Tiles on the floor swirled with blue paint. Small squares in every color marched along the borders of every door and window. Sheer curtains billowed into the corridor from the rainy wind, and torches quivered at the disturbance. I distracted myself with these things as I walked with Saalim, because otherwise, I would stare only at him.
Each time I would linger, letting him get a stride ahead of me so that I might stare at his back or survey his hands, but he inevitably dropped back until he was beside me.
He had been in my arms. I had been in his. Everything was shifted into its proper place for only a moment, and now I wanted it back.
He is betrothed.
It was foolish of me to follow him as I was, hoping he would take interest in a salt chaser.
But then why did he ask me to follow him?
“There are so few guards,” I said to him as he took me through another room filled with plush pillows and wooden chaises. There was the occasional guard inside, but there were so few compared to those that stood outside.
“Too many would make it feel even less like a home.” He brushed aside a vine for me to pass through.
“Less?” I walked around the room, touching the soft fabrics that covered the chairs. I could smell the rain in the cold wind.
“My mother and father.”
“You miss them.”
He looked out a window that overlooked the gardens. “Yes. And my sisters. Even my brother. I would give much to have them back.”
Of course he did not remember how much he had already given to save Madinat Almulihi. No matter how much is sacrificed, there will always be more to give, because there is always more that is wanted. Satisfaction slips through fingers like water.
Altasa’s home was just visible, smoke sliding into the sky from her chimney. The rain had slowed. I said, “But soon you will have someone. A queen, eh?”
“Yes.” A long pause, then, “Helena.”
“Helena.”
“I cannot say if it will change how I feel . . . I am sorry.” Saalim’s voice changed. The hard, formal edge was there again. “It is unacceptable to say such things.”
“To say that the place where you live feels empty without your family? It is not unacceptable to say that you miss them. That without them, you are not what you were.”
His eyes—still golden, though now without the glint of magic—met mine. “I forget that you do not have family either.”
“I have my sister. She is not far from here.”
“But you had many sisters.”
“Yes.”
Without another word, he led me down the passage. Saalim said finally, “Let me show you the towers. I have tea in mine. We can warm there for a bit and talk of things that make us laugh.”
Saalim’s tower? My pulse sped as we began up the stairs. Now would be my chance to—
A woman practically flying down the steps tumbled into Saalim.
“Oh!” she shouted, righting herself quickly, hand pressed to her chest. “Saalim! You startled me.” Her chest heaved with deep breaths. She had called him Saalim.
“Dima,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Dima looked beyond Saalim at me. Her eyes dropped down to the clothes I wore—wet from the rain—as if that would tell her who I was. Did she see the stains on my hands? She looked away quickly, her face unchanged. She wore a beautiful fustan—the embroidery across the throat depicting fruit of all kinds. I could not fathom how much time must have been spent sewing it.
“I was waiting for you. Mariam suggested perhaps . . .” Her eyes flashed to me again. “Said you were at the docks today.” Her voice was soft and sincere. I liked her for her concern, glad there was someone who fretted over him. Was she like Mariam, flitting around the palace pointing her fingers and beckoning people to follow?
“Ah,” he said. “I do not need you.” Why did he sound so uncomfortable?
“Very well.” She nodded her head and began to move down the stairs past us. The strong scent of oud fluttered behind her. I would never forget that scent—it was the most expensive oil I had ever seen. It came from very far, the shopkeeper had told me when I asked him why it had cost as much as a camel’s ride from my settlement to Madinat Almulihi.
When she was several steps beyond us, Dima said, “If you change your mind tonight, send word.”
Tonight.
Now, I understood. She was an ahira. Nausea roiling, I watched her descend the stairs, her black hair shining in the gray day. Jealousy sank its teeth, and an understanding like venom coursed through me. She shared Saalim’s bed. She knew him like I had known him—or, at least, as I knew him as a jinni. I did not know him as a king. As a man.
Rooted to the stairs, I was still as a palm without wind. Dima lived in his palace. Walked through his halls like they were her own. She was bathed and fed and beautiful. When I was an ahira, I had and was none of those things.
“It is late,” I said, staring at his boots, which shined like Dima’s hair.
“But you have not yet seen the best view,” he said in a rush. There was a pleading that I could not understand. He held his hand out as if he wanted me to place mine within. I began to reach out, but when I glimpsed my reddened palm, I pulled my hand back in.
Loud footsteps echoed up from below as two men approached. Kofi and Tamam.
“We found them,” Tamam said. His gaze darted to me before returning to Saalim. Kofi stared at me without hesitation, a sneer curling his lip. Did he remember me from our journey? Or was it my face that told him I was a salt chaser?
Sons, what were they doing to me here? I was no salt chaser.
“Did you learn something of use?” Saalim said, eager.
They nodded.
“Very well. Emel—”
“It is no trouble,” I said hastily, relishing the impending dismissal. “Thank you for all you have done.” I carefully went down the stairs, steadying myself against the wall so as not to slip in my soaked sandals.
“Before you go,” Saalim called. “There is a camel race.” He must have seen my confusion, because he shrugged and grimaced. “Ah, they are silly, but they are fun. It is tomorrow. You might consider joining us.”
The sneering guard shifted and looked from me to Saalim.
Why are you doing this? I wanted to ask, thinking of Dima. She was more beautiful. What would I provide that she couldn’t? It did not matter, though, the hook had snagged. It was an offer I could not refuse. Any moment more with him I would take.
“If Altasa can spare me.”
“I’ll send Nika to work in your place.”
He laughed when I told him Altasa would not be happy. The sound pleased me, and his laughter rang in my memory long after it had ceased.
“Why is he inviting a palace worker to the camel race?” Altasa spat from the kitchen.
I held my tongue as I changed into dry clothes. Had I not learned to expect her ill-mannered behavior when it came to the king, I would have been hurt. But it seemed that everything about Saalim and his palace displeased her. I once asked her why she stayed if working for the king vexed her so.
“Simple,” she had explained. “Here I have a bed and coin. It would be unwise to leave.”
Altasa continued. “Doesn’t he have ahiran to take?” She did not care that Saalim could be out in the gardens hearing everything she shouted at me.
I thought of Dima as I slipped my arms through my fustan. It was fancier than anything I’d worn back in the settlement, but still nothing compared to what she wore.
The drawer beside my table was open. I curled my fingers around the edge and pulled it toward me, peering inside. The vessel was still filled with the sand I had scooped up when I first lost Saalim, trying to scrape him together from the dust he had left behind. As soon as I opened the vessel, I smelled him—moon jasmine and ocean and dust. He had smelled the same this afternoon. I closed my eyes, pretending he was beside me.
“You won’t like it, you know!” The healer called.
Visions of Saalim dispersed like smoke in wind. “Why wouldn’t I?” I closed the vessel, and went into the kitchen where Altasa was pressing her knuckles into a mixture.
“It’s a mockery of our lives,” she said, pushing harder now. “You’ll see.”
“What do you mean?” I took the bowl from her and continued the task as she scraped the sticky vestiges from her hand back into the bowl.
Ignoring my question, she asked, “What about that nice boy from the market you told me of?”
“Kas?”
“Yes, that one. I wish you'd go to the race with him.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “And tell the king what? I would rather be with an urchin from the baytahira than you?”
“An urchin?!” she laughed so hard I thought she’d collapse. After she calmed herself, she said, “Nika won’t do. I have errands I will run on my own, since you’ll be no use to me.”
“I’m here now,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
After promising Altasa I would send Nika away, I was sent to the spice souk.
Madinat Almulihi grew more familiar each day. The marketplace quickly became a second home. I knew how to navigate the shops, and more importantly, the people. My appearance misled many into thinking me another ignorant foreigner. But once I started dressing as they did and haggling more skillfully even than a local, they quickly abandoned the advantage they thought they would have.
Of the shops I frequented, the keepers knew my face and knew I came from the palace. At the spice souk, the proprietress flew up to me when I stepped under her canopy.
“What does she need?”
I listed off the spices Altasa had requested, and the woman listened closely before she collected my sacks and jars and hurried off.
At the back of the shop I saw a stack of salt bricks—gray, coarse, and stained with the ground from which they had been pulled. A man ran his fingers over them like they were the most fragile thing in the world. Much of the salt traded now was from Madinat Almulihi’s shores and not my father’s magic stores, so where was the mine that had birthed these bricks? The things that occupied me back home rarely crossed my mind anymore.
When was the last time I had seen Tavi? At our last meeting, she walked me through her neighborhood as if she’d lived there all her life, trying to show me things as though I wasn’t living in the same city.
“Unground,” I said. The shopkeeper nodded, scooping coriander seeds into a sack.
“She will do it herself?” the woman said with eyebrows raised.
“It’s proper that way,” Altasa had told me. “Masira prefers sacrifice.”
The better Altasa felt, the busier she was. She was more frequently visiting peoples’ homes to treat them, so I saw her less often than ever, and there was a constant knock on the door for requests from the palace staff—aching tooth, fever, cough, cramps. It never ended. The bustle of working for Altasa had taught me much about tonics and healing, but left me little time to do much save for the occasional evening when I would find Kas so we could sit and talk of nothing.
Walking through the narrow aisles in the souk, I inhaled the scents. This entire area of the market smelled like the spices and oils they sold, and the bazaar back home was the same. Glancing at the oils, I saw a vial of oud—twenty dha for maybe ten drops.
“You can sample,” the keeper said beside me.
“No.” I shook my head. “I was looking at the oud.”
Without hesitation, she turned the vial until a drop was on her fingertip. Then, with a smile she placed it on my temples and behind my jaw. “What do you think, eh?”
“It smells . . .” I was unsure how to describe it.
“A bit strange? At least some think so. Some like to layer it with this.” She picked up a vial of rose and smoothed the scent over the oud oil on my skin.
Suddenly I was back in the zafif, being prepared for a muhami. Then came thoughts of Dima. Was that the most I could hope to be? My gaze dropped back to the oils, and I saw frankincense.
Mama.
She wanted me to be free, and now I was.
Mama, I am here. I have Tavi with me, too.
I thought of Tavi’s shrine—Wahir’s gift that she gave to Mama and Sabra every day. Tavi did more for our family than I did.
I thanked the shopkeeper and left the souk in a hurry, suddenly eager to find Tavi. The bundle of bagged spices were tied together with a strong rope, and I slung them over my shoulder as I walked, leaving a scent trail behind me.
Glancing at the temple to Wahir as I passed by, I remembered Saalim saying that he thought it might be the most beautiful place in Almulihi. I had yet to go, knowing that there would be no place I was more unwelcome. Some days I missed the rama—pressing my brow to burning sand—but when I saw Tavi dip glistening stones into cool water . . . when I saw the temple, shaded from the sun, I wondered if perhaps that was not the kinder god?
It felt traitorous, thinking those thoughts.
“You can go in.” The voice was familiar. I turned and saw Kahina leaving the temple.
“No, I . . .”
She swung out her arm. “They will not force you out. Wahir would be displeased. Have you read the Litab?”
“Only a little. When I can borrow it,” I confessed. Wahir like the mother, Eiqab the father. “For Almulihi being a city of Wahir, its people do not always reflect the Son’s ways.”
Kahina smirked. “We are not far from my home. I will give you my Litab so you can read it all. Unless you will visit the temple?”
“The Litab?” I gasped, the temple a forgotten thought. “A book is too valuable to be given to a stranger.”
“I have too much coin to be hoarding books from people who have not read them. Come.”
Kahina sounded so sincere, I followed without much thought.
“Your friends seem to have settled right in,” she said, leading me through narrow streets.
“My friends?” I asked, skirting around three goats.
“Firoz and Rashid.”
I nodded. “You remember their names?”
“I remember everything.” She waved at three children who sat on the street with a worn game of maha between them. “My husband told me my memory was my magic.” When her arms fell to her side, I noticed the sleeves of her robe were wet from the temple rituals. “I disagreed. Told him my magic was enchanting children. Children love me, see.”
We were walking along the baytahira now. Though it was midday, people were in and out of the food and drink shops, the Bura-dens, the jalsa tadhat.
“King Saalim, in particular,” she went on. “He loved for me to tell his fortune. My husband told me I would anger the queen. But it was not my place to manage her children.”
We were standing outside Kahina’s home now, but I wanted to know about Saalim as a boy more than I wanted the Litab. “What was he like as a child?” I asked.
When she smiled, I could see she was very pretty. The lines on her face reminding me of Hadiyah. It was a face that smiled as much as the mouth did.
“Oh, that poor boy carries his history with him. Always something to prove. He would come to me, wondering if he would be a good king or did his brother really hate him or did his sister really know magic.” She laughed again, looking past me down the street at the baytahira as if checking on a child.
“He was lazy, though. And entitled. He thought all would be handed to him. Especially as he got older. He grew ugly. He and his brother fought, and he spent less time with his sisters and parents.”
I adjusted the sack on my shoulder, the weight starting to ache. Kahina saw this.
“I am talking too much. Come inside.”
Her home was as small as Altasa’s, which surprised me, given that she owned most of the baytahira. She shuffled around down the hall while I waited in the front room. Some of the most beautiful maps I had seen hung on the walls. They were inked like mine had been before I began filling it in myself. There was a detailed map of Madinat Almulihi—so careful were the illustrations, it seemed as if the streets were alive. There was another of the desert. I stepped up to it, peering at it carefully. Everything was there: oases, mines, settlements, and other cities. My heart pounded. It was everything I wanted my map to be, and I tried committing it all to memory.
“Here you are,” Kahina said, handing me a book with thick pages.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the soft, leather-bound book. I pointed at the maps and asked, “Where did you get these?”
“My husband made them.”
“He did?” My eyes grew wide. I might finally finish my map! “I have a map that needs so much to be filled in. Would he help me?”
Kahina’s eyes softened and she tilted her head. “Oh, no. He died.” She blinked, and pressed her fingers lightly to the edge of the map. Did she touch it, knowing that his fingers had once been there?
“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I did not realize.”
“My husband loved people who were different. He said no matter where they came from, they loved the same things. Stories and music, family and friends. In Almulihi, many find it easy to think ‘salt chasers’ are something foreign because they look and act and sound different. But my husband knew better. They love their children the same, have chests that ache with grief, and . . .” She sighed. “He traveled all over, and through stories, taught people of a better life.” Kahina looked again at the maps on her wall.
Hugging the Litab to my chest, I thanked her again. On the way out, Kahina called to me.
“Castor seed?” she asked.
I nodded, looking at the sack with mesh so fine the seeds could be seen through it.
“Why do you need that?”
“I collect ingredients for Altasa, the palace healer.”
“Castor seed to heal?”
I shrugged. “The oil is used for many things.”