Though I had no interest in keeping any part of our party—least of all Emel—amongst the Hayali for a moment longer, we were now seated around a fire waiting for some kind of lizard to finish cooking. Were these people not so prone to violence, I would have left the moment my aunt told us she knew nothing. Though she promised we were safe, her guard had also told Tamam how leathers made from humans were the strongest as they patted that which they wore across their hips and shoulders
They served the meal to Emel first, a young man showing her how to avoid the claws on the leg he handed her. He bent so close to her, I nearly launched forward to push him away, but a face flashed in my direction—Amir, shaking his head in warning.
A child brought Emel a drink that she peered at skeptically before thanking her. Then, the child pressed her hand above Emel’s chest, eyes wide and curious.
“Dyah!” A woman called from the fire, where she turned blackened lizards with a long stick. “Don’t!”
“But Mama, the goddess!”
There was a strangeness in how these people conducted themselves toward Emel. In many ways, they behaved with more respect, more reverence, with her than they ever had with me or my parents. Catering to her like she was royal herself.
The goddess. I thought of the Darkafa and their obsession. That question still had not been answered. When the king crosses the desert, the goddess will return. She will unleash the second-born son to put the first-born to death. Unleash Kassim, because he was a jinni, and he had been sent to kill me. But the goddess? Emel was not who they spoke of, was she? No, that made no sense. So where was this “goddess,” and where was she returning from?
“Yes, child,” the woman said. “And the goddess might strike you down if you linger.”
Dyah ran away giggling. Emel watched her with kind eyes.
Nassar leaned toward the woman. “What does the girl refer to?”
“Nassar,” I warned.
The woman was unbothered. She pointed to Emel and said, “She is protected by Masira.”
Emel asked, “Protected?”
“From magic,” the woman clarified.
No one said anything for a few moments, then the young girl stepped forward, inching closer again to Emel. “And the things you care about, too.”
“I care very much about you.” Emel smiled pulling Dyah to her side.
The woman’s smile was even wider than Dyah’s.
After the meal, Liika walked us to the edge of her valley as we left the Hayali. The high walls of the salt mine rose up around her.
“I hope you find what you are looking for,” Liika said to me. “And that you are wrong about Kena’s son.” Because I was not Kena’s son. Not by blood, at least. Liika called to a man behind her. He ushered forward a small package wrapped in linen. She took it carefully and held it out to me. With knowing eyes, she said, “For Kena. Do not get it wet.”
I unwrapped the oddly-shaped package, and when I saw what lay inside, my throat tightened. Swallowing my grief, I thanked her.
Liika offered me her hand once more. Her skin was coarse, almost desiccated. The salt mine did that to the Hayali. I often wondered if that lack of moisture made them erratic and crazed, too.
“Find peace,” she said.
“In the shadow of Eiqab’s sun,” Emel whispered.
The corner of Liika’s mouth lifted. “If there is magic out there as we suspect,” she said, then tipped her head toward Emel, “it will find her.”
“That went better than expected,” Nassar said once we were well away from the shadows of the mine. “I think you should be pleased.”
That these people could offer such minimal comforts to their guests and be so highly praised grated at me. “They are more trouble than they are worth.”
Amir laughed. “They are family.”
“That is the problem,” I said.
Nassar chuffed and said, “Did you see that mine? You know—and they know—they are worth everything.”
We left later than I had planned, and our trek to the nearest oasis was long and hot in the sun. Tamam was ill at ease despite the fact that we were far too close to Almulihi for there to be violent nomads. He did not relent, his sword always at the ready.
“Do you think it could be true,” he asked me. “That Kassim is out there? That Edala is?”
“I have to believe it possible,” I said.
“They are,” Emel said, her eyes clinging to the dunes as if they were water for a dry throat. Though his guthra covered most of his face, I could have sworn Tamam smiled.
When the home of the Hayali had become nothing more than a curve of land against the sky, I dropped back to Emel. “Do you know what the Hayali meant when they spoke of the goddess protecting you?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
There it was again. The way she said it, I knew she was not being honest with me. I felt the answer humming through me, but I couldn’t decipher it. “Why is it that magic and talk of it seems to follow you?”
“I am not the one who has a healer with a jinni at my heels.”
I smiled despite her forwardness, her blatant disregard for my station relative to hers. I rubbed at my wrists, unease flowing out through restless hands. There was no time now for subtleties and innuendoes. “Why do you speak to me like that? No one else in your place would dare.” Would she tell me the truth? Or would she keep the secrets bottled? The ones that moved through her like smoke.
“My father was a king. I am not so easily intimidated.”
My father was a king, and still I was intimidated by him. “There is something more.” My men were far enough ahead I knew my words would be lost to them.
“There is so much more,” she whispered. She sounded sad.
“Tell me,” I begged. When Emel did not respond, I said, “I will speak honestly and hope that perhaps you can do the same.”
My father’s advice rang loudly in my ears: Love has no place in the life of royalty. But I did not love Emel, I reminded myself. I was simply drawn to her. A current pulling me closer, closer, closer without doing anything at all.
I said, “I fear this will sound improper, or even a bit mad, but there is something . . .” I looked at my hands now tightly gripping the reins. “Something that draws me toward you.” Well, I had said it. There was no taking back the words now. Beside me, she stiffened. “Since the day I saw you, Emel. What is it? You have looked at me like you know me. I feel with you something that settles me, like I’ve known you for a long time. Like an old friend . . .” Like a lover, I did not say. I hoped she did not hear the tremor in my voice.
“Oh, Saalim,” she said. I could barely hear it through the hiss of wind, but I heard it. I heard the way she said it. Like she understood completely.
My pulse raced. Tell me! I wanted to shout.
“You would not believe me.” She sounded so tired. “Or, maybe you would.”
“Please.”
“I did know you. I knew you . . . so well.” She looked at me, her eyes wet. We rocked with the camels beneath us, the beasts dutifully following our small caravan.
“How?”
She said nothing.
“You won’t tell me?”
Emel shook her head. “There is nothing that will make sense. If I could, I would have told you the moment I saw you in my home.” She wiped her eyes.
Just knowing there was something between us, something that happened even if I couldn’t remember it, filled that yawning void. It drew me closer to her with comfort, rather than uncertainty.
Yes, this made sense. Whatever this was.
At the oasis, we yoked the camels and unrolled our mats. Emel set herself up between me and a nearby bush. Though I missed the raised bed of my home, sleeping within reach of her, so close I could hear the sighs of her sleep, was a solace I did not expect. That, I would give my bed for.
“The south!” Tamam said suddenly, his words spilling out around us.
I saw them immediately. Four—no, five—people moved over a dune. Had they seen us?
At once, we re-packed our things, hurling them behind the bushes near the camels.
“Keep this one near,” I told Emel, handing her my pack. “If you must flee, it has the most food and my bawsal. Almulihi is northeast of here.”
She took it in her hands, and flung her own pack over her shoulder. She carried that with her everywhere, but never did she open it.
Tamam, Amir, and Nassar gathered together as we waited for the group to approach.
When they were closer, I could see they were nomads—dressed smartly against the sun. That they traveled by day told me they were desert-born. Amir stepped forward when they neared us, and I moved to stand in line with my men. Emel, I hoped, would stay behind.
“We’ve no ill will,” one of the men said, their hands open showing no blade in their palms. “Eiqab take my water.” His guthra—orange as the sand—revealed only his eyes.
“We have already made camp,” Amir told them. He held one hand over his brow, the other near the hilt of his sword.
“We did not arrive soon enough, it seems,” a different man said, descending from his camel. They moved slowly. “We will just refill our stores.”
“There is a fifth,” a man in the brown said. “A . . . woman?”
“You’ve hidden her from us,” another said, his words rough with anger. “What else are you hiding from us?”
My hand moved to my sword. Tamam had already begun to pull his free. Amir cracked his fingers at us in warning, and Nassar stepped forward. “A woman is an easy hostage. It would be foolish not to hide her from those who travel.”
They nodded. It was true. It was why I wanted these men gone. Suddenly the Hayali did not seem such dangerous companions.
“Have you far to travel?” I asked. “We do not. Should you need to camp, we can leave.”
Amir glanced back with ill-concealed irritation. I was his king, but he and Nassar were my diplomats in the desert. Were I not desperate to find Edala—to find Kassim and wrap my hands around his neck—I would turn home now. This place belonged to Eiqab. Let him have it.
“There is no reason we cannot all share, eh?” a tall man said, his shoulders broader than Tamam’s. He had twin scimitars at his hips. He gestured to the shade. “We can all sit, talk of our travels.”
He played his hand well. To refuse would put us in the position of conflict. To agree, we would risk exposure and weakness. Suddenly, Emel was beside me. I withheld my groan.
“A desert dweller?” the man in brown said. “Did you steal her?” The accusation like a stone dropped on my foot. Now, I was angry.
I snapped. “She is nothing to be stolen. She comes on her own.” Beside me, Emel drew back her shoulders like an arrow in a bow. I pressed my hand to her back. Now was not the time to show defiance.
It was too late.
They sprang forward, their scimitars unsheathed a moment faster than our swords. I freed my blade and met the silver arcing toward me. The man in brown faced me, pressing his advance. Defending his swings was easy compared to Azim. He was a sloppy, poorly trained swordsman.
“Stand down!” I called to the nomads. “We will kill!” The man was faltering against my blows, and I soon was able to push toward him. Quickly, he retreated to his camel, barking to his comrades to do the same.
“It is not worth it!” he yelled, and they backed away.
It was a battle easily won. The victory buzzed through me as I watched them make to leave, taking the reins of their camels and pulling them to follow.
Then, I realized, there were only four men.
Where was the fifth?
Spinning around, I saw him.
“Emel!” I sprinted toward the man dragging her away. His hand was tight around her mouth, muffling her cries with her veil. Her arms were cinched behind her. Now I understood why they had so easily surrendered. They had something more valuable than our supplies.
“Give us your packs, and she goes free!” he shouted.
Tamam circled me, sword at the ready. He murmured to Amir and Nassar and moved forward slowly. Too slowly for my comfort. I lunged forward, my blade aloft.
Emel shifted, freeing her arms. She began clawing at the arm wrapped around her neck and face when suddenly, she stopped. A glint drew my gaze down.
The point of the man’s scimitar arced toward her abdomen.
“Stop,” the man said. “Or I will push.”
I froze, staring at the scimitar. He had not harmed her yet.
Terror pinned Emel to the man. Her eyes locked on mine, and I could see the pleading, the fear. I was unable to protect my people despite the soldiers at our sides. Shame fueled my fury. I should be better.
“You can have the packs when you let her go,” I said, edging closer.
The man shook his head, pressing the blade harder. In my periphery, Tamam waited. The other nomads circled behind their companion with their camels.
“Packs first,” the man said. “Then I let her go.”
Damn this desert and its lawless men! I opened my mouth to respond when Emel spoke.
“He will do as he says,” she said around his loosened hand. “Eiqab heard his words.”
The man’s eyes shifted when she spoke, his guthra billowing with his heaving breaths.
Sheathing my sword, I nodded. Amir pushed through the small bushes and grabbed the packs, heavy from our water stores and large food supply. Valuable loot for these men. Dropping the packs at the man’s feet, Amir stepped away.
The ease with which they commanded us was too great a reminder of the soldiers taking my family from the palace, taking the peace from Almulihi.
I could not be weak again.
“No,” I said once the man pushed Emel toward us. She was safe. I knew I should be satisfied. But suddenly I was standing in the palace, watching soldiers die. Listening to my mother shout at me to run. Feeling pathetic in my inability to fight. Again.
With a hiss, my blade was unsheathed, and this time, it would taste blood.
Emel screamed, “Saalim, no!”
The desperate panic in her plea made me hesitate only a moment. But it was a moment I could not afford.
The nomad spun away from me, and called, “Masira guide my sword!”
Blinding pain seared across my thigh. And a line of deep red followed.
A shadow passed before me, and the man slumped in the sand, his blade, marked with my blood, falling with him. Tamam pulled his sword from the man’s neck as I dropped to the ground.
“Saalim! Why did you do that?” Emel was at my side. “They would have left!” She sounded so angry. “Now look at you.”
Blood welled between my fingers as I pressed the wound on my thigh. Pulsing, burning pain ripped through me again and again. I fell to the ground.
There were men’s voices, angry and barking.
Then, Emel whispered, “We are safe. Move your hands.” She pressed against my skin, murmuring things I could not hear. Closing my eyes on the spinning world, I clenched my fists against the pain and waited.
“Leave them here,” Emel said.
Someone—Tamam?—responded.
“A loose camel raises suspicion. Five even more so,” she said.
“She is right,” Nassar said as he passed by. “Others will think our company twice as large. They won’t come so quickly.”
I sat up, unable to comprehend the conversations that happened around me.
Emel was still at my side. We were under the shade of a small tree now. The sharpness of the pain had dulled to a tremendous ache, an awful throb.
“What should I ask for?” Amir said, rifling through a pack.
Emel said, “Aliyba, if they have it. Or cypress or las. And more dressing, if possible.” She was leaning over me, her scarf around her neck so I could see her mouth. “How do you feel?”
“Like a fool,” I said, staring at her lips.
“As you should.”
The corners of my mouth turned up. Emel smiled, too, but it held no strength and was gone just as fast.
“It is a very deep wound,” she said.
Dark linen, damp with blood, was wound tightly around my thigh. I asked, “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I am unharmed.”
Remembering how she had no burns after the fire, I said, “Masira does protect you, doesn’t she?”
Emel met my gaze. Then: “Amir and Nassar have gone back to the Hayali to see what they have that might help you.”
“They will not give freely.”
Emel shrugged.
“Tamam?” I asked.
“Dealing with the bodies.”
“Bodies.” Of the nomads.
“They killed the others.”
Tamam moved behind me. I could hear the whisper of bodies being dragged through sand. “What is he doing?”
“Sky burial.”
“They did not deserve—”
“Those men were a product of the desert that raised them. They were dishonest, yes. They stole, yes. But they would not have hurt me. They were killed dishonorably.”
I bit my tongue. It would do no good to argue with her now. Dishonesty, stealing what did not belong to them, and bargaining for people as though they were objects—that was dishonorable.
Emel continued. “So the birds will take them to Masira, where she can decide.”
Stretching my fingers, I found her hand and took it in mine.
“Wahir takes bodies in his waves.”
“That is how you return your dead to the goddess?” she asked, making a face.
“What is wrong with that?” I asked.
“They offer nothing to the desert.”
“I have never understood the worship of Eiqab. He is cruel.”
“Not cruel. Unlikeable, yes, but he must be harsh. The desert does not yield or allow leniencies for its people. Why should Eiqab?”
“But should not the one who offers the shelter from the hardships be the one who is worshipped? Wahir’s water allows us life. We would not need his water were it not for Eiqab.”
“Maybe,” she said slowly, staring at my leg. “But I think we need to save praise for the one who has taught us how to endure.”
Quietly, I said, “Your father was cruel. He deserves no praise.”
She did not look at me, blinking away the mist in her eyes, swallowing hard.
“What is this?” I touched a wet trail on her cheek. “I would not have expected this from the woman who stared at me without sorrow when her father was slain in front of her.”
She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, the stains from Altasa’s work long gone. “It has all been so lonely. Being there.”
“Almulihi?”
She nodded. “I have missed home, and I have missed . . .” She didn’t finish her thought.
Tamam dragged another body out to the sand behind me. Emel did not once look in his direction.
“My mother would tell me that was a failing on my part.”
She met my gaze. “What do you mean?”
“No one in Almulihi should miss their home. Least of all miss it so much they wish for horrors to be relived. I am sorry that I have hosted you so poorly.”
“No,” she began. “It is—”
“You have felt unwelcome. I know I have played a part in it. And, too, my people are not welcoming to salt . . . to those from the desert.”
“Salt chasers.” Her eyebrows raised for just a moment.
“It is my fault. I have allowed it to go on. The camel race should not be continued.”
She watched the horizon. “At the heart of mockery is shame.”
“I don’t know what you—”
I did not finish, because I did know.
The question, though, was how did she?
Then, as if testing the words, she finished, “Son of the salt chaser.”