their faces, hardened, jaw tightened, walking faster, more determinedly. They were getting tired of the desert and tired of the heat and the sand grating into their skin.

She didn't mind it as much as the Thieves and the Royal Guard around her did, grumbling and complaining about it. It gave her something else to think about, brushing it off her arms and dress every time it blew up and covered her. If she could concern herself wholly with it, she didn't have the time to pull her sleeves up and see if the black welts were still there.

They were, every time she did check, and it seemed to her that they were bigger and darker, though it could have only been her imagination. At any rate, she wasn't getting better. She still felt feverish and cold, though her chills were occasionally interrupted with flashes of hot, like she'd caught fire suddenly and was burning in the flames. Then it would subside and the cold returned, like she was caught in a snow storm at home in winter, frostbitten and freezing.

She kept walking, though. It was the one thing she could do, walk and try to convince herself that it was to some end, something that would make her better. If she just kept walking everything would be alright.

In the back of her mind, though, she knew it wasn't. There was no better end they were going to. She knew from the way Tahir had been glancing at her since morning, the worried, concerned look, trying to catch her eye. By the way she knew he loved her and would do anything for her, the way it would be his end if he knew.

She ignored him. If he didn't know, he wouldn't volunteer to spill the sands for her. She didn't want him to. What hurt the most, though, was the way she almost did. She almost wanted to tell him and hear him say he'd spill the Sands and die then, so she could live. She didn't want to die; she was sure of that. But she hated thinking that, hated thinking that after everything they'd been through, after everything he'd done for already, that she still wanted him to die just so that she wouldn't have to.

It made her feel guilty and extremely selfish, and she resolved not to speak to him, so that there wouldn't be any chance of her blurting out that she had the plague. She wouldn't meet his eyes, wouldn't even dare to glance at him. She just looked straight forward and kept walking. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

It occurred to her vaguely that she would die then, that she was dying slowly even now. But she ignored that thought along with everything else. If she just kept walking...she jumped as she felt a hand grip her shoulder, not Tahir's.

Turning, she saw that it was Shahzad coming up next to her, on her right. His eyes were dark and scanning the horizon impatiently, a concentrated look on his face. He was walking fast, too, feet pounding into the ground, restless. They all were.

It worried her; Shahzad could be dangerous when he was restless. Within a moment, though, he'd released her shoulder and turned his head to look at her, a slight smile gracing his lips. "Xavia," he said, nodding a greeting.

"Shahzad," she said slowly, watching him. She wasn't sure what he wanted with her, how he felt about her, or how she felt about him. He'd helped them, that much was true, and she had to believe there was good in him, but that didn't take back everything. He'd still betrayed them, and he was still leading them through the desert to find the Sands of Time for his own power.

"How are you?" he asked after a moment, as they kept walking.

She sighed slightly, considering telling him that she was horrible. But then he'd ask more questions, and she didn't need that. Unless...unless he knew she had the plague and was sorry for her! They could tell him the whole story and he could agree to spill the Sands and—but no, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. She couldn't ask him for that, she couldn't ask anyone for that. "I'm alright. A bit tired of walking out here. And you, Shahzad, how are you?"

His head whirled around to face her suddenly, looking almost startled by her question. She had a feeling that no one had asked him that in a very long time. In an instant, however, he'd regained his composure and was looking straight ahead again, but his eyes were strained far off into the distance, or maybe farther still, into another place, another time.

"I'm sick of this," he said at last. "Always walking, never finding anything. I want to find the Sands." His voice was low and edgy, angry, but not at her. At life, at the world, for keeping him walking, never ending.

She could relate to that. It was how she'd felt for a long time, searching for the monument. "It does get tiring," she agreed in a conversational tone, trying to keep their spirits light.

Shahzad frowned, still looking far off. "Sometimes I think we're all such fools," he said with a sardonic laugh. "We chose our own torture coming out here, probably our own end. We let ourselves get swept up in all this...hope, but we're just thrown by chance. It's like we built our lives on the sand dunes and now they're being swept away in the wind. And we just keep going, keep walking, keep hoping," he spat the word, "because there's nothing else left for us, back there."

Xavia watched his hardened, weather-beaten face and felt her heart breaking for him, perhaps more now than ever. This wasn't the same Shahzad who'd dug up several feet of sand with his bare hands to try to save his love. He didn't give up on hope then, no matter how desperate that hope seemed. No, this was a different man, a broken man, torn down by the desert and by a life he hadn't asked to live.

She wanted to help him, to remind him of who he was, who he could be. "Shahzad," she spoke softly, "you do have something left. You have your whole palace, all your people, your whole life ahead of you. You could go back."

He turned to look at her, brow furrowed more now, creases in his forehead, eyes darkened. "I can't go back," he said with more resolve, in a stronger voice, harder and angrier. "Not without the Sands, I can never go back! And if I don't find them, then I'll die out here, Xavia, mark my words."

She said nothing for a moment, puzzled. The lure of power was great; she knew that, but she still didn't understand his dire need for the Sands, wanting them so much that he would rather die than rule without them. "Why do you think you need them so much?" she asked. "You would do more for your people spilling them than you ever could just owning them. Are you...afraid to rule without something to help you?"

He was practically glaring at her now, but she saw him swallow, clenching his fists, and she knew she'd struck a chord: fear. He was afraid to be on his own, without his father there to help him, without anything giving him power, making him invincible.

It was understandable; he had a whole country to rule, and it was far bigger than her own country back home. She knew his father had been a great ruler, too, and kept Arabia in peace for many years. It was a lot to live up to.

"I'm no good-deed doer, Xavia, if you haven't figured that out by now. I was born to power, not a simple thief running about in the streets while dreaming about 'saving Arabia'. I have more to consider than the average commoner does."

She felt anger rising in her with that statement. Tahir—and the Thieves—were no average commoners, and she was proud to be considered one of them! Their mission was no dream; it was a reality. They'd come out here, and gotten so far; they'd risked everything, and they still were risking everything. "You wear the mark same as I do, Shahzad," she said in a biting tone. "Or have you forgotten?"

He seemed to jerk his sleeve down almost involuntarily, trying to deny any connection to the Forty Thieves, but she knew it was still there, whether or not he chose to acknowledge it. She shook her head at him, looking ahead again.

She remembered what Tahir had told her, how he'd burnt the mark onto his arm himself, holding the hot iron to his skin, refusing to even scream. He was a fool, but so eager, so enthusiastic to show his allegiance to them, how he was one of them, just like them. He'd been optimistic about life then, loving every moment of it. So much had changed.

It was almost like he'd died, was just a picture of what he used to be, only he occasionally surfaced, displaying some life, to show he wasn't completely gone. Everything had been so hard on him since Faiza. "She wore it, too," she said more quietly now, hardly more than a whisper.

She watched him tense, muscles going rigid, his walking almost jerky, unnatural. After a moment he slumped forward in defeat, hanging his head down low. "I miss her," he said in a small voice, like a child, not the arrogant man he'd been only a moment before. "Sometimes you remind me of her, a little. But then everything does." He was quiet and still before going on, "I failed her, you know. I should have saved her somehow; she shouldn't have—" he broke off, sounding like he was choking.

His fists clenched tighter until they were shaking, moving left and right in tremors. "You didn't know her!" he practically screamed at her, grief changing to anger in little more than instant, though she could see his eyes were still filled with unshed tears. "Don't act like you did! You had dreams about her and you watched her die in them, but that doesn't mean anything! You didn't know, you don't understand! You'll never understand!"

She felt herself crying, too, maybe even more than he was as she realized that she was going to die just the same as Faiza had, black welts covering her skin, unable to walk, unable to move. The Sands could save her, but the price of spilling them was so high.

More than anything, she just wanted to know that when she died, Tahir—or any of them—wouldn't blame themselves for her death. She suddenly understood how Faiza must have felt, dying all alone, when it was no one's fault, but everyone was bound to blame themselves. It wasn't fair; the plague just wasn't fair! It was just pure chance, coming and striking people on a whim, ruining the lives of all those around them.

She didn't mind so much that she would die, she just didn't want anyone she knew to feel the way Shahzad was feeling now. And she reminded him of Faiza, he'd said. She knew he still cared for her, in some way, even after everything. He'd helped them when she was desperate enough to ask, maybe because she reminded him of her. He was bound to feel it again, if she died.

And Tahir. Thinking of him like Shahzad, shaking and crying and screaming, made her want to break down and sob. She'd never seen him cry and if she did, she knew she didn't want it to be over her, blaming himself for her death. She would have to tell him that it wasn't his fault; she wouldn't blame him, could never blame him—for anything.

Shahzad was turning back towards her again now, and she hastily wiped her tears away with her sleeve, swallowing the knot in her throat. She couldn't let him see her like this; she knew she wouldn't be able to explain herself right now even if she wanted to.

"What were you doing out there when you ran away with Tahir?" he asked in an accusing tone, narrowing his eyes at her. "Did you find the Sands out there and spill them? Did you find anything?"

She looked down, lowering her gaze to the sand at her feet. She wasn't going to tell him. Up until now, he hadn't asked, so it hadn't mattered. It still didn't in a way; the monument was behind them now, but she didn't want him to know. He would think they were plotting against him still, he wouldn't trust them. They didn't need to lose his trust right now.

"You must have found something or you'd just say that you didn't. So what was it? You never mentioned anything when you came back to ask for my help."

She shifted uncomfortably under his unrelenting gaze. She felt colder than before. The crying and now this questioning wasn't helping her already hurting head. But she wouldn't talk; she had nothing to say to him.

"Do you know what the price is for withholding information from the sultan, Xavia? You wouldn't keep it back if you did." His voice held a threat, but she wasn't sure if she believed him. They were friends—in a way. He wouldn't save her from the desert only to hurt her for not telling him what had happened out there, would he?

"You wouldn't touch me, Shahzad," she said, trying to muster as much confidence as she could. She was afraid her voice still came out trembling and weak. She didn't want his questions, or his threats. She just wanted to be left alone.

"Wouldn't I, now?" he replied dangerously.

She pursed her lips and glanced over, to Shahzad's other side and past him. Tahir was there, walking only a short distance away from them, his eyes on her and his face concentrating hard, listening to their conversation, tense.

Shahzad followed her wandering gaze, turning his head to see Tahir. She saw him snap, emotions quickly changing from anger to something far worse, something more dangerous than anger. He straightened and gave an exaggerated smile. "Tahir," he shouted over, "perhaps you can enlighten us, as Xavia seems to have lost her tongue. So what did you find out there, in the desert?"

Tahir stiffened under Shahzad's contemptuous tone, but seemed to remain calm, speaking in a steady voice. "There's nothing you need to know about, Shahzad. We didn't spill the Sands; they're still out there somewhere."

Xavia breathed a sigh of relief, glad that Tahir was better with being questioned than she was. She hadn't had the slightest idea of what to say to Shahzad, but Tahir had told him what he needed to hear the most, that the Sands of Time were still intact, and they weren't walking in vain, without giving away anything else.

Shahzad scowled, however, apparently angry that his opponent wasn't rising to the fight. "What did you find, then?" he asked tauntingly. "It must have been something. Another monument maybe or a ring of stones? Something else utterly useless so you came back. Because it's all useless! Everything!" He was shouting now and obviously angry, though Xavia wasn't sure if it was more at them or at his life in general.

Xavia held her breath, watching Tahir, wondering what he would say. He was silent for a moment, waiting, considering. "It does seem that way sometimes, yes, but I don't believe it, Shahzad. Xavia and I came back because we had to. Whatever was out there, we had to come back."

Shahzad snorted rudely. "Yes, to drink my water and eat my food, though you left without so much as a backward glance. Now tell me what I want to know!" His last phrase was louder than the rest, so loud that the others stopped walking, standing awkwardly around them, waiting, watching for what would happen.

Xavia looked between the two men, Shahzad, angry and intense, Tahir calm and tranquil. She bit her lip. She just wanted them to stop fighting and be friends again! But every conversation with Shahzad turned into a contest, a challenge of power, a fight. It wasn't completely his fault, but she wished he didn't always feel the need to prove himself better, to push everyone else down.

"Shahzad, it doesn't matter," Tahir was saying quietly. "We haven't changed anything; it doesn't effect you. Just let it go."

Shahzad shook his head, glaring. His jaw was tight, and he had that look, like he was about to do something dangerous. "No," he said, quieter now but edgier, with more intensity, "not this time." He stepped forward and forward again, each step reverberating as he pounded his foot down. He lunged at Tahir, tackling him to the ground before he had time to react. Then they were down and scuffling and fighting on the ground. Sand rose in a cloud around them as Shahzad's fists were flying.

Xavia watched in horror, that he would simply attack one of his friends who's life he'd saved only a matter of days ago. She remembered before, though, when he'd ordered Tahir beaten in the dungeons, and she could believe he would do it, but she didn't want to believe it. It wasn't right, wasn't...natural.

He'd gotten the upper hand using the element of surprise, and Tahir was having a difficult time getting up. She had to stop them, somehow. She glanced at the Thieves and the Royal Guard. Both groups were watching with a nervous look on their faces, but she could tell none of them wanted to interfere. Tahir and Shahzad were both leaders. Interfering in their right to fight each other didn't seem like a good idea to their followers.

But she wasn't going to let Shahzad kill Tahir, if it got that far. She watched the pile of writhing limbs and sand carefully. She knew she couldn't pull either of them away; she wasn't strong enough even without the plague, and if she did manage to have some effect, Shahzad would likely just turn on her. She needed another way and probably fast as she could see Shahzad's fists coming down hard and Tahir struggling under him. Nothing came to mind.

"Shahzad, stop!" she screamed desperately, raising her voice as loud as she could. It came out piercing and high and her throat felt like rocks were scraping down it. Still, she didn't expect anything would come of her shouting. It was just shouting, and Shahzad wasn't prone to listen to anyone when he was in a rage.

But then there was a gentle lull as the sound of their fighting quieted to only a slight shuffle, before stopping altogether. They were mostly still on the ground, only bothering to disentangle themselves. Finally they both stood up, brushing the sand off of themselves. Tahir looked confused, and Shahzad looked...different, filled with some emotion she hadn't seem in him before. Ashamed maybe, or just obedient, willing to listen for once. He stared at Tahir for a moment, glanced at her, then walked away, to the other side of the group and then onward, starting their journey again.

She watched him go, feeling more confused than ever. He listened to her. Shahzad listened to her. Shahzad, who didn't listen to anyone. He'd said earlier that she reminded him of Faiza, but...she still didn't think he would actually listen to her. She puzzled over his actions for a moment, then rushed to Tahir. "Are you alright?" she asked, observing the blue and red bruises that dotted his face.

He nodded. "I'm fine, but...why did he...?"

She shrugged. She had no better answer than anyone else. "I don't know. But we'd better get walking again; they're moving on," she said, glancing at the men starting to move past them.

Tahir nodded and they started off. After only a few minutes, she felt tired and her head was pounding in her ears. She glanced uneasily at Tahir beside her. She wasn't getting any better, and he deserved to know. Besides, she still had to tell him that she wasn't going to blame him if she died. But she'd wait until tonight, she had enough to think about for now.


Tahir spread his bedroll out upon the ground, slowly gliding his hand down the sheet, smoothing out the creases until it was flat on the sand. He sat down on top it then, lying back and closing his eyes against the world. He was tired. It had been a long day, fighting with Shahzad, listening to the man's threats against Xavia, walking.

He still didn't understand why Shahzad had stopped punching him when Xavia screamed at him, but he wasn't complaining. Shahzad actually listening to anyone had to be a good sign. He was just glad he hadn't hurt Xavia after she screamed like that. But everything had worked out alright; they'd simply kept walking and now they were stopping to rest, and he could sleep.

He rolled onto his side, feeling his consciousness beginning to slip away as he drifted between dreams and the waking world, half in either one. The weight of the world was falling away, replaced with peace and calm, tranquility. Sleep.

There was a sound beside him, a scuffling next to him, someone scooting over next to him on the sand. What could they want now, at night time, after such a tiring day? He just wanted to sleep, not bothered by anyone or anything. "Tahir," he heard Xavia whisper his name softly close to his ear, just barely breathing it.

He opened his eyes, rousing himself from his sleep and pushed himself off the ground and into a sitting position, still feeling tired. "Is everything alright?" he asked blearily, yawning as he spoke, but trying to wake himself up more. She must have had a reason for coming to interrupt him when he wasn't even awake.

"Everything is fine," she said quietly. "I just...need to talk to you."

She was looking down, with her head hanging low, close to his own. He could feel her warm breath flowing downward, heating his hands. She was probably sitting cross-legged, the same as he was, to be at the same height as him.

"Alright, what do you have to say that can't wait until morning?" he asked, laughing slightly. He couldn't imagine what would be so important if she said everything was fine. They could talk during the day all the time; there was no reason to come and talk privately to him in the middle of the night.

She didn't laugh back, though. Her breathing sounded nervous, first coming in fast rushes, then slower, calmer inhales and exhales. Something was wrong. He was beginning to feel it, though he didn't know what it could be, but something was very wrong. She was worried, afraid even to tell him what she was worried about. It couldn't be good. He wanted to see her face.

"Xavia? What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound nervous as well. He wanted to put her at ease, to tell her it was alright, whatever it was. What could really be so bad anyway? They'd survived the desert and they'd survived Shahzad, so what more was there?

"Tahir," she started, then stopped, her breath gasping inward as she sucked it in fast, in something like a sob. She was crying. But in a moment she was breathing normally again and evenly, so he had to question whether or not he'd really heard it. "Tahir," she said again, "I...I think I have the plague." She gripped his hands as she spoke, holding them tightly. Her hands felt small and fragile and cold in his own.

Within a moment, he could see her, and he was looking down at her hands. They were covered in black splotches, welts that were like burnt flesh, eating away at her skin. His eyes traveled up her arm to where her sleeve was, and the black spots went up as well, as far as he could see. He looked back down then; he'd seen enough, and he didn't want to look at her face, not yet.

The plague. After everything in the desert, after almost dying of dehydration, after passing by the monument, she had the plague. The irony of it would have made him laugh if he weren't so—so—angry! How could she have gotten the plague? Well, that was an unreasonable question; the contagions were in the air, she could have gotten it anywhere. But it was so—wrong.

The dream, he remembered the dream now, and the shadows he'd seen in her eyes. It made sense. She'd gotten the plague that night when they'd both dreamed it, but it had taken until now for it to show. The feeling of the dream came sweeping back to him. This was the thing, the one thing he couldn't save her from, the thing that took her life. But if he spilled the Sands...

"Tahir, say something!" she pleaded with him, sounding desperate and afraid.

He looked up from her hands and into her green, tear-filled eyes. Her bottom lip was trembling, and he had a sudden desire to kiss her like he had in the rain and tell her that everything would be alright anyhow, but he knew it wasn't that simple. She was searching his eyes for an answer he wasn't sure he had.

"Well," he said at last, "this...changes things." He laughed slightly, a dry, humorless laugh. He wasn't sure what to say to her. He felt...awkward and ridiculous and there was so much to say and yet...so little. There was no good way to put anything, and he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say to her.

She pursed her lips to stop the trembling, and he looked down at her hands again, running his thumbs gently over her small fingers, thinking. He couldn't let her die; it was simple in that sense. But in another sense it was so complex. He'd been willing to die for her in the desert, but this, this was...different. There was no way out of this one.

It was the very thing he'd been trying to avoid, though he had the ring and knew they could get to the Sands of Time. He just...hadn't wanted to die yet. He wanted more time with Nadim and Jalal, all the Thieves, Shahzad...her. He thought she might be beginning to care for him, as more than a friend. She didn't flinch or pull away from his fingers stroking her hand.

Being in love with her and her with him...it was what he'd wanted for so long. They could have gotten married someday maybe. He'd live wherever she wanted to, so long as he could just be with her—but it wasn't any use, thinking that way. It wasn't going to happen; that option had been ruled out the day Nadim read the monument to him.

He'd known since then he'd have to sacrifice his life for Arabia, he just...hadn't thought it would be so soon. But she wouldn't have much longer. He looked at her face again, cheeks wet with the tears that had spilled out and were dripping down her freckles. Tendrils of her golden-red hair had come loose from her ribbon and framed her face. He smiled, just barely, realizing that he'd die a million times for her. He knew what he had to do.

He straightened, raised his hand and brushed some of the tears from her face. She was startled, jumping slightly, but didn't stop him. "I'm going to spill the Sands of Time," he said quietly, like he was telling her the weather or what time of day it was, not this. "I'll let them fall on me, and I'll heal Arabia and you all at once."

She shook her head hastily, breathing in sharply again. She didn't want him to. It was difficult; he didn't want to either, but he knew he had to, it was the right thing. "Tahir, you can't. I—I don't want you to die for me, that was why I didn't tell you until now, I didn't want to ask you that."

"But you're not asking," he said sincerely, trying to let her know that it wasn't her fault, not in any way. "I'm telling you that I'm going to do it, because I'd rather die than you see you die from the plague. I would have had to do it anyways eventually, for Arabia. Now it's just sooner."

She stared at him for a moment, eyes moving back and forth across his face like she was looking for some other way, some way out of all this mess. But he knew there wasn't one, no matter how hard they looked. Not every question had a good solution. "But—but—we're fate bound! Won't I die, too?"

He laughed at her attempts to find something to dissuade him. She would never ordinarily admit to believing that they were fate bound, and he doubted she meant it now."You actually believe in being fate bound now?" he asked.

She didn't reply, but shrugged slightly, her eyes still unmoving from his face.

He sighed. "It's called severing. When I die willingly we'll be cut off from each other. You won't ever have to feel me or dream of me again." He tried to smile at her and to laugh, but he couldn't and neither could she. It was too fake; it hurt too much. He spoke sincerely now, "Xavia, please understand, I want to do this. You're not condemning me; I'm choosing it."

She looked into his eyes, meeting them with understanding now, but still filled with pain. She nodded, agreeing at last, though reluctantly. "Thank you," she said and smiled with him as brightly as she could manage, but they both knew it was only pleasantry. They were trying to put a good face on the situation when there wasn't much of a good face to put on.

He nodded and reached into his pocket, taking the ring out. He held Xavia's hand and found her ring finger, slipping the ring slowly onto it. It was a perfect fit and the ring shown with bright gold and blue, the floating specks dancing like fireflies in the night air. "Give it to Shahzad; he listens to you. We'll all go with him to the Sands and I'll find a way to get up to it with the key."

She nodded again, still looking at the ring on her finger, glistening there like a tiny star, sparkling as it jeweled her hand. She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze with intensity and opened her mouth to speak—then stopped. She smiled again, a sad, broken hearted smile. "Goodnight, Tahir," she said softly.

He smiled back as well as he could. He wanted to tell her...he wanted to tell her so many things, but there was nowhere to start and nowhere to end. No matter what he said, it would never mean what he wanted it to. She was watching him, waiting for him to speak. "Goodnight, Xavia," he said at last.

He watched as she crept back to her own bedroll, burying herself under her blankets, sighing slightly. Soon he would die.


Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter. I was a bit busier than I had anticipated and Shahzad and Xavia were being ornery. But here it is now! Enjoy it!