On my insistence, Nika took us to Saira’s home first. It was not far from the palace, but the path was convoluted, especially at night. One winding street after another. The roads grew narrower, allowing for two or maybe three people to walk side by side.
“Most of us live here,” Nika said. The ground, slick from the misty air, glowed orange from the light inside the homes. They looked to be warm inside. I pulled my cloak around me, wishing I could be by a fire, too. These homes were smaller than those at the edge of the city. They shared walls and low rooftops. Like the others we had seen, their belongings were everywhere—hanging from doorways and windows, strung across the streets by rope. We edged around people drinking in chairs tucked under their windows, cloaks wrapped around their shoulders against the damp air. Sweet-smelling smoke—different from the Buraq rose—was puffed into the air by drowsy men.
We emerged from the narrow lane walled by homes to a street where the homes faced a wide strip of water. Tavi and I faltered.
Nika smirked. “The west canal.” She pointed as she spoke. “That way to the sea, and this way to the city.”
Though I had never seen a boat, Saalim had described them well enough that I understood they were the vessels I saw bobbing atop the water. Tied up alongside the canal, most were empty, gently swaying with the invisible heartbeat of the sea. One man stood in a boat, rocking with it as he picked up full crates and set them on the road. A young boy ran to the crate and pulled it across the road through the open door of a nearby home.
We stopped in front of a doorway that appeared the same as all the others, except that large barrels were beside it. There was a sharp, foul odor coming from them, and when the woman who lived in the home walked out to greet us, I smoothed my frown.
“Two of them?” she asked Nika, nodding toward us. The woman was tall and thin, with high cheek bones that cast deep shadows on her cheeks in the firelight. Her hair was braided tightly against her head.
“No, just one. Tavi.”
Tavi took a tiny step forward, her fingers toying with her robe.
“I am Saira,” the woman said with a tired smile. She narrowed her eyes and looked at me.
“Her sister,” Nika said. “She’ll be with the palace healer.”
Saira nodded, then turned back to Tavi. “Well, come on. I’ll show you your bed. Keep quiet. The children are asleep.”
Tavi and I embraced for a long time.
“Save your coin,” I whispered into her ear. “I’ll visit you often. As soon as there’s enough, we’ll find a place we can live together, eh?”
Tavi hummed agreement, and I heard the tightness in her throat, felt the tremor in her hands at my back. Did she feel the tremor in mine?
“It’ll be fine,” I said, not believing myself one bit. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
Nika interrupted. “I need to take you to Altasa before it gets any later.” She sounded bored.
I separated from Tavi and watched her walk into Saira’s home. I tried to move away, to follow Nika down the road, but my feet were rooted to the ground. I was abandoning the only family I had left.
“Find your own way, then,” Nika called down the road. I looked at her retreating back, the bright fabric flashing out from under her cloak, before looking again to Saira’s closed door.
“Good,” Nika said when I caught up to her, though nothing sounded good coming from her. “Altasa has been working for the palace longer than I’ve been alive,” she said as we walked. “She knows everything that happens. Nothing slips by her.” Her gaze shot to mine when she said this.
We turned onto the large road, nearly empty aside from a few people. They leaned on each other and drunkenly sang a song about the sea. After we scurried across the road, Nika asked, “So why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see the ocean,” I said.
“You had not seen it before?” She did not hide her surprise.
“It is something of legends where I am from.”
“And where are you from exactly?”
I told her of my village in the middle of the desert.
“Ah, that’s right. The ‘Salt King.’” Nika raised a finger as though it had caught on a memory. “He had a reputation.”
I nodded. “He was a longtime king.” He was a ruler for nearly thirty years—unprecedented when younger and stronger men were constantly challenging him for his throne. Of course, no one knew he had a magical jinni that kept him in power.
“That is not what I mean. I heard he sold his daughters to nobleman.”
She must not have known I was one of those daughters, and I did not want it revealed with an explanation of how exactly he used the ahiran.
“And that he would host parties where he would . . .” Her voice twisted with gossiping pleasure. “Bed his wives under the watch of guests.”
Thinking of something to discuss that might serve as a distraction, my gaze stayed trained on the palace. As we traveled up steps, I said, “I have the sense people here don’t like those from the desert.”
Nika laughed.
Upon entering the palace, we passed through an enormous room called the atrium—with an actual fountain of water!—before we were outside again. The path we took sat between flowering shrubs and long, rectangular ponds. The soft splashing told me there were even more fountains here. The two arms of the palace cradled these gardens.
Off the stone path, a spongey plant covered the ground. Nika walked on it without hesitation, so I did the same. It felt strange, though, to be walking on something so precious. The leaves touched my feet through my sandals. They were sharp and cool and made my toes itch.
Nika stepped over a small brick divide that went up to my shins. Had I not been watching her, I would have tripped over it.
“Altasa’s gardens,” she said without flourish.
We had certainly left the manicured palace grounds. Here, there seemed to be no order. Treetops loomed into shadows overhead, the garden torches lighting them just enough for me to know they were full of leaves. Curls and tangles of plants writhed across our path, and I crunched through them as Nika did. Lambent light peeked through the tree trunks before us.
“There’s a path, you twit!”
The voice came from the direction of the light.
“These weeds would have me believe otherwise,” Nika yelled back.
Leaves rustled, and the shape of a tiny woman took form. I could only see her silhouette—her body and wild hair. A gnarled finger pointed to the ground. “It is here!” She ushered us to the side, and though it was indeed mostly covered in plants, I was standing on a solid path.
Nika sighed. “This is Emel.”
Altasa’s stare held me fast. “The salt chaser they promised me?”
Nika nodded. “If you’ve no other need for me, I will go.” She hesitated, and when Altasa said nothing, she turned to leave. “Wahir watch over you,” Nika whispered to me as she passed. It did not sound like an invocation of goodwill.
“Follow me,” Altasa said. “And keep to the path!” Then she mumbled something about my needing to clear the path tomorrow.
I bunched my cloak in my fist as I looked at the house. It was close quarters to be sharing with someone who cared more for the plants than me. I prayed Tavi received a warmer welcome. Behind me, the palace soared up through the trees, white walls glowing orange. Somewhere within those walls, Saalim slept.
“You’re not a princess anymore. Get your eyes off that palace.”
So she knew who I was.
“I’ll show you where you sleep.” She poked at the door with her cane, and it swung open. The smell of spices and smoke wafted out along with an intense heat. Using the wall for support, Altasa stepped inside.
The room was small, mostly occupied by shelves stacked from floor to ceiling. Reminiscent of the healer’s home in my village, they were covered in jars containing various powders, liquids, chopped plants, and other things unfamiliar. Some were marked with scratchy letters, but most were not. Corked vials of all shapes and sizes were scattered amongst them. Hanging above me were dried plants and flowers tied in clusters. I arched my neck, staring at flowers I had never before seen. I could have studied them all day.
A drop of sweat fell down my temple, and I looked at the roaring fire tucked in a brick alcove. There was no smoke inside, despite the large fire that burned. How could that be?
“I need a moment . . .” Altasa took several shaky breaths. “Before I show you the house.”
The healer was frail, the shape of her bones visible through her hands and arm. She walked bent nearly double so that her unruly hair, kept in some kind of long braid, lay nearly flat on her back. Her thin lips would have been unseen if not for fattened cheeks that pulled her lower lip down into a pout. But her eyes creased in a way that suggested she had once been happy.
With her cane, she nudged a chair out from the wooden table at the room’s center. The tabletop was stained with reds, browns, and greens, and had various tools strewn across it. When she was finally seated, she laid her head back and breathed heavily.
“Just got back from a long trip, see.” She took deep breaths. “My body isn’t what it used to be. Water’s there.” She pointed to a black kettle beside the fire. “Sage is there.”
“Of course,” I said, hurrying to the kettle, looking in the direction of the sage, hidden somewhere amongst the shelves. My head spun with childhood memories of watching my mothers prepare tea. As an ahira, I had never made it.
The kettle was heavy as I carried it to the fire.
“Are we to drink hot water?” Altasa said.
Setting the kettle down, I stood and went to the shelves. Humiliation kept me from looking at her. I stared at the jars, but saw nothing. If I couldn’t even make tea, how would I be of any use to her? I couldn’t let her see how little I knew. If Tavi resolved to live with Saira, I would do the same with Altasa. There were dozens of bundled herbs and plants. Picking them up one by one, I smelled them and prayed I would remember the scent of sage. Finally, I found a thick bundle of soft leaves. This was it.
About to dump the bundle into the pot, Altasa snapped, “Sons, only a few leaves!”
“And the honey?” I asked, proud I remembered. Oh, how I loved the sweet sage tea when my head ached after a drunken night with a muhami.
She chuffed. “You really are a salt chaser, aren’t you? Here, we don’t need our tea sweet. We have cakes and pastries to satisfy the tongue.”
With a delicacy that belied my frustration, I placed three leaves in the pot. Picking up the kettle, I moved to set it atop the flames.
“Planning to lose that hand?” Altasa asked. “A good idea if you don’t want to have to do anything around here.”
Hesitating, I looked around.
She groaned loudly. “The hook is there. Use it to hang the kettle over the flames.”
I picked up a thick metal rod with a hooked end and clumsily used it to attach the kettle above the flames. Kneeling down, I saw a large hole that the smoke escaped through. I bent lower to see where it went.
“It’s a chimney. Smoke travels up it and goes outside,” Altasa said. Her voice softened. “I have forgotten what it was like.”
“What it was like?” I asked as I stood.
“Being in the city for the first time.”
I waited, staring at the flames.
“I was a salt chaser, too.” She watched me carefully. “Everything is different when people live behind stone walls, isn’t it? You can’t hear voices on the other side. What are they hiding?” Tilting her head toward the table, she said, “Sit.”
In front of me, a pestle lay on its side, its end coated with sticky orange. The mortar had been wiped clean. There was rolled parchment, one piece loosened just enough that I could see it was a correspondence of some kind. I squinted to see if I could make out the words, but my reading was too poor and the light too low.
“Like you, I lived under camelhair wool and wooden posts, searching the horizon for windswept dunes and trees that marked an oasis.”
“If you are like me, then you know we are not all salt chasers, eh?” I leveled my tone to hide the anger in my voice.
She laughed, and it sounded more like a dog’s bark. “Bah! It’s in your blood. You may not have traveled for riches, but your father did. And his father, too. We of the sand,” she waved her gnarled fingers between us, “are born knowing one thing: comfort, power . . .” She took a slow breath. “They’re bred from wealth. Just look at where we are.” She waved her hand.
Altasa was not wrong. My father and his ancestors had been nomads seeking salt mines. If mines were not found, they at least hoped to find others with whom they could trade for salt. Salt was rare, and it was essential for life.
Only when my father found the oasis that hid Saalim did he end his travels. With a wish, he was given enough salt to make him the most powerful ruler of the desert. He had been a salt chaser until he found it. Then, he was the Salt King.
She continued. “Why have you come here, if not for wealth? For a life better than the one you left?”
“Not for coin,” I said.
“For love, then.” She said it like she knew it to be true.
Ignoring her, I said, “I don’t need an excess of salt nor coin to find a better life.”
“It will help you find it faster.”
“Perhaps. And you?” I asked. “Did you come for the salt?”
Slowly, she said, “Revenge.” She flashed a crooked smile.
I did not veil my disbelief. “Did you find it?”
“Almost.”
Suddenly, she banged her cane onto the tiled floor. I jolted, tearing my eyes from the dancing flames. She stood more swiftly than I thought possible and grumbled about showing me where to sleep. Then, “If you don’t take that pot off now, we won’t be drinking anything tonight.”
I hurried to unhook the kettle and set it onto a metal trivet before following her through a closed door. She led me into a hallway so cool and fresh by comparison I hoped it was where I slept. Then she pushed open a door and directed me in. This was where I would sleep.
She pointed at one of the other closed doors in the hallway. “Wouldn’t nose around in there unless you’ve plans to see a naked old woman.”
I thought I would sleep like a babe after milk, but when I finally lay down, my eyes would not stay closed. After nearly forty nights of traveling in the darkness and begging them to remain open, they finally decided to obey.
And, too, the bed was so soft that when I finally dozed, I dreamed the ground was swallowing me, and I startled awake.
Giving up, I went to the window. It was as wide as my shoulders and as tall as my chest. I drew back the curtain and stared out at the blackness, feeling the wind and listening to the leaves and sea.
When morning came, I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the room and disbelieving it was all mine. The walls were white and smooth, the floor red with cold ceramic tiles. My eyes fell on the table beside my bed. Pulling open the top drawer, I peered at the pieces of my life I had carried with me across the desert.
The golden manacles that had cuffed Saalim’s wrists shone dully. His vessel—his prison—was there. It rolled forward when I opened the drawer and clinked into the manacles. The empty vessel in my hands was one of the last things my father had seen before Saalim plunged a sword into his back.
My fingers continued their survey of the drawer, ensuring all was there. My map, tucked to the side. The piece of cloth that wrapped the smallest treasures: a blue tile whose color matched the sea, a golden necklace that once belonged to my mother, and a plucked moon-jasmine that Masira’s magic kept alive. If I took it out, its petals would tightly close as it saw the daylight. Last in the drawer was the broken toy soldier who held a straight sword. It had been Saalim’s when he was young. I do not know why I carried it still, but I could not part with it. I could not part with anything that once was his.
A thunk echoed through my room and jarred me from my reverie.
“Medicine won’t make itself!” Altasa yelled through the door.
Fastening my mother’s necklace around my neck, I swiftly closed the drawer in a muted clatter.
I stumbled into the main room, smoothing my fustan down over my front. “I am sorry, we slept during—”
Altasa proffered a basket in my direction without a glance. Instead, she surveyed her shelf, scanning the jars and vials and pulling the ones she wanted. I took the basket, and she tipped her head toward the small pile she had already stacked on the counter. Carefully, I placed them inside.
“Crush equal parts cardamom and cumin until powdered. Take the fennel petals and add to the mixture after. Maybe six, seven. Enough to wet it into a paste.”
I looked at the seven jars in my basket—two of which contained flowers—and looked back at her, the feeling of inadequacy returning. “I don’t know . . .”
She set two more jars in my basket and leaned in so close, I could see gray ringing the brown of her eye. “Who are you exactly?”
“I don’t know—”
“Exactly!” She spat. “You don’t know anything. What salt chaser doesn’t know the tapered cumin seed? The green of a cardamom pod? I will forgive the flower. Who raised such a witless child? Princess or not, I expected better.”
Anger burned in me, consuming the shame for fuel. She was being unfair. I put my shoulders back and leaned toward her. “I was a daughter of the Salt King.” Altasa’s brow raised in mock surprise. I continued. “We had servants who handled these things. What business had I learning cumin from cardamom?”
She narrowed her eyes at me and slowly worked her gaze down my neck, to my shoulders, my chest, and to my feet. Eventually, she nodded. “Kept in chains. It’s no wonder . . .” She continued nodding as she turned back to the shelf of ingredients, mumbling inaudibly. Several times, she turned back to me as if making some connection.
As if she understood something at last.