Nassar told me the prince’s name, but already it had slipped my mind. He was talking about our camel’s wool, but I heard nothing. Too distracted after seeing Emel and Omar beside each other. The sun was setting. I had left Emel for much longer than I’d planned. I wanted to go to her but scanning the crowd now, I could not find her. Where had she gone?
The prince asked me a question. As I turned with a request for him to repeat it, Nassar answered. Praise Wahir for that man.
The guests kept talking of this and that, exchanging compliments and gratitude for the invitation. Over and over, raising my glass again and again. I only took enough to taste—for the drop to disperse on my tongue—not to swallow. Despite sip and sip after sip, I had yet to be on my second glass. The ground was still steady, and my mind was still clear.
“Your guests seem happy,” Helena said coming up beside me.
“Tomorrow they will be your guests, too.”
She nodded, brushing back her hair. She smelled so different from the women here. She smelled like the plant houses—floral and warm. I stared at the curves of her cheek and brow, the subtle lift of her lips. I imagined her with my mother’s crown. Life would be very different with her.
“When do we take our place?” She gestured to the stern. A private area where we would view the firepaint.
“Whenever you like. There are no rules.”
“I think I will go now,” she said, relieved. I understood. Entertaining was exhausting, especially when everyone scrutinized each word as it was spoken.
“I will join you once I’ve spoken with a few more guests.” Feeling only a slight guilt, I left Helena to find Emel. I searched through the faces and robes and scarves for one that glinted bronze, but I did not find her. I imagined her fallen from the ship, terrified and unable to swim. Excusing myself hastily from a pair of young women that approached me, I went to the stairs that led below deck.
Thick smoke drifted up the stairs. How much Buraq would these people smoke tonight?
“You are not just buying them leisure and food,” Nassar had said when I complained of the cost. “You are buying their loyalty. Their diplomacy.”
Below deck, few had the mental clarity to nod or bow, but most glanced my way, then stared back at the sea through the wide windows.
My mother hated those windows, complaining they let in too much spray. But Ekram had shaken his head. If the boat was to be used for gatherings or short trips, the windows were necessary to prevent the rocking sickness guests often experienced. I remembered going into closed ship rooms as a child only to sprint back to the deck to purge my meal.
Dima leaned against the sill of a window, looking like a queen herself in her shimmering dress. Her face was soft, but her eyes were sharp. I knew that face. Conspiring, I could tell. Edala would love Dima if she met her, respect her assertiveness. Nadia, dovish by comparison, would disapprove.
Dima’s eyes met mine, and her lips curled into a smile, her eyebrow raising just enough to tell me she found something most amusing.
Then I saw with whom she spoke. Her scarf sparkled as though in greeting.
“Dima. Emel,” I said. Emel looked at me with a new expression on her face. Not displeasure, nor eagerness. I said, “I am sorry it has taken me so long to return to you.”
“No apology needed,” she said, shifting herself so that she was not folded so casually on the cushions. Her back straightened. “Dima has been quite entertaining.”
Sons, what trouble was Dima stirring? “Ah, well then . . .” Feeling a fool for my stuttering words, I took a gulp of my wine.
Dima smiled. “I have helped mortar the stone, as I think the builders say?”
“I should not like to think with what.” Then to Emel: “It is nearly dark.”
Like Dima’s, Emel’s eyes were still bright. She had not smoked the Buraq. She tilted her head in question. How could this woman who stared so assuredly and asked questions with the press of her lips alone make me feel like a boy stumbling through his lessons? Like everything I said should be re-said, like everything I wanted should be reconsidered. “The firepaint will be soon. You’ll want to be on deck”
I held my hand out to her. “Let me help,” I said aloud, hoping that everyone who saw would understand it was simply to help her get her footing. Dima, who missed nothing, watched Emel’s hand curl into mine. It seemed she had a greater understanding than even I possessed.
I again did not want to let Emel go. It was not like Helena, whose fingers pressed against my arm with formality. It was the hand of someone who wanted me to hold it. I clasped her hand more tightly and led her up the stairs, back to the deck. Inhaling deeply, willing the scent of the Buraq from my nose.
People looked our way, and I let her hand go. “Steady?” I asked.
She nodded, peering around nervously. When Dima came up behind us, Emel relaxed and moved toward her.
“Enjoy the rest of the evening,” I said, disappointed that I had no reason to stay, and went to the stern, where Helena was waiting.
A short stairway led me up to where two guards protected the area from guests. Helena was sitting atop cushions scattered around a low table. I remembered how, as children, my siblings and I would sit here, peering down at the guests spinning on the deck. Our parents forbade us to leave the area. Knew we would find trouble. So the guards would keep us confined here, watching us play our silly games until our mother and father would finally join us to watch the fire splash through the sky.
Now I had no family to join me. I had Helena, who would be my family tomorrow. Maybe next year Edala could be here. If I found her.
I had to find her.
“Drinks,” I called to the guard, who wordlessly beckoned a servant. “Do you need anything?” I asked Helena as I seated myself beside her, gaze skittering over the guests to ensure all was well.
“You should relax,” Helena said as she took the wine from the servant. “I thought the ship was well-guarded?”
“It is. But people can always slip in . . .” I had considered canceling this party, fearing that someone from the Darkafa would make their way aboard, aiming to sink both the ship and me. The guards had promised security, and so far the day and evening had gone smoothly.
“This will pass,” Helena said confidently. “My father receives threats like this monthly.”
Monthly. I still had no understanding of the unusual calendar she referenced.
“It changes when your family is killed.”
“They would be proud of you, I am sure. Your guard is reinforced, stationed appropriately. Even my father was impressed. And he is impressed by very little.”
Scanning the people on the deck, I looked for her father. Apparently his approval ended there, because he had had much to say about my ships earlier that day. I was grateful for the wedding to be done, so her family could finally return to their home. Emel and Dima had found places near the center of the ship, their heads bent together in talk.
“How many women do you keep?” Helena asked, staring at the pair. She must have followed my gaze.
It was a forward question about a usually tacit agreement between husband and wife. Many kings had ahiran.
“Just one,” I said finally, and most of the time that was true. Dima was my favorite lover.
“Not the other?”
“The other?”
“The . . . what do you call them? The salt chaser?” The name sounded odd with her accent.
“No.” I set my empty wine on the table and the servant hustled to re-fill it before I waved him off. I tried to think of anything other than Emel without clothes.
“Men don’t keep women other than their wives, where I am from.”
I shut my eyes. This was not a conversation I wanted to be having tonight.
A flash of light burned across my closed eyelids. And not even a breath later, an enormous boom echoed through the night. My eyes flew open. Red, so hot it was nearly white, curved up toward the night and was falling slowly back down. Helena gasped, arcing her neck to stare at the sky. She smiled widely, watching the fire.
Immediately, I searched for Emel. Her posture mirrored Helena’s, though her hand seemed to be held in front of her mouth. Beside her, Dima laughed. I wished I could stand in Dima’s place.
As the show went on, the wind around us picked up. The waves grew taller, the ship lurching dramatically. By the time the firepaint ended, most people were sitting on the benches or the deck floor itself. Few were below deck, the waves so tall they were spraying us.
Climbing down to the cockpit, I found Ekram barking at the seamen. “Luff with the gusts. We’re not steady! Prepare to reef and clear the deck. If this keeps up, we’re going to heave-to!”
“How did you miss this squall?” I asked him, shouting above the loud gust. There had been no indication a storm was brewing. I knew Ekram and his crew were the best in Almulihi, but still, I felt a spike of terror. The ship should be fine, we weren’t too far from shore. But I kept imagining drunk guests falling into the sea with each drop, a swinging boom taking more unexpecting souls with it.
“There were no clouds,” Ekram said curtly, then went back to barking orders.
Rain soon fell, and guests ran below deck. I helped to usher people down the stairs. I couldn’t find Emel anywhere, and with a touch of sea spray to my wrists, I prayed she had found a safe place to wait out the storm.
A massive wave crashed into the stern, the water slipping under my feet and bringing me to my knees. A guard ran to help but fell just as I had. We were back up as quickly as we’d fallen.
“This storm is picking up!” I shouted to him. “Get below deck.”
“You too, king!”
I grunted, using benches and rope to hold myself steady as Ekram and his crew took us to shore. Lightning flashed, and above me, I saw sailors scrambling along the masts, ropes in hand, acting on Ekram’s orders.
The ship lurched again, and one of the men slipped from the mast, held only by his rope. Unable to run to him in the turmoil, we only could watch the poor man swing until he was able to grab hold of a beam.
In my ears, my breath was as loud as the storm. Despite us nearing the shore, the wind grew more violent. It was as if the storm was intentionally pushing us away, forcing our ship to sink.
We were not going to make it.
But then, it was as if we passed some divine test, Masira’s anger could not best Ekram’s sailing, and as we neared the dock, everything quieted. Before long, the crew was flinging ropes to the dock, cinching the boat tightly. As the knots were pulled, the storm receded completely, leaving only a light wind in its wake. Unsteadily, guests went ashore.
I found Helena still at the stern where I had left her.
“Did you not go below?” I asked, seeing her drenched clothes.
She shook her head and shrugged sleepily. “I always thought storms at sea to be calming. To be floating so easily over so much turbulence? It feels like magic.”
A shout came from behind me.
I turned and saw a man in seamen’s clothes sprinting toward the stern. In one blink he had a scimitar raised. Helena screamed. Guards shouted and gave chase, but it was too late. He was too close. I found the hilt of my sword at my hip and clasped it tightly. Just as I was to draw it from the sheath, he swung his scimitar at me. I ducked and spun away in time, and the man tripped forward, landing on hands and knees.
Helena was on her feet behind me. No! Nothing could happen to her on my ship, under my care. Stepping back, I pressed her further behind me.
“Keep your distance! Stay behind me!” I shouted at her. More might come.
“Saalim, leave this fight for the soldiers!” Helena cried. My guards filed up the stairs from below deck. They were behind the man, who was scrambling to his feet.
This was my fight, my city I defended. I would not stop just because Helena had asked.
Securely between her and the assailant, I took lunging steps toward him, bringing my sword overhead. The man’s scimitar flashed in the light of the moon as he held it in front of him. My sword fell into his with a sharp clang. My soldiers stood back, waiting for my command. Tamam called for me to back away so that he could take my place. I would not. Our swords hit over and over. He tried to turn me so my soldiers were not at his back, but I would not leave Helena.
Finally, Tamam approached carefully from behind. The man leapt away from his reach, and he lost his footing. He slipped on the wet deck, falling to his knee.
And that was all it took. I was there in a rush, my sword through the man’s neck.
It was silent as the carriage took us back to the palace.
My heart still raced when I considered the storm and the subsequent attack, and my hand did not leave my sword the entire ride home, expecting someone to come running from the shadows at any moment. The evening had gone without difficulty for so long. How had it changed so suddenly and ended so poorly?
My bed did not feel so welcoming when I finally undressed and lay down for the night. A heightened alertness buzzed through me, and I was unable to sleep.
Emel had not ridden with us. Had she made it home? I had not seen her since the firepaint.
Closing my eyes, I thought of the day and what lay ahead tomorrow. A wedding seemed impossible after the attack, with all that was happening. But was that really the only reason I wanted to stall the event?
Eventually, sleep found me. I dreamed of Edala, black-robed villains, Anisa with a broken wing, and Emel in glinting red clothes with swirls of gold. We were in a tent. She was pushing me away.
“There can be nothing between us,” she said. “There can be no future.”
The urgency of the voice that called to me was so intense, I rose without the weight of sleep. I was pulling on my robe before I was even fully awake.
It was a night guard.
“What is it, Cadoc?” But even as I asked, I knew. I could smell it.
“A fire,” he said in a rush. “The healer’s.”
Sons! That woman always leaving her damned fire burning. She never listened and now—Emel!
I pushed past the guard, whose steps were loud behind me as we flew down the stairs.
“They are trying to contain it now,” Cadoc panted behind me.
In the atrium the smoke was denser. I could taste it on my tongue.
“It is not safe,” a soldier said as he saw me approach. “You should remain in the tower in case this is a diversion.”
He was right. The tower was easily guarded from intruders with only one entrance. A servant pushed an empty wagon toward the front of the palace, while another rushed in with his wagon full of sand. But if the fire moved to the palace, the tower was the last place I wanted to be. Ignoring the guard, I followed the servant out to the gardens.
The snap of burning wood and the roar of the flames was so loud, I could hear it before I saw it. The heat rolled into me like waves. Altasa’s garden, her home, was being devoured by the fire. With relief, I saw the flames had not yet reached the palace.
People were everywhere: running furiously around each other, some scooping water from the fountains, others using the sand to douse flames or create barriers. Everyone coughed while they ran, some holding their tunics over their mouths. Others had scarves tied around their faces.
The ash was slippery under my feet as I strode toward the chaos. Nika stood off to the side, her eyes wide as she watched the flurry, her own scarf tight across her nose and mouth.
When she saw me approach, her eyes widened more before she averted them. A king with bared feet and a bed robe was not a proper sight.
“No one knows what happened,” Nika said when I asked, her eyes fixed on the people who gathered the water. “When she comes to, she might.” Nika pointed off to the side where a man knelt over a woman.
“Where is Altasa?” I asked. And where was Emel?
Nika shrugged. “No one has seen her. We fear she was lost . . .” Nika stopped. “But it is not safe to check.” She looked at the burning building with terror. I shuddered at the thought of Altasa caught in the flames.
I left Nika and ran to the man and woman. Maybe they would know where—
“Emel!” I cried when I saw her. Her eyes were closed, her face dark with soot.
“Is she all right?” I asked, sinking to my knees in the grass.
He shrugged. “She breathes still.” He carefully wiped her brow.
“Who are you?” I asked the man. He was familiar, but I could not quite place why.
“Firoz,” he said.
“How did you get in here?”
“I walked in.”
“Into the palace?” I was aghast.
“There was no one to stop me.” He did not look at me. He brushed Emel’s cheeks softly with his fingers.
My fury clamored nearly louder than the flames. The guard was supposed to be impenetrable. Especially tonight!
Firoz continued. “I was just in time. Reached her before the flames did.”
I bent over Emel, peering at her quiet face. I reached out my hand to replace Firoz’s, but stopped myself. Not here, in front of so many.
I went to the fountain and cupped water into my palms like a foolish, desperate child. Most bled through my fingers by the time I reached Emel, but there was enough to splash onto her face. Firoz pressed it to her cheeks and brow, gently rocking her shoulders.
She stirred, her legs shifting, fingers twitching. I allowed myself a glance at the rest of her. She wore a sleeping dress that was dark from the smoke. By divine fortune, her hands and feet did not appear burned.
“How did the fire start?” I asked Firoz.
“I don’t know. It seemed to have started in the front room. She was in her bedroom, I found her trying to crawl out the window, but I think she had already breathed in too much smoke. She was not making sense.”
“You went through the fire to reach her?” Finally, I tore my gaze from Emel and looked to the man. The sleeves of his tunic were black and burned. Patches of his arm, the backs of his hands, were shining and red, even blistered. He had not been as lucky as Emel. I exhaled. “Thank you for saving her.”
He finally looked at me. Did he know I was king? He did not seem to care if he did.
“Emel,” I pleaded. Her head fell to the side.
“Why did you come here?” I asked him.
“I heard a man boasting of lighting the palace on fire tonight. He knew there would be no palace guards. He spoke of a storm and an attack . . . it was all confusing. But I knew Emel lived here and—”
“The Darkafa.”
He nodded. In the way he watched her, like a sister or old friend, I understood why he had been familiar. “You are from Alfaar’s settlement? You journeyed with us?”
“The Salt King? Yes.”
“You are a good friend,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Do you need someone to tend to your burns? We will take care of Emel.”
Firoz watched me like a bird guarding its nest, but I was much larger than him, and I was the king. He bowed his head. “No, I will be fine. Tell her I was here.”
Lifting Emel from the ground, I pulled her to me, wishing she was awake and could wrap her arms around my neck. Even still, her skin against my hands was soft, her body so warm. I called to Nika. Together, we took her to my sisters’ tower. It was furthest from the fire, so the air was cleaner here, though the scent of smoke was still strong, clawing my throat. The smoke was my excuse when Nika asked why I walked so slowly. I could not tell her it was because I did not want to let go of woman in my arms.
Once Emel was lying on a cushioned bench, Nika said, “I’ll fetch tea, and some cloth for her brow.” She spoke quietly, aware that Mariam and the child slept just up the stairs.
“Emel,” I whispered over and over. We were alone in the room. Glancing at her hand, I imagined brushing her knuckles against my lips.
Nika was back too soon with a basin of water in one arm, towels in her other. A servant shuffled behind her with tea, and four guards trailed them. I sent them to guard the tower entrance.
“Here,” Nika said with uncharacteristic softness, wiping Emel’s brow. I resisted taking the towel from her hands to do it myself. Nika wiped her cheeks, her hands, her legs and feet.
I sat on the chair beside them, watching Nika care for Emel. Then I heard the relief in Nika’s voice. “Emel.”
There was mumbling, and I dropped to my knees beside her. A haze of confusion clouded Emel’s eyes, but she was awake.
“Saalim,” she breathed and reached over, placing her hand across my forearm. “You are all right.” There was the familiarity again. In the way she said my name, in the way she touched me.
“Me?” I asked, confused,
Nika backed away, a portrait of curious surprise.
“There was the storm . . . and then I heard there was an attack. I did not see you . . . I was sent home. I worried . . .” She blinked a few times, her brows colliding with the effort of remembering.
“I am all right. No one was hurt,” I assured her, incredulous that she would be worried of my safety when she had just nearly died. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“I had just fallen asleep, I think. There was a commotion at the door. I thought it to be Altasa. She still hadn’t returned home.” She rubbed at her eyes with her finger and thumb. Her fingers smudging ash on her face. “It wasn’t her. It was Kas. And . . .” Now, she sat up, curling her legs under her. Nika proffered the tea and Emel took it, taking a long drink. “It was Kas.” She said the name like she couldn’t believe it, was still trying to make sense of it all.
I wanted her to hurry and finish, but I bit my tongue. Now that her wellbeing was assured, there was an urgency to determine who had done this and where they had gone. Before they destroyed more of the city.
She sucked in a breath, then said, “It was like magic. He was there, talking to me, and then—”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“A lot of nonsense.” She began rubbing her curled fingers with her thumb. “But he was angry. Said it was all my fault and it didn’t have to happen like this. He pointed to the ground. When I looked down, the door had caught fire.
“It moved so quickly. I did not even have time to ask Kas for help before the entire doorway was aflame. The kettle didn’t hold enough water. I tried.” She looked at me then. “I’m sorry.”
“And . . . Kas?”
“He was gone. The house was consumed all at once—more quickly even than tents would catch back home. The smoke was everywhere. I could barely see. I thought I’d go through my window . . .”
“Here,” Nika said, handing her the towel. Emel had been staring at her hands, wiping them against her night dress.
“How did I get here?” Emel asked. As if seeing me for the first time, her gaze dropped to my robe and then to my feet and hands. She did not look at me like she was embarrassed. Desire, ill-timed and stubborn, moved through me as swift as the fire. I shifted, pulling the robe so I was more covered.
“Some man found you,” Nika said when I didn’t respond.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Firoz.”
“Firo?” Her feet were back on the ground, she began to push herself up. “Where did he go?”
“He left here.”
She settled back.
“Who is Kas?” I asked her.
“My . . . friend,” she stumbled on the word.
Like an itch, something in the deepest part of my mind began to tingle. “What does he look like?”
She described his height, his hair, his eyes. “And he has a scar, right here.” She pointed to her temple. She said it so offhand, so casually, that she could have no idea what that scar, what that name meant to me. Like a rug had been pulled from under my feet, I fell into a pit of confusion, of disbelief and fear.
It couldn’t be possible. “The one with the scar was named Kas?”
“Yes.”
No. It was as impossible as magic.
“A scar that looked like this?” With the nail of my thumb I drew a line down my temple.
Emel stilled. I already knew her answer.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Because my brother, Kassim, had one that appeared the same.”