“It will be ill-received so soon after Helena,” Nassar said. “They will want some explanation.” Though I could see his irritation, even he knew this was a matter he could not argue. Emel is who I wanted, and I was the king.
Emel picked at the fish, her eyes trained on her meal. This was an uncomfortable discussion, to be sure, but if she was to be queen, she would sit through worse. She had known what to expect when she met me here.
“The answer is power, of course,” she said, lifting her gaze to Nassar’s. “You ask the people who is the greater threat? Those in the north, or the salt chasers to the south?”
Behind his beard, Nassar’s lips pursed. Emel leaned back as though bored. Perhaps I was wrong about her. She seemed a natural at this table.
Emel added, “I should clarify: who is the perceived threat.” She nodded to Kofi, who sat at the end of the table glaring at nothing. The entire time I had known him, he had hated those born from the desert.
Nassar shook his head, turning to Azim. Suddenly, I missed Amir, Masira carry his soul. He would have had us laughing about something or other, determining ways for us to move forward without tumult from the people.
While the two bent their heads in discussion, I leaned over to Emel. “What is it like for you?” I whispered, tipping my head to Nassar. “I see a loyal advisor, then I see your father’s sycophantic vizier.”
“I have grown used to it,” she said into my ear. “But do not let me in a room with him alone.” She glanced at him. “I might have things to say.”
“I really don’t want you alone in a room with any man. Unless you’ve a dagger of sorts.”
One corner of her lip curled, and she raised an eyebrow. “Saalim, you don’t need to worry about me.” Slowly she dragged her finger up my thigh, and the room began to fade away.
Sons.
I snatched her hand from my—
“Saalim,” Nassar repeated.
“I am listening,” I said, setting my heel across my knee and leaning forward. Emel was the portrait of perfect behavior beside me.
Azim and Nassar glanced at each other. Nassar said, “The wedding will be in seven days. That gives us time to spread word. After, we will take the journey. A tour and introduction of the queen, if you will.” He sighed. I think he wanted to travel with the caravan even less than I did.
“Emel?” I asked.
She nodded. “It suits.”
Our meal finished in alternating waves of silence and discussion, Nassar and Azim offering suggestions by turn for this and that aspect of our upcoming ceremony and journey that followed. Occasionally, I would look up and see Emel watching me. I would reach forward and press my hand to her wrist, to her arm. Everything was changed and everything was right, because she was here with me.
The ceremony was small at Emel’s request, and I agreed. It seemed, in many ways, premature to have a large celebration so close on the heels of Kassim, and Zahar still lingered like a poison plant in the ground. When the roots were pulled, and we had returned from our journey, we could travel the city to let the people celebrate the new queen. Until then, peace was not yet ours.
We were wed in Wahir’s temple, standing side by side in the pool, water above our ankles.
People caught word of the wedding and clustered around the temple, trying to peak in through the columns. But I could only think of them for a moment, because each time Emel breathed, with each sweep of her fingers against the silk dress, my attention was pulled to her again. There was no shining sword, no sun over the sea, no ship with full sails that was more beautiful. Blue and gold cascaded down her shoulders, swirling in the pool around us.
And seeing my mother’s crown on her head. I could barely look at it for the overwhelming pride I felt seeing it on Emel. My mother would have been pleased with her successor.
See, father? Sometimes we are wrong. Look at this beautiful queen.
When the cleric asked us to kneel in the pool, when he touched our brows with the pads of his fingers, when he committed us as wed under the will of Wahir, Emel smiled so brightly I had to look away. And still, like a flame, I saw her smile as I closed my eyes.
My chest ached with the cry I held back. My throat, even, was sore. As if she knew my turmoil, I felt a squeeze of my hand. Clutching her hand tightly, I pulled it to my lips. I held it there, breathing her in.
“Are these tears?” Emel whispered when we were told to face each other, when we were declared wed by the hands of Wahir.
I blinked, unable to speak for fear that more may come. I smiled and shook my head.
“That silly jinni in that story. All he did was swoon after the ahira. Pathetic, wasn’t he?” Her eyes glistened, and then she pressed her mouth to mine.
Sons, how did I ever come to deserve such fortune?
Emel in my arms, in Almulihi.
Once slaves with a bound and bleak future, now freed and wed in love.
I tasted tears, but I did not know if they were hers or mine.
We went into the desert for the last time—I hoped—for a long time. Our caravan was sturdier, nearly triple the guards we’d brought with us on our previous journey. How long ago that felt, but it had barely been one moon.
Now, Zahar came with us.
“This is not how I imagined spending my first nights wed to you,” I said to Emel as we rolled our packs in preparation for yet another evening journey. She looked so tired and though I knew she wanted to take this journey more than anyone, I wished she would have stayed home. I did not want her out here anymore than she had to be—the risk of nomads, of illness, and one wrong turn haunting me with each step we took away from Almulihi.
Still, the journey so far had proved to be useful. The people loved Emel, as I knew they would. They loved that they saw someone like them beside me. The Hayali were overjoyed—as much as they would show joy to someone like me. Liika sent us away with an entire camel packed with gifts. “I have seen so much of you recently. Perhaps we should make it a tradition. I like this queen,” she said with a calculated smile as her slave handed over the reins of the camel.
I said, “Ah, but doesn’t the Litab teach that distance feeds affection?”
She waved her hand at me, mumbling about fools with the Litab. “We don’t need a book to tell us how to live.”
When we parted, the child Dyah sprinted out to Emel, clasping her hand, insisting she would take the journey with her. Emel knelt down and explained why it could not be, but Dyah followed us so far that I was forced to send one of my men to escort—well, carry—her home so that she did not lose her way in the fast-approaching night.
Zahar joined us on those journeys to the settlements, but she remained outside them, posted with three guards. The people who lingered on the edge of their city to see our caravan would watch her curiously. At the first stop she tried to coax a man to come near, and Tamam nearly killed her on the spot.
He was no longer asked to guard her.
Zahar was kept tightly bound by chains of which only I had the key. Even when we were not visiting settlements, she was constantly surrounded by guards, and she remained as far away as possible from me. I did not want to hear her or see her, fearing I would behave the same as Tamam.
Emel insisted Zahar’s end should be Zahar’s choice, but that neither choice resulted in life. Emel said simply ending her swiftly was a kindness far too great for someone who had caused so much destruction. So it would be, I agreed, when Emel said she was to be taken to the sands. It was a task we could trust with no one else. A manipulative healer who could make jinn of men was far too enticing for most people to be trusted with.
So we journeyed, the handful of civilians who joined our caravan dropping off person by person as we reached their desired settlements. Even Emel’s friends had joined us, though they would be the last to leave. It felt like our own hourglass, marking the passage of time as their numbers diminished. Each day felt longer than the last, but this time it was not because I was eager to get home to protect the city. Now, I was eager to get home with Emel, to show my people their queen.
Under the blanket of night, I found Tamam.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“To travel beside my best soldier. To ask him how he fares.” Emel had told me the details of his parting with Edala, but if she had not, I would never have suspected the depth of his grief. He was the same: quiet, loyal, alone. His face, the carriage of his shoulders, his work, all unchanged. How many secrets did he hide?
The tack rattled through the silence.
“I would have left the army for her,” Tamam said at last.
Tamam would have left the guard for Edala? “You would have stayed your hand,” I said, an echo of what he long ago told me.
He looked at me briefly. “I would have even left Almulihi if she asked.”
The moon cast so little light, the only things that could tell me sand from sky were the stars. “She would not hear it, would she?”
“She said she could not live knowing it was her fault. As if it was something she forced me to do. As if I didn’t offer because it was something I wanted.” I could nearly feel his fist clench around the reins. “For her, it was worth it.”
“You cannot carry that regret. You know Edala was headstrong. You have to live with her decision, and she left you the greater burden.” Bringing Farasa close beside him, I lowered my voice. “Tell me what you want now.” Did he want to take leave to work in the hot houses preparing flowers for the Falsa Mawk? Or did he want to be a sea man, go out to sail with the clippers? Whatever it was, he could have it. He deserved that much.
“I have considered this often since . . .” He turned his face away from me.
Tamam, I thought, it is too dark to see your tears.
“I want only Edala.”
Emel was bent over a map with Kofi and Parvaz, and as I watched them discuss the people in the next settlement, I wondered if it was a mistake to leave Nassar in Almulihi. I had found him in the aviary the day before we were to leave.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Ah, giving them a final treat. Haris doesn’t spoil them like I do.” He loved those birds.
“Anisa is lazy because of you.” I gestured to my eagle. Her golden eyes flashed to me, then back to the carcass in Nassar’s hand.
He was unapologetic as he tossed it to her.
“I want you to stay here when we leave tomorrow.”
His hand dropped, and he peered up at me with disgust. What Nassar lacked in height he made up for in impertinence. “I will not.”
“I insist.”
“What have I done?” He pulled the leather glove from his arm and angrily hung it on the nearby hook, the birds ignored.
“Nothing that is wrong.” I hesitated. “The journey will be long, and you have already made it many times.”
“No more than you,” he said. That was not true, but of course I could not explain that to him.
“I cannot risk losing you on this journey. You have too much to teach me.”
He looked beyond me and nodded.
“Stay home this time. Ekram has said on multiple occasions that a soldier shouldn’t be at the docks. Let’s avoid battle between he and Azim, eh?”
Though I didn’t think it possible without copious amounts of drink, Nassar actually smiled. He tapped his fingertips together and said, “And about Emel. What she said I did . . . handed her father the whip? I—”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Least of all a past you cannot remember. You have been very loyal, Nassar.” I thought of those years he spent with the Salt King. The offense to his principles as he supported Alfaar, the grit of the life he led in his earnest attempt to find me, to resurrect his home. Though he could recall none of it, in that reality I was shown the depth of his loyalty.
“Thank you, Saalim.”
I knocked his shoulder. “King Saalim, don’t you mean?”
Now I smiled, remembering how pleased—really, relieved—he was.
Back in the desert, as I recalled this, Emel watched me. “Something funny, eh?”
I shook my head, sending away thoughts of home, of Nassar. I asked, “Where did you get this map? Was it Amir’s?”
Sadness flashed across her eyes as I know it did mine, but she reassured me it was not his. Emel had taken her map to Kahina as a gift before we left. She said it had made the baytahira proprietress happy to know what hope it had given Emel. And even more, it pleased her to see how Emel had marked it, filling it in how she thought the desert lay. In return, Kahina gave Emel the completed map we used to guide us now.
Parvaz stood. “At dawn we will leave the prisoner.”
I looked to Emel for confirmation. She nodded.
Under the high quarter-moon, I approached Zahar with Emel. Kofi stood by, preparing to intervene if needed. Her feet were tightly bound, so she would not run anywhere yet. And when she was unbound, Kofi would still not be needed. There was nothing around for Zahar to use. There was nothing around for her to live.
“So you plan to leave me out here like some animal?” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and I was not sure when she had spoken last. We had been traveling for so long already. She peered around. The moon was just bright enough to light the sands, to reveal a long stretch of nothing in all directions.
Emel stepped forward. “No, not like an animal, because an animal, at least, might adapt. You are being left out here like a prisoner. Only there will be no chains, no boundaries. You are free to do whatever you please.”
Zahar was unimpressed by the generosity. “I will die out here.” Her voice tremored.
“You will,” Emel said. “It is your choice how quickly.”
The healer raised an eyebrow, then wiped hair from her brow, pulling the veil more carefully over her eyes. What was it she hid? Surely not feelings of sadness or remorse. Those were things I did not think her capable of.
From her pack, Emel pulled a small vial. It did not appear so different from the one Edala had given me.
“The only drink you will be left with. Should you choose it,” Emel said, handing her the vial. “This will bring you to Masira—if she will have you—more swiftly.”
Zahar opened the vial and sniffed it. Then, she let out a crackling, mirthless laugh. “Oh child, you had so much potential!”
Emel’s expression did not change. I looked between Zahar and Emel, wondering what exactly Emel had given the healer.
As if she knew my thoughts, Zahar turned to me and showed me the vial. “For dhitah. It’s what should have killed your father.”
I stiffened, my hand finding the hilt of my blade. I wanted to be done with her.
“If your brother hadn’t been so daft and simply given him the entire tonic in one drink like I told him to, it would have!” She turned away, taking mincing steps through the sand in a circle. “And it should have killed you! I thought those idiots had finally done something right, putting the tonic in your water. They refused to kill, you know. They were weak. But I convinced them of this.” She held the vial to me. “But then I heard you smashed the damn pitcher and all the dhitah in it!”
The day I found the Darkafa in my room, they had poisoned my water?
Zahar went on. “It’s why I should never task anything to anyone else! Just do it myself . . . it will, at least, be done right.”
My heart pounded all the way to the tips of my fingers. I would kill her. Right then, I would kill her.
Emel leaned just slightly into me. “Zahar, you will not win an easy death by goading Saalim.” The healer and Emel stared at the shadows in each other’s eyes, and I wondered what they saw there. “Your end will right the desert. A worthy death, wouldn’t you agree?”
Zahar spat at Emel’s feet, and I could not resist my fury, I shoved Zahar hard, and she fell into the sand.
“Monster!” Zahar croaked at me.
“Fool!” Emel shouted at her. “Waste what precious water you have left because you are angry? You are no survivor.” Now, Emel knelt down, leaning closer to Zahar than I wanted her to be. Kofi had neared, ready to protect his queen just as I was. “You think you are strong because you can take someone else’s gifts, take magic”—Emel waved her hands around—“and use them to fight your troubles. But Zahar, your strength is weak, because it relies on another.
“I am strong,” Emel continued. “Because I see your magic and say, I don’t need it. I am enough.” Emel stood. “You told me that comfort and power are bred from wealth. You are wrong. They are bred from suffering. And there is nothing the desert has taught me if not how to endure hardship.” Emel gestured to me to unlock the bindings. “I am a salt chaser,” Emel said proudly, looking back to Zahar once more. “You are nothing.”
We left Zahar with only the hatif as her companion. It made me uneasy. What if a traveler crossed her path? What if she found an oasis we didn’t realize existed? The map told that the nearest water was over a day’s travel, and that was if she traveled in the right direction. Without water, the chances were nearly impossible that she would make it, but I wished we did not have to take them at all.
Emel insisted, though, that her death must be her choice.
My concern faded the farther from her we traveled.
It was the following dusk, not even a full day turned, when we felt it.
We were still sitting around on our mats, finding reprieve in the dimming sun. There were no trees to shade us through sleep that day, so none of us found great rest despite the lean-tos.
It felt like I was dropped, like my gut was suddenly in my throat, like I had been cut free of something high above me, and now was grounded. It was indescribable, because I had experienced nothing like it before.
Clutching my stomach, I looked at Emel. She did the same as she stared at me, wide-eyed and worried. The soldiers around us looked similarly perplexed. Those that had been standing had crouched but quickly stood upright.
Had the sand been so smooth before? I could have sworn it had been more rippled. And what of those dunes? Were they not taller a moment ago?
“What happened?” Emel asked.
I shook my head, helping her to stand.
Walking to the nearest group of soldiers, I asked if they were all right. They nodded, and I moved quickly through the caravan, asking after everyone’s wellbeing. By the time I reached the last group of travelers, they looked at me as if I were daft. Nothing had happened, of course they were fine.
I went to Tamam sitting at the periphery of the group, watching the horizon.
“Did you feel it?” I asked when he stood.
Tamam nodded, his eyes sweeping the landscape around us. Then, “Magic.”
Emel appeared beside me, staring at Tamam. “You are right.” She took several long breaths. “She is dead.”
Emel turned in a slow circle, understanding washing over her. “The desert has been restored. Can’t you feel it?” She smiled and pointed at the sky. “Masira is only there. At last, we are free.”
No, I did not feel it perhaps like Emel did, but there was an ease of breath, the clearing of mind. Like I had awoken from a satisfying sleep or was at sea with only the wind at my back.
Taking Emel’s hand in mine, I said, “Nearly free.”
A shadow crossed her eyes before she nodded, and she went to pack her things.