The Darkafa were restless, waiting for Kassim’s response to Zahar’s question: Would he kill us, or would he let them do it? There was an ethereal stiffness to Kassim’s posture. He looked just like a jinni. How had I missed it before?
My mouth grew dry, and my heart thudded. I silently pleaded that he look at me, just once. Then, his eyes met mine. Silver and bright, with magic brimming in their depths.
I had hoped to goad him into something foolish: trying to make him use his magic to bring chaos to the cave and secure us time to escape. But those efforts had failed. Now, all I had was our short past together.
“Please,” I mouthed to him.
For a moment his face softened, the menace gone. Then, he turned away from me, gestured to us, and said to the Darkafa, “Let the devoted culminate their life’s work.”
Slowly, they pushed toward us, and Kassim was gone.
No.
Edala had said they were not a violent people, and though there were many things she had been wrong about, I did not think she would have been wrong about this. She had lived lifetimes in this desert. She knew its people.
But my lifetime in the desert was not nothing, and the craze in these peoples’ eyes reminded me of the craze of my father’s people. Those who had worshipped him like a god. The Darkafa were not violent, but they would be, if their god asked it of them.
“You will kill for this woman who claims to be a goddess?” I called, desperate now. “What goddess needs you to kill for her? The true goddess—Masira—can do it herself.”
“Masira has done nothing,” a man hissed as he approached me, a short knife clutched at his chest like someone who has only used it to skin a carcass.
“Have you seen the si’la on the sand?” I pressed. “The one who sleeps in the skull of the beast, who bends the desert to lengthen her steps?” Others stopped and listened now. It felt like a game of ghamar. I held two cards in my hand: the healer, the si’la. “What goddess cannot even wield her pet?” I could not see Kassim nor Zahar as the Darkafa drew closer. “Zahar is not a goddess. She is a healer who has learned to use Masira’s gifts. Her magic is limited. Weak as the ingredients she uses! The si’la uses nothing but her will. And the si’la is out there. You can find her. I can take you to her.”
“Lies!” a man shouted.
“All has happened as the goddess said it would,” another said.
They were not of a mind to be persuaded, and like a ship with a fractured hull, I felt myself sinking.
A man with rope in hand rushed to Saalim’s feet, binding them fast. I thrust my heel down hard on his arm. Kicking, kicking, kicking. With a grunt, he grabbed my feet as another bound them. The rope burned.
A man brought his knife to my face, showing me the blade.
“The child!” Saalim said suddenly. “I know where she is.”
None seemed to hear.
“Bilara!” I shrieked over the din. “We know where Bilara is!”
There was a noticeable drop in the chatter. The man dropped his knife to his side.
“My daughter?” A woman said from a cluster of bodies. “You know where she is? They took her from me. They took her to that place.”
“The keeper,” some whispered.
The man with the knife said, “The goddess said she knows where she is. That she will take us to her.” He turned to his people. “We don’t need them.”
“Why hasn’t she taken you to her yet?” I said, looking at the mother. “It’s because she doesn’t know where she is. I’ve met Bilara myself. She carries a locked silver box with her, and she loves dates sweetened with sugar.”
The mother’s eyes filled with tears as she made her way through the crowd. Her palms pressed together as she neared me, desperate to hear more of the daughter she missed. The more I spoke, the calmer the Darkafa grew. We had found a way out.
Suddenly, a great crack shot through the cave, loud like thunder, shaking the ground as Kassim’s magic had done. Then, the darkness was gone in a flash as sunlight broke in. Blinking, I saw an entire wall of the cave fall away as if torn open by an enormous hand.
Wind cleared the dust, and at the entrance was Edala, striding forward silently.
“Fools,” she said to us as our bindings fell away. “Why would you think it safe to come here without me? You should have gone home.” She ushered us away from the Darkafa, suppliants on their knees as they watched Edala. More a goddess than anything I had ever seen. Magic undulated off of her like heat from the ground, her eyes bright as flame and her movements strong as iron.
Saalim nudged me toward the cave’s exit. “Hurry. Go to Amir. He should have the camels ready.” Nassar was already sprinting in that direction. I glanced behind me and saw Tamam had fallen to the ground. He was on his back, his eyes closed. “Saalim—” I pointed to his best soldier.
Edala saw him, too. “Tamam!” Never have I heard such a broken cry.
A great force struck my back, stopping my breath and dropping me onto my knees.
Clutching my chest, I sat up. Everyone in the cavern had been pushed away. Then I saw Edala bent over Tamam, her cheeks wet. He hadn’t moved.
No.
I curled away from the scene.
Edala pressed her hands to his face, her lips to his brow. Saalim tried to rise, to approach them, but he was met by an unseen barrier. None could move near them.
Another shudder rocked us, and stones dropped from the ceiling, sand spilling more rapidly this time. “It will collapse!” someone called from the mass of people.
The Darkafa scrambled to their feet, trying to flee the cave, but were caught against the same invisible wall. They were blocked from coming near us. From escaping. Another crack of splintering stone sounded from above us. As I jumped to my feet, silence fell like a thick blanket muffling everything around us. I knew that silence.
It was the quiet of stilled time.
At the peak of the cave, a stone, broken off from the fragile ceiling, was suspended in the air. Edala’s magic was the only thing keeping the cave from complete collapse. I gaped at the scene for only a moment before I realized that Saalim, Nassar, and Edala were all still moving. Then, motion on the ground caught my attention.
Praise Eiqab, it was Tamam! He was alive! He shifted his head, bent his knee. He reached up and covered Edala’s hand resting on his face. She cooed his name before she yelled at us to get out.
Saalim lunged to me. “Are you injured?” He grabbed my hand, leading us out of the cavern.
“No,” I huffed.
Never had being under the sun felt so liberating. I slowed to a walk. The stillness of the desert, of dust in the air, hurled me back to when Saalim would stop time so we could move freely through a world with its breath held. Only now it did not stop life from moving forward. It stopped death.
The maw of the cave was jagged and gaping, pieces of it scattered all around. We wove between boulders as we went to Amir, who waited with our camels. Had he seen Edala arrive?
Saalim slowed. His grip on my arm tightening. I followed his gaze.
No.
Amir was lying on the ground, unmoving. Praying it was only Edala’s magic, I followed Saalim as he ran to his soldier.
Saalim dropped to his knees by his side. When I saw Amir’s slack face, the pallor of a body without a beating heart, I knew there was no magic at play. His soul waited for Masira’s birds.
“Amir!” Saalim shouted, grabbing his friend’s shoulders and shaking him roughly.
Nassar was beside Saalim, shouting to his friend to wake up. Nassar’s eyes were wet, lip trembling. My vision blurred, and I wiped at my cheeks with my fists.
“He is already gone, so stop this,” Edala said from behind us. The bow in her words revealed the sadness she felt. Tamam walked beside her, face healed like the wounds had only been painted on and were washed away. When he saw Amir, he dropped to his knee beside his king and bowed his head.
Wind brushed its fingers against my cheek—soft and soothing—and the sound of rock crumbling split the air—sharp and sore. Time, with all the beautiful and horrific things it carried, moved again.
The dune above the cave collapsed into itself like quicksand, the rocks at its core crumbling beneath it. The loudest sound I had ever heard, and the greatest destruction I had ever seen. With trembling fingers, my hand covered my mouth as I watched the cloud that rose from the wreckage. The cave was gone, and with it all those people, all those children.
“I’ll hear none of it,” Edala said, gaze pivoting between us. “They could have killed you.” She held her eyes open wide as if waiting for a response. Saalim turned to watch the cave, his face blank. Torn between his friend, the destruction, and whatever regal duties still pinned him down.
Though Edala, too, held a brave face, even a si’la could feel guilt, pain. She blinked two, three times, and the moisture was gone.
Amir’s sword lay unsheathed beside him. Saalim went to retrieve it. “Who did this?” His voice shook with fury.
Edala lifted her chin. “It was foolish to try to stay Zahar and Kassim with sword alone.” Then, her voice softened. “He was no match for magic.”
Amir’s body was unscathed. Kassim had killed Amir in his attempt to stop them from fleeing? My fingers trembled as I covered my mouth.
“Where are they?” Saalim asked slowly, seething.
“That way.” Edala pointed her thin finger in some direction.
I looked for Amir to explain, but grief struck me anew realizing he was gone. Biting my cheek, I looked anywhere but at him.
Saalim heaved a noisy breath. “To Almulihi.”
His sister stared off in that direction, her hand clutching Tamam’s. “Yes.”
“Tonight, Edala, our steps will be long.” Saalim said it with such finality, one would not dare disagree.
His sister glanced once to me, the smallest, satisfied smile on her lips, then said, “Of course.”
Nassar helped me pull Amir away from the wreckage for his sky burial. I uncovered him carefully, then we waited. I do not know if Edala magicked them or if they came because Masira wanted Amir’s kind soul, but the vultures circled swiftly.
“It feels wrong for him,” Saalim said beside me. “He should be in the sea.”
“He returns to that which gave his life purpose.” Amir loved the desert, loved the study of it.
When the birds descended, Saalim winced. I held his hand and after a few breaths, the tension in his grip eased. I knew well how he hid his sorrow, I saw it there hollowing him out, pulling him down.
Softly, I sang a plea for Masira to take Amir to her side, to keep him well. Saalim said nothing—his lips pressed tight together to keep in all that he hid. When I finished, he stood.
“Wait,” I said, the guilt clawing its way out. “I was wrong to fight with your sister. It was selfish. Had I held my tongue, she would not have left, and Amir would not have died. I could have killed us all.”
He watched the birds. “But I made the decision to go to the cave without Edala.” He took a deep breath. “We cannot always predict the consequences of what we do, but we have to live with them all the same. We were both wrong, but it is done. And now we live with it forever. Remembering our past is the burdensome rite of living.”
Our eyes met, and I knew he spoke of magic as much as he spoke of us.
“If she hated the palace so much, why did she stay?” Saalim asked of Zahar as we journeyed through the night.
Edala shrugged. “Why not? It paid good coin and was secure.”
With magic, Edala promised us it would take only two nights to return to Madinat Almulihi.
“I did not realize the extent of Kassim’s jealousy,” Edala admitted, and even sounded ashamed. Magic, as it turned out, was the draw for them all, though none of us could fathom how Zahar had convinced Kassim to become a jinni—a slave.
“Power?” Nassar asked.
“But shackled power?” I said, looking at him. He avoided my gaze. He had not looked at me the same since I told of the atrocity he had committed in a past he did not remember.
“It was an easy decision for you, of course,” Edala said to Saalim. “You would have done anything to save Almulihi. But Kassim?”
When the unanswered questions piled too high, silence covered them. There would be no solving our problems this night.
We stopped at a large oasis before sunrise. The trees lining the perimeter were so thick, Tamam and Saalim walked through them several times before they decided we were alone and safe.
After sitting down to a quiet meal, Edala stood, claiming if she was not left alone until sundown, a sand wind would ruin everyone’s sleep. As she walked away, she called behind her, “Tamam, that excludes you.”
With the smallest smile, and deepening of color on his tanned cheeks, Saalim’s most stoic soldier rushed after her. She took his hand in hers and together, they found a hidden space to make their bed across the pool.
I watched them go, longing for the same intimacy and privacy. Saalim’s fingers found mine in the sand, as if sensing my thoughts. He said, “Nassar, can you take the first watch?”
After noticing our joined hands, he seemed eager to leave and collected his things rapidly.
“There is a nice place,” Saalim said as he helped me to my feet, “just over there.”
He took me beneath a large tree with low hanging branches. The leaves were so dense, almost no sunlight marred its shade. Under the tree were oleander bushes that bordered a small pool fed by the larger one. “After being so spoiled by daily baths at Jawar’s, I thought you might like to bathe here.” He watched me carefully, hiding his emotions well. But I heard the slight tremor in his voice.
“I would love that,” I whispered, gazing at the luxurious privacy created by the bushes and tree.
Dropping my things, I knelt at the pool’s edge and submerged my hands into the water. It was perfect.
I was suspended between delicate moments in my life: my recent past where Saalim was both a perfect memory and a desperate hope, and my very near future when we were in Madinat Almulihi and Saalim belonged forever to only Helena. Perhaps it was my awareness of this that made me bold. Still kneeling beside the pool, I pulled my cloak from my shoulders.
“There are fewer eyes,” I said, heart racing. It had to be now, or it would never be.
Saalim made a strangled sound, and I did not have to see him to know it was desire that choked him. It was all I needed.
Like the best-trained ahira, I removed the rest of my clothes. Only, unlike an ahira, I cared very much of the man’s opinion who watched me.
“Emel,” Saalim muttered from behind me.
I pulled my hair over my shoulder as I looked over my shoulder at him, brazen in my nudity, the uncovering of my scars. He must see all of me.
He was fixed as a statue, his knees bent ever so slightly as if they threatened to collapse beneath him. His eyes traveled hungrily down my back, my hips, my legs. He dropped to his knees, his pack falling to his side. In three kneeling steps, he was at my back, the heat of him melting over me like fire’s warmth.
His hand hovered above my shoulder, uncertain.
I nodded, and he placed it on the slope of my neck, his thumb tracing over my skin. He was so careful, so reverential in his touch, I nearly cried.
“Saalim,” I breathed.
His fingertips slid along my scars as they once had so long ago, and though this time there was no magic, heat still trailed in their wake. Then his lips were pressed against my shoulder, his beard the only rough part of his touch.
“Do you know,” he said between unhurried, cautious kisses, “how often I have thought of you like this?”
“This?” I asked, leaning into his chest. His tunic was coarse against my skin.
His fingers moved away from my back, over my arms, across my chest. Holding me to him, he said, “It is better than I imagined.” His voice was rough and thready, need pulling his words apart.
His hands moved down my front, stopping to feel and worship. Like I was a rare jewel for a beggar, a god for the supplicant. My eyes closed, head dropping back against his chest as he touched me.
At once the warmth on my back was gone and I heard the crashing of water. I opened my eyes, and he was in front of me, kneeling, uncaring that his clothes were soaked. “I want to see you,” he said, laying me down on the sand.
And see me he did.
First with his eyes, then with his hands, then with his mouth.
“We have all day,” I reminded him, as I reached for the edge of his tunic.
“It is not enough.”
When he, too, was unclothed, he lay atop me. The weight of him crushed me into the soft sand, his thigh pressed between my legs as I wound myself around him. He groaned, and I could not get him close enough to satisfy me. I wanted him closer, closer, closer still. The silken heat of his skin pressed against me, his heart thundering even faster than mine against my chest . . . a dizzying euphoria.
His mouth met mine with measured urgency, and at last, we reunited in the way that only two lovers who have been parted for so long could meet. We were joined, in love, sharing breath and life and all that was vulnerable between us. We were slick with sweat, while the cool water of the oasis lapped at our tangled legs. Sand covered my hair and his, my skin and his. It was fragile and coarse and terrible and beautiful. It was everything it should be as we clutched at each other, fingers curled into each other’s skin, shaking with love so dazzling, it crippled with its scarcity.
When all was quiet, Saalim lay at my side, peering at me as though studying a tapestry.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You have all of these memories,” his finger swept across my brow, resting at my temple, “of us. Of me.”
I nodded.
“I am envious. I have only this.” At first he looked toward the horizon, as if there was something more he wanted to say. Then, his eyes dropped from mine, and again, he looked at my body, bared beside him. “I am greedy.” As if he could not help himself, his mouth again trailed down me, kissing me neck, my chest, my belly. “I want so much more,” he murmured against my skin. As he moved, he dusted the sand from my skin like I was the most sacred thing in the world. Then, he took a fistful of sand, and said, “If this is what the desert offers, perhaps it is not such a bad place.”
Grinning, I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him to me.
My bath was forgotten completely.
The next day, we arrived in Madinat Almulihi.
Edala hesitated on the steps of the palace, and Saalim stood beside her while our packs were taken inside. I still held mine tightly.
“It is different without them, isn’t it?” he asked his sister.
Not wanting to intrude on their privacy, I went inside. In the atrium I stopped, realizing I had nowhere to go. Altasa’s—Zahar’s—house was half-burned. Even if my room was still standing, safety would not be found sleeping in the home of the woman who had betrayed me.
Still, after so long away from green, the gardens beckoned me. The waxy leaves of manicured trees and flowering bushes glistened beneath the sun as I moved passed them. A pair of familiar servants walked by, nodding to me in welcome. It was strange, being back in the palace and feeling that, in many ways, I had returned home.
At the edge of the garden, the faintest scent of char lingered. Gray smudged the stone path that led to Zahar’s door. Standing under the trees’ shadows, I marveled at how my life had changed since I first came to Madinat Almulihi with Saalim. It seemed not long ago that I stood in this very place with ruined palace walls and shattered tiles at my feet, a lover at my side. Now, I had smooth walls and lush gardens surrounding me, yet I was alone.
At Zahar’s, I stepped under the blackened arch into the kitchen. Most ingredients were destroyed, the shelves burned, but a few were still preserved in their jars. Some of the ingredients I knew were valuable. As I sifted through the wreckage, the edges of a book caught my eye. Zahar’s recipe book.
After wiping off the cover, I flipped through it. Unbelievably, it had been unharmed in the fire. I paused on a page that was marked with the feather of a griffon. Dhitah. I remembered seeing this before—a tonic for death. Reading through the ingredients was easier this time. I paused at castor seeds.
Zahar had on numerous occasions had me collect them for her at the market. My head buzzed as I recalled the times Zahar had lamented that Saalim did not take her tonic.
Sons, all that time . . .
Footsteps approached from behind, and Saalim came toward me.
“I thought I would find you here.”
Standing in a rush, I held up the book. “She was trying to poison you.” This tonic would have worked, since it did not require magic. I served as no protection when Masira could not interfere. “Why didn’t you get sick?”
He took the book from me and turned through the thick pages, seemingly undisturbed by this information. “I won’t drink things from people I don’t trust. My mother taught me that. Said my father was too generous with his trust, could’ve been poisoned by any merchant in the market.”
I remembered the many evenings I spent grinding ingredients into a paste for Saalim’s salves. “You drank the pain tonic I made you.”
He said, “I trusted you.”
“Even then?”
“Even then.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, and I softened beneath it.
“You don’t plan to stay here?” he asked, gesturing to Zahar’s burned home.
“I do not.” My pulse sped, imagining the privacy of sharing his tower.
“I hope it was not presumptive, but I had Nika make ready the guest tower for you.”
I swallowed my hope. “Of course.”
“Emel,” Saalim said as I took Zahar’s book from him. “Every part of me wants to take you to mine. But with Helena . . . I need—”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.” He turned me to face him, pressing his hands to my shoulders. “I will not have you being perceived as an ahira.” He hesitated. “And, too, my father’s voice is still loud in my memory.”
His father telling him to wed Helena. My chest cinched tight, my breathing stuttered.
“But lately I have wondered if I should just do what I want.” Slowly, he swept his finger down my cheek, leaving my skin tingling.
I said, “A friend once told me that the right choice is the one that feels right for you.”
“Was I that friend?”
I smiled. “You were.”
“And what did you choose?”
I considered his question. “First, I chose me.” I wished for freedom from the Salt King for myself.
He cocked his head.
“Then, I chose you.”
Saalim led me back into the palace. As we walked up the spiraling stairs of the guest tower, I asked him about Kassim and Zahar.
Edala said they were heading toward us, but had not yet arrived. I wondered why Kassim did not magic them to Almulihi as Edala had done for us? Did they think to catch us by surprise?
“She can feel the magic everywhere in this desert,” Saalim said with awe. He was proud of his sister, I could tell. The white walls of the sitting room were bright as the morning sun spilled in through the arching windows. “She said there are three people left who can use magic. Once, there were four.” He met my gaze.
“You were one of the four?”
He nodded.
“And now it’s Edala, Zahar, and Kassim?”
“As far as she can tell.”
“No other jinn?”
“If there are, she believes they are caged, for she has felt the existence of no one else. They would have to be well-hidden somewhere.”
Nika had left a tray of tea and a bowl of dates. The fire was crackling, recently brought to life with fresh kindling. Taking a cup of tea Saalim had poured, I said, “So we wait for them to come, and then what?”
He sat next to me on the cushioned bench, his thigh against mine. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and closed it again.
Silence confirmed my suspicions: They must be destroyed. They were determined to kill Saalim and put Kassim on the throne. Death was the only choice we had.
“Where are you going?” Saalim asked when I stood.
“To Edala.” How would we kill a jinni?
I flew down the stairs, nearly running through the halls until I was on the other side of the palace climbing up Edala and Nadia’s tower. Out of breath, I entered the strangest scene. Edala sat across from Mariam, whose arms curled around Bilara protectively.
All but Bilara turned to me when I stumbled in.
Edala stood, “What has happened?”
Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing. I was coming up to talk about . . .” My eyes darted to the girl who clutched the metal box tightly to her chest. Kassim’s vessel. Now that I understood what it was, I felt as though I could see the magic spilling from it. We could get rid of Kassim right now, if we could open it.
“We will leave,” Mariam said quickly, grabbing Bilara’s hand and guiding her past me. I wanted to stop them, to rip the vessel from the child’s arms. But Mariam helped her down the stairs slowly, Bilara trusting Mariam as she would her own mother. It left me with no heart to take that vessel from the girl. Not yet.
When they were out of sight, I rushed to Edala. “How do you kill a jinni?”
She raised her eyebrows and collapsed against the cushioned bench. “You kill the master and burn the vessel with the jinni inside. Or, if the master wants him dead, you burn the vessel.” She had already come to the same conclusion as Saalim, apparently.
“Is this what we have to—”
“Yes.” Her eyes shone wetly. She closed them.
Pointing in the direction Bilara went, I said, “And we are sure she is not Kassim’s master? Why would Bilara still carry the box?” I nearly panted, the words pouring out of my mouth.
What if we have to kill a child?
Edala rubbed her eyes. Her disgust confirmed my suspicions. “Did you know they made a poison? Had the mother drink it so the child was born like that. A perfect keeper of a jinni. Be glad you did not see the babies in that cave. They bred for keepers.” Her face hardened. “Now, they can’t.” Leaning forward, she pressed her hands together. Hands so small, to possess so much power.
“If we don’t know who his master is, how can we destroy the jinni,” even I could not bear to say her brother’s name aloud as we talked of his death, “without harming Bilara?”
“Kassim needs a new master.” Edala stared at the shelves behind me. Did she look at the portrait of her and a young Tamam? “I can take the vessel easily enough when we are ready, but the box is sealed. I can’t open it.”
“Sealed?”
“It does not open like a traditional box. It is more complicated.”
There were footsteps, and when I turned to the stairs, I was surprised to see Tamam. He seemed as uncomfortable seeing me as I him.
“We have time,” Edala said to me, ushering me out. “Do not worry today. We will worry when they are here.”
When I turned back, I saw Edala slide her arms around Tamam’s waist.
In the dining hall, the trays and bowls containing the midday meal had been laid out on the table. My stomach grumbled, so I lingered.
As I popped a piece of flatbread into my mouth, a shadow of movement crossed the balcony. Saalim stood by himself.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
His elbows were locked on the rail, his gaze trained on the sea.
He looked at the bread in my hand. “Same as you, I suspect.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched me tiptoe near the balcony’s edge. No matter how long I lived in the palace, I would not get used to floating in the sky. Below, I could see people going to and from buildings, walking along the streets. A few pointed up toward Saalim, one even waved. Saalim did not see it, or if he did, he ignored them.
“What is it like to live like this?” I pointed down at the people.
He thought for a while, then said, “It is mostly lonely.”
I gasped. “But you have so many people around you. So many friends . . .” I thought of my life in my father’s palace. Never would I have called it lonely.
“They are not my friends. They are paid by the palace coin, by the people of Almulihi, to be here.” He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the rail. “There are few I can trust, few that I know are not here only because I am a king.”
I wanted to uncross his arms, and wrap them around me, repeating what Edala said. Do not worry today.
“You can trust me.”
He laughed. “Yes. If you cared about my being king, you would not have had such impudence all this time.”
I wanted his eyes to always shine that brightly. Choose me, and they will.
“Maybe it is all a part of my plan. I am an expert at capturing the attention of a man, after all.” I swished my hips and strode away from him.
“You are cruel,” he said, coming up from behind me. His hands clasped onto my shoulders as he leaned into me, whispering, “Even crueler now that I know how those hips feel in my hands.”
Inside, a few servants turned in our direction. Discreet as ever, they showed nothing that indicated surprise.
“I want to snatch you up and throw you over my shoulder when you’re like this.” He nearly growled.
I giggled like an ahira, only this time the lust—the love—was real.