The viewing box—the same one as the camel race—was filled with guests. My shoulders fell. I wanted to be anywhere but in there.
A figure separated from the crowd. A woman moved to the edge, watching her soon-to-be husband.
Helena.
In the way she placed her hand on the smooth wood railing, I knew she was born to be a queen. Her pallor, the almost-straw color of her hair, and eyes so bright blue I could see them from where I stood, gave her the appearance of someone conjured by a storyteller. She stood like a closed door, a reminder that I was unwelcome.
My gaze darted between Helena and Saalim, then back to the palace. A split in the path. The healer or the king.
Saalim’s clothes were resplendent with swirls of summer, golden threads as luminous as the crown on his head. His hands were in front of him like an unsure admirer confessing love, looking at me for only a moment before he looked away. Like a man staring at the sun.
He appeared exactly as he had that night on the beach when he conjured a fire and told me he had fallen in love with an ahira who was forbidden to love him in return. Standing there now, I saw not the king, but the jinni, and I nearly collapsed with longing.
Confusion, heartache, and grief rolled in like storm clouds. Now, more than ever, I needed my companion, my friend, my lover back.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” I said, stepping toward him.
“Not long,” he said as he followed me up the stairs. “Your robes are befitting for the festival. Please make yourself comfortable, I must see to my guests.” Then he was lost in the crowd and I was again alone.
Music sounded from far away, starting very softly. Voices around me buzzed excitedly. Soon, a trio of musicians walked down the center of the street. Behind them, I could see the beginnings of the parade: waves of color, dancers and props flowing like a river of splendor. The musicians moved rhythmically, leading people who carried thick boughs of flowers and flags that flapped in the air. It was captivating, so much grander than anything I’d ever seen.
The first exhibition rolled by, pulled by two black horses with red flowers decorating their empty saddles. I heard a man murmur, “The winner of the camel race.”
A man and a woman stood on the rolling platform, silk on display between them. They had arranged the fabric so that it flapped with the wind. They had large baskets at their feet, and as they passed, they reached down, grabbed fistfuls of petals, and tossed them toward us. Soft pink and white and orange floated down.
“There will be much more of this,” a woman said to no one in particular as she brushed the few petals from the rail.
Beyond her, Saalim was seated beside Helena, both smiling politely to the people on display. I chewed the inside of my cheek, wishing I could sit beside him. Just as I considered that it may have been foolish of me to come, Saalim’s eyes met mine. With the slightest twitch of his lip, he nodded and turned back to the parade.
Blushing, I spun and stared at the parade, seeing nothing but his shy smile.
The woman was right about the flowers. Every display tossed petals in our direction. From fanciful exhibitions or synchronized dancers that swayed to the music, there were more and more flowers. Soon they were piled on the ground around us, trailing down the street.
Near the end of the parade, an enormous wagon pulled by four horses and strung with bright flower chains rolled by. Men and women stood atop it, some holding decanters and laughing as they raised their vessels to the spectators. Another held a pipe. Some sat on the edge of the wagon, dressed to lure, smiling and waving in a way that suggested it was more than a plain greeting. On the ground around the wagon, dancers waved gauzy fabric that almost resembled smoke. Everything about the display, about the way the people moved, was dream-like. At the center of the wagon, Kahina stood on a small platform, her arms outstretched. Golden hoops hung from her ears and thick chains from her neck. Beside her stood a young man who seemed less comfortable but waved all the same.
“The baytahira.” Saalim was by my side, and I startled, not realizing he had risen from his chair.
Helena was on the other side of him. She nodded to me when our eyes met. I hoped the smile I offered was believable.
Kahina waved to me and gave a knowing grin to Saalim. Leaning toward me, Saalim said, “Before Kahina’s husband died, they would share his mapmaking during the parade. Now, it’s this.” His words were flat.
“You know Kahina well?” I asked.
“I used to. Visited her often as a child, asking her to tell my fortune.” He laughed. Helena watched him politely. Saalim continued. “I did not know her husband, since he was often gone. But I loved his maps.”
A mapmaker . . . The familiar young man beside Kahina . . .
“When did he die?” I asked Saalim, my voice shaking.
“For certain, I don’t know. Sometime in the past year. On a route, I believe.”
“What was his name?” I held my breath.
“I can’t remember. Why do you ask?”
“A man named Rafal came to my village with his maps.”
Saalim frowned. “That would be a long journey.”
I wondered.
The end of the parade came too soon. The final display was a tribute to the royal family. Saalim stiffened when he saw it: a tapestry carried on a long rod resting on the shoulders of young men. A family of six was woven against a blue background. There were no features, only the silhouettes in various shades of purples and reds. The pair at the center each had a golden crown atop their heads.
When they were in front of Saalim, they turned so that he would see the tapestry fully and kneeled.
“A gift from your people,” one of the men called, his eyes to the ground.
“Your gift is acknowledged and is appreciated. Thank you,” Saalim said. Those who did not know him would not have heard it, but I could not miss the tightness in his voice. The slight tremor when he thanked them. And perhaps it was only me who saw the slight quiver of his hand at his side. He gave a signal, and those who had kneeled were on their feet again.
“It is beautiful,” Helena said.
Slowly, he nodded. I wanted to take his hand, but instead stood beside him and watched his clasped hands on his lap.
“Where will it be placed?” Helena asked.
“They will bring it to the palace. It was customary to conclude with a gift for the queen. I did not expect they would do anything . . .” He stopped.
Following his gaze, I saw what had caught his attention. My breath hitched when I saw.
The tapestry was two-sided. On its back were two silhouettes with crowns. The second, a woman, was a pale pink and had long straight hair. Helena. The silhouettes were in front of a crescent and moon-jasmine.
“Ah,” he whispered, then dutifully turned to his betrothed. Helena saw the tapestry, too. She bobbed her head with a smile as formal as the gift.
The depiction was as regal and elegant as one could hope. It was even more stunning than the family on its other side. I could barely stand to look at it.
People funneled into the streets, waving to the king, uniting with neighbors and families. Saalim’s guests buzzed around, the chatter growing louder. Saalim and Helena were quickly lost amongst them.
It was time to return to the palace. No matter how much I wished it, my place was not here.
As I descended the steps, Amir stopped me. “You’re not leaving are you?”
“I am.”
Amir appeared wildly offended. “You can’t! It’s your first Falsa Mawk, and you plan to skip the best part?” He told me to wait for the guests to disperse and then we would travel to the party.
I felt like I had little choice, and I agreed to stay. As I waited, I relived the day. From Altasa’s offer of magic to finding Kas in the alley with the Darkafa. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t him, that it could have been someone who looked like him. But I knew better. I had seen his face. Seen the scar. And I knew his voice.
Like I’d been splashed with cold water, I turned to Amir. “I saw the Darkafa before the parade,” I said urgently. People trickled down the stairs, moving slowly to their carriages.
He nodded. “We know they are here. Azim has guards stationed on every corner of the city today.”
“But I heard them talk. They spoke of being ready.”
Now he was interested. “For what?”
“That was all I heard.” I pursed my lips, feeling a little foolish.
“Thank you for telling me. You are very loyal.”
Saalim and Helena finally came down the stairs. When Amir proudly told Saalim that he’d convinced me to join them, Saalim said, “We’ll go to the docks now. Would you prefer riding or walking?”
“Riding? On a horse?” I asked, wide-eyed. Docks?
“Not in the saddle,” he said, laughing. The guests beside him laughed, too.
A guard stepped up to him and said, “The carriage is here.”
“That settles it then.”
As the group of us moved toward the carriage, Helena dropped back to me. “I do not ride horses either,” she whispered, her accent the strangest I’d ever heard. “They terrify me.”
And despite wanting nothing less, I found that I liked her. Being so near, I was able to watch her closely. She smelled of faraway, unfamiliar places and things. She was shorter than me, her frame smaller. I thought of what Hadiyah would say. “A man wants flesh in his hands.” But a royal title mattered more than wide hips.
It took longer to reach the dock by carriage than it would have on foot. The sea of people so dense, the horses could barely nudge their way through. If there was a break in the crowd, it mattered little, as so many wanted to speak to their king and tomorrow-queen. Whether it was simply to greet them or to thank Saalim for one thing or another, we were continually being stopped.
Helena, seated across from me, leaned forward and lightly touched the veil around my face. “This is so beautiful; I have been unable to look away.”
Thanking her, I felt compelled to return a compliment, but her dress was so formal, so dull by comparison, that I felt it would have come out flat on my tongue. Helena preempted my trouble, asking me about my home. The other people with us stopped their conversations to listen. She coaxed me with questions, seeming so enamored with my life that my pride for my home grew.
The horses picked up speed as we moved off the main street and the crowds dispersed. “Almost there now,” Saalim said.
“Where are we going?” I wondered aloud as we were led down the empty dock bordered with enormous ships. Nearly all the ships were tucked in, with ropes pulled tightly over their sleeping sails, silently swaying with the waves. At the end of the dock, a single ship had its bright sails bent against the wind, the ship lurching with the force.
Amir pointed at it. “There.”
I hated walking on the docks, and now I was supposed to step onto a ship?
Laughter spilled into the air before us, and I looked up to see that there were many already aboard.
“This is the party,” Amir said with a grin, nudging me with his elbow
“On the ship?” I swallowed the nausea that rose.
“You’ll see!”
The walkway that led to the ship was no more than a thick piece of wood. The people walked up the path with only mild uneasiness, the women squawking and laughing when the men bounced on the platform to shake it. Helena ascended with an ease that spoke of her comfort on the sea. Saalim moved aside to wait for me. It was only us and the guards now.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Emel,” Saalim urged. “It is steady, see?” He pressed his foot into the center of the path, and I swear I saw the planks give.
The ship rocked with the enormous waves, coming closer to the dock, then falling away, stretching the ropes that held it fast. Should I fall between the boat and the dock, I would be crushed.
“Please,” Saalim tried again. “With me?” He offered his hand.
It would be the last time I touched him.
Slowly, I placed my hand in his. It was like fire, like cool water, like a bed of feathers. Everything that comforted, spilling down my arm at his touch. Don’t let me go. Did he feel it, too? The way he looked at me then, as though he didn’t want to let go either. Everything told me to fall into his chest, to hold him, to tell him everything.
His fingers closed around mine, and all I saw was him. The blur of the ship and guests behind us, the guards around us, was just that. A blur. A background. Unimportant. Following him, I stepped onto the path.
When the wind blew, I gripped his hand tighter and paused. Feeling my fear, he adjusted his hold so that his other hand was on my shoulder.
“I won’t let you fall,” he said quietly. “Nearly there.” His thumb brushed against my knuckles. The smallest movement, but it felt like it could have moved a dune.
And then we were there. My feet were on the solid ship, my knees buckling with relief.
Everything fell into focus. I was aboard something completely ungrounded. The ship rocked, and I lurched with it. Saalim still had not removed his hold, and he tightened his grip, holding me steady.
“You will get used to it. Just give it a few moments. Here.” He walked me to a bench laden with cushions. Other women gathered on the bench smiled politely at me. “Sit here. Let me find you something to drink.”
It was from the low bench that I was finally able to see what surrounded me.
People of wealth, spun with silk and coated in decadent oils, glided around laughing and talking and leaning against the rails that protected them from spilling into the sea. It was, indeed, a king’s party.
When I straightened my spine, I could see the jagged edges of Madinat Almulihi peaking just over the boat. The palace’s domes, brilliant in the sunlight, required no stretching. They reached into the sky, taller than my father’s palace ever had been.
“Are you a king’s ahira, then?” one of the women asked eagerly. She was very young, maybe Raheemah’s age.
“I am not,” I said, stiffening.
Surprise flashed on her face, but she recovered quickly.
“Are you?” I asked.
The woman shook her head as though she was disappointed she was not and took a sip from her drink. A shadow passed over her, and the corners of her lip lifted just a little.
“Drink this,” Saalim said, suddenly in front of me.
I stood quickly, eager to command more of his attention. But when I stood, I stumbled again with the movement of the ship and Saalim encouraged me to stay seated.
“When we depart, I will find you. There’s a rhythm to it.” He looked at the deck and spread his feet as though to demonstrate.
“Depart?” I asked. “We are going out there?” My voice was low.
He nodded once before he left me.
When the ship finally left the dock, I sat with my hands gripping the bench, the tea Saalim had gotten me long since forgotten. I could almost understand the appeal—the freedom that came with the whip of the wind and slap of the sails as the boat moved out into deeper waters—but the further out we moved, the more terrified I became.
Should the boat sink, we were doomed.
“You have been here since high sun,” a man said. I felt the cushions depress beside me. “Care for a companion?”
Omar.
Sons, would I ever escape him? He still smelled the same—liquor and sweat and whatever cloying scent he insisted on smearing on his skin. The aroma carried with it memories of those awful nights when he had requested me as his ahira. How was it possible that despite the magic that has transformed the desert, this man was unchanged?
“I prefer to be alone,” I told him quietly.
Most of the people—much braver than I—were at the edge of the ship, watching Madinat Almulihi grow smaller as we ventured further into the horizon’s mouth. “I am here with the king. He will be coming for me.”
“The king?” he laughed. “I don’t think he will be tending to you anytime soon.” Omar nodded toward a cluster of people at the bow of the ship, Saalim amongst him. The setting sun set him and Helena alight.
My shoulders fell.
“Don’t worry, dove,” he said.
Dove. It is what my father called me. It is what he had called me on those horrid nights. “There are plenty of men with wealth that might take a liking to you. Men like that need women of royal lineage.” He leaned toward me. “Us men of the desert, we are not so picky, eh? We like our women to be of the same cloth.”
Seeing nothing but the rocking horizon, I stood. I had no obligation to this man. No Salt King dictated my behavior tonight. Willing myself to remain steady, I strode toward the rail.
“Have I upset you? My apologies,” Omar said, following me.
“You have.” I turned to him, letting my anger give me strength. “By your condescension now. By your behavior when I met you in the palace. By your very presence in my father’s court those moons ago. By the bruises you left on my arms.”
I did not know if in this changed desert Omar had come to my father’s court, had bed me carelessly and violently. Had he the memories? I still did, and I refused to continue to live with them alone.
“Omar,” I said, leaning into him. He arched away from me. “Did you know I was almost given to your father to serve as your whore?” The boat dipped down, and my knees sank into it. But I did not fall.
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Do you have these memories, Omar? Let me give them back to you.
And so I did. In glistening detail.
“There was nothing I wanted less than to be the plaything of an animal. My lineage,” I spat the word, “is royal. I am the daughter of a king. And even if I wasn’t, I do not rely on men like you to tell me my worth.”
I did not give him the opportunity to reply. Wheeling around, I saw a woman descending below the deck. Swiftly, I fell in line behind her, my steps calm and light despite the hammering of my heart in my ears.
Omar, thankfully, did not follow.
Below deck, everything was darker, hazier. One inhalation told me people here were smoking the Buraq rose. A servant whose eyes appeared as glazed as some of the guests’ sauntered by with silver bowls filled with the petals of the flower. Seeing me, he tipped the tray in offering. I shook my head.
Another walked by with full goblets, and I took one. Sitting against a tall-backed chair beside a window was Dima. The fading light outside cast her in a purple-gray glow. She looked more beautiful than ever.
“It is a fine party, no?” she said staring out the window as I seated myself beside her.
“Improved only if it were it not on a ship.”
She turned to me with eyebrows raised. Her face softened. “You are the one who assists Altasa.”
When I confirmed I was, she relaxed.
“I have seen you with Saalim a few times,” she told me, not unhappily. The way she said his name made it clear with whom she spent her nights. Like Helena, I wanted to find her unlikeable, but I could not. “He seems interested in you, no?”
I shook my head and explained the superficial nature of our relationship. Why I was on this boat in the first place. “Had I known this is what it was like, I’m not sure I would have agreed.”
Dima smiled but quickly grew serious. “Better to be here, I think, than on land tonight. The Darkafa will search for Saalim. Thinking him easy prey if celebrating.”
“But aren’t we easier prey on a boat?”
Her soft eyes fell on mine before they flicked toward the window, the sea spray nearly reaching us. “You don’t have to worry. The guard is very strong. They are aware of all of these things. Even here,” she tipped her goblet toward the people inside, “we are surrounded.”
Searching each person for some sign that they were Saalim’s soldier proved useless. Too many thick robes and long tunics hiding weapons.
I leaned back and curled my legs under me. Dima seemed a safe companion.
My head buzzed, my limbs grew light. The Buraq smoke was slowly sending me up and up and up.
Dima said, “There are those who will always be eager to pry Saalim from the throne.” She echoed my movements and curled into the chair, her slippers left on the ground in front of her. Soft, jeweled, and looking as though they had not been worn once.
I replied, “To be expected, I imagine.”
Her mouth, normally so soft, pressed into a thin line. “Many never wanted him there in the first place. If it weren’t for his father’s wishes, he never would have sat on the throne.”
It was a strange thing to say. “But why not?” It was customary that the first-born son was heir to the crown.
Dima cocked her head. “You don’t know?” Her voice was not lowered. Should anyone at the party want to listen to our conversation, they easily could.
“Know?”
“Where Saalim comes from?”
I opened my mouth but closed it again. Did she know he was once a jinni?
Dima leaned forward. “His blood is ‘impure.’” The corners of her lips lifted as though she found the idea comical.
“Impure?”
She sighed. “He was the king’s son, but he was not from the womb of the queen.”
“I don’t understand. How would you know who his mother—”
“Oh, everyone in Madinat Almulihi knew. No one speaks much of it anymore. It does not matter now. But see, a baby can’t be born to a woman who had no swell.” She gestured to her belly. “The queen had never been pregnant when Saalim was born. In fact, they had not been married long.” She flicked her hand and muttered, “Not like that matters.”
My thirst for understanding burned. Saalim had never told me this. How could I have been so close to someone and yet not know everything about him? How many secrets did he keep?
“Then who was his mother?”
Dima leaned her elbow onto the sill of the window, uncaring of the wave that sent a spray of water against her skin and hair. “That was where all the trouble began. She was a salt chaser.”