Curled on my mat, eyes closed, I thought of Saalim—his lips on mine, his beard against my cheek, his fingers on the small of my back.
A bright wash of sunlight flashed onto my face. “A muhami tonight!” the attendant trilled excitedly before disappearing again.
I groaned.
“Practicing for the bed already?” Tavi teased.
I sat up. “Eiqab knows I need no practice.”
She fetched our abayas. “What’s gotten into you lately?”
Raheemah smirked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said narrowing my eyes at Raheemah. She and I had grown even closer since the healer. The first day after the tonic, she had been so ill, I had worried that we’d made a mistake. She clutched her stomach while cramps raked her from the inside. She bled and bled and ate nearly nothing. I almost wished for her recovery, but selfishness kept me silent. I didn’t know where a wish would send her. After two terrifying days, she began to mend. She smiled more, ate more, drank more. And now, she was nearly herself again. Whatever the healer had given her worked like magic.
Tavi began counting my misdeeds off on her fingers. “You barely try with the suitors. You’re restless. You smile more.”
Raheemah agreed, and I turned to her. “Don’t you encourage Tavi’s ridiculous presumptions.”
Raheemah used every moment we were alone to whisper about the bazaar, the oracle, Firoz. She’d smile so widely, describing the things she’d seen and the people she’d spoken with. She asked me frequently about Firoz. I insisted he was no lover of mine, only a friend.
“Let it be known,” Tavi continued, “if something is up and I find out you’ve kept it secret, I am disowning you as a sister.”
I tied my veil. “Well, when I’ve finished digging my tunnel to the oasis, you’re not coming with me.” I smoothed down my mat ensuring the bag of salt, my map, and the healer’s potion were not visible should anyone come in while we were gone.
Raheemah watched me intently, the desire obvious in her gaze. Like a drop of honey on the tongue, the small taste of freedom was not enough. I knew she wanted to see more of the settlement she’d lived in her entire life without knowing. But I think she also needed a reminder that the world she had glimpsed was not a dream. I understood. Living a life confined to the palace, it was hard to believe anything else was real.
“When you’ve finished the tunnel, I’m coming with you whether you like it or not,” Tavi said.
“Me, too,” Raheemah added.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.
As we made our way to our father and suitor, my only consolation for the afternoon was the hope that I might glimpse Saalim.
Despite the winter chill outside, it was warm inside the tent. The suitor was a young nobleman who stood awkwardly beside my father. The man glanced at us as we walked in, smiled uncomfortably, then looked down at the carpets.
I wandered to the margins of the room and sat with another ahira upon a cushion. We babbled about trivial things—tapestries and blankets and the challenges of specific patterns of the rugs—as we waited for the afternoon to end. Raheemah quickly captured the attention of the suitor. He approached her cautiously, another man drawn to virginal youth. Or really, just youth.
Protectiveness distracted me, and I no longer could speak with my sister. She turned to watch, too. The man greeted Raheemah. He seemed scared to touch her, but Raheemah adeptly met his reluctance with warmth. She leaned toward him, smiling widely, though I could see it was forced. Who was this man? How would he treat my young sister? When he took her hand and led her to a place where they could talk privately, I looked away. There was nothing I could do. She was an ahira, this was her fate.
I peered around the room, from guard to guard, slave to slave. No one gave any indication they were who I sought. Disappointed, I abandoned my search and listened instead to the prattle of my sisters around me.
Thirsty, I began to rise in search of tea or wine when a slave appeared at my side.
“Wine for the princess?” he asked quietly, kneeling beside me and holding a silver goblet before him.
My sisters looked up in surprise at the boldness of the slave. Rarely did slaves speak directly to ahiran during a courting, and almost never did they offer us food or drink. It was the behavior of new slaves who did not realize our role in the court was nearly the same as theirs.
Looking down at the slave’s proffered glass, I glimpsed a familiar, golden cuff emerging from the end of his white sleeve. Only now, the cuff did not melt into his skin. It ended at this wrist with no twining gold on his skin. His skin was the color of mine, and his face was that of a stranger’s. Only the magicked cuffs marked him as the jinni. As Saalim.
Fluttering erupted in my stomach, but I held fast my features to hide my burgeoning smile. I glanced beyond the slave to my father who sat in intense conversation with the suitor. The muhami sat rigidly upon a chaise lounge, Raheemah still at his side. My father did not notice me nor the slave.
“Thank you,” I murmured, and when I reached out for the glass, I trailed my fingers quickly up from the smooth metal at his wrist to the back of his hands down his fingers before finally taking the wine from him. He flashed his golden eyes to mine, and his lips curled in a roguish smile, thrilling at the barefaced flirting.
Saalim stood and walked away. As I watched him go, I noticed Nassar. He stood across the room, in a corner, observing the courting as he always did. Except now, he was turned toward me, his glance darting from the slave to me and back again. He had seen everything.
Tensing, I watched him trying to fit the pieces together, fearing the punishment I would face were Nassar to tell my father what he had seen. Oddly, the vizier did not appear angry so much as curious. What was he scheming? What did he plan to tell my father? He looked back to Saalim leaving the tent, then followed him out.
Fighting the urge to get up and run after Saalim to warn him of Nassar, I sat and clenched my fists. I had to remind myself there was no way Nassar, weak and spineless, could harm a conduit of Masira.
The afternoon came to a close when the suitor announced his intention to court Raheemah that evening. She blushed and looked at the ground, but I could see a hesitant smile on her face. Imagining my sister at the mercy of an uncaring man, I wanted to run and yank Raheemah from his side. I wanted to drag her away from the cage of our father’s palace.
As we headed home, I trailed Tavi, who spoke excitedly to Raheemah beside her. A guard followed us some ways behind, distracted as he fiddled with his scimitar. It was quiet in the palace, many of the servants home for midday meals.
My mind churned with thoughts of how I could prevent my sister’s courtship, thinking of ways I could craft a wish that even Masira could not alter. How could I wish that she marry a kind man instead? One who would let her traipse through village streets and pet neighing horses and taste glistening fruit. Someone who would take her to oracles and let her gaze at herself in bejeweled mirrors at the bazaar.
Staring at the ground, a familiar smell met my nose: jasmine, dust, and . . . I looked up. Everything around me was unmoving. Time had stilled. Grinning, I began to look for Saalim, but it was his words that reached me first.
“He is a good man,” he whispered into my ear as he reached his arms around me, pressing his chest to my back. We stood in the middle of the street, frozen sisters in front, an unmoving sun above.
“Do not worry.” He kissed my temple. “He will not hurt your sister. Let them be wed. She is unlikely to find someone kinder.”
I sifted through my thoughts of the suitor again, allowing myself to see what earlier I had willfully ignored: how he smiled respectfully toward all of us. The way he hesitated around the ahiran, fidgeting with his hands as if unsure where to place them, because he was uncomfortable placing them on us. How he politely asked our names, complimented our hair or scarves or jewels without touching them.
“Did you arrange it?” I said breathing in the scent of him.
“No. He chose Raheemah himself. I was absent for most of the courting, at least until a certain someone longed for a drink.” I heard his smile. “I was patrolling the village.”
“I looked for you.”
“I know, I felt it.”
I warmed and leaned into him, thinking of how much I liked this man.
“Nassar,” I said, remembering and turning to him. “He followed you out—”
“He followed me, yes. He told me I was not to be speaking to the ahiran.”
“Is it safe? That you have done this?” I said, looking at the still village around us. I looked for the trailing guard, but he must not yet have turned the corner.
“If the timing is just right, if no one is looking, I believe I can alter time without consequence.” Saalim had stopped the world at the perfect moment. No one would notice the rift he caused. He continued. “I don’t want to wait to see you, I don’t want to wait for Sabra to look away. I want to see you more. If that means I must steal time from the gods, then I will. If you’ll allow it, that is.”
My pulse quickened. “It’s what I want, too.”
Saalim pulled the scarf from my face and kissed my lips. We lingered together, feeling brazen out in the open, whispering into each other’s ears, sharing chaste kisses.
“The next time you are alone, the next time no one is watching, think of me. I will come. Please.” There was a deep longing in his eyes. He looked so sincere, filled with so much yearning, that I wanted to grab his hand and run off with him at that moment. Let time stay still forever. Instead, I took his hand, pressed it between my own, and promised I would.
Despite Raheemah’s concern that the nobleman did not want to bed her after spending two nights together, “Talking and . . . and . . . asking me questions!” she lamented after the first night, worried she had done everything all wrong, he asked for the King’s permission to wed Raheemah. I cried tears both happy and sad as Raheemah shared the bittersweet news. The sisters laughed joyously and shared advice generously—how to converse with him, how to entertain him, how to laugh and smile and flutter her eyes as wives ought to. Each sounding more authoritative than the next on a subject of which they knew nothing.
I sat back, watching the exchanges affectionately, when one of my sisters walked in. Her face was pale, eyes wet. She clasped at her abaya, her gaze darting around anxiously.
“What happened?” I asked, rising up. Everyone was silent, the sudden tension snapping through the room.
“Six more deaths.” Her voice was tight. “Three attendants, three villagers. They were drinking together in a small restaurant last night. Sometime later, they grew sick. They died this morning. Even the healer couldn’t save them.”
We huddled close as my sister spoke.
“What do they think happened?” One asked.
“Poison. They think it came into the village from the Altamaruq,” she spat the words. “My brother said the King ordered that all the wine from traders be dumped.”
“Which attendants?” I asked.
My sister hesitated some time, her eyes glistening before she named them all. Each spoken like a devotion. I closed my eyes, hating myself for my joy that Hadiyah and Adilah were not listed among them.
“If they are searching for a jinni,” I said, “why would they kill innocent women?”
My sisters spun, and even Sabra, I noticed, looked at me aghast.
“Emel!” Raheemah exclaimed, appalled.
“Eiqab protect us,” another murmured.
“They’re searching for a jinni?” Pinar said, and the sisters shushed her too.
I resisted the self-reproach that wanted to smash a hand to my face. “That’s just what I heard. Of course, I’m sure they don’t even exist.”
It was too late. The mood in the room changed. Half of my sisters mumbled about needing to pray at the rama, while the others talked louder and more excitedly about the possibility of a jinni. What if it were true? What if one existed?
“Sons, the things I’d wish for . . .” Tavi looked off wistfully.
“The biggest tent in the desert.”
“The man with the biggest—”
“Turban,” they snickered, careening off into wilder desires.
“What if the wine was meant for the King?” I said, desperate to draw their attention away from the jinni.
“Maybe,” Tavi agreed.
How else would they try to get to Saalim? Everything before had felt separate from me, from my family. But the death of villagers, our attendants? It was too close, and I was scared. I hoped it was an accident, that the wine had been intended for my father. That it was not for the innocent, the Altamaruq hoping if enough of the King’s guards and villagers died, he would surrender his jinni to protect them. I prayed to Eiqab that was not their aim, because if it was, they did not know the Salt King.
That night, I sat with Raheemah and in the firelight, unrolled my map.
“Where does he live?” I asked, my throat aching as I fought my sadness.
“He said something about how he came here using the southwest route,” she murmured, pointing unsurely at the map. “It is different there, he said. There are more trees and flowers.” She smiled. “He said they have mostly settled, because there aren’t dunes, and they have a large water source—I think he called it a river?—not far from his home.” After using snippets of what she described, I made a guess where on the map she might live.
Dipping my reed into the ink, I drew a tree with small waves beneath it along the southwest trade line. Then, I handed the reed to my sister.
“What is this for?” she asked, holding the reed awkwardly.
“You must write your name, or, at least, the first letter. So I always know where to find you.”
“I can’t . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how to write like you do.”
“You will be a royal’s wife. You must practice.”
Raheemah dipped the reed into the ink with an inexperienced hand, the ink dripping from its end. Let some drop off, I told her, so it didn’t smudge on the parchment. She waited, and then with a shaky hand, bent over the map and wrote a large R by the tree and waves. The reed was still a little too wet, and the first line puddled.
“Perfect,” I said, wiping my cheeks. I took the map and blew on the ink.
“Will you come see me one day?” The words were tight in her throat, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“I will.”
Raheemah fell into me and sobbed into my lap. I bent over her as if to protect her from the world, trying, and failing, not to cry.
“I believe you,” she said through gasping breaths.
When the fire was doused and the ahiran had fallen asleep, I clutched Raheemah close against my chest. Tomorrow we would say goodbye.
“I have never wanted to stay here as much as I do tonight, I have never wanted the sun to wake late. I don’t want to leave,” Raheemah whispered.
“Yes, you do. It’s hard now, but it will be wonderful tomorrow. The Altamaruq won’t hurt us. Don’t worry.” I tried to believe my words.
“It isn’t fair that I’m to be wed before you.”
“That isn’t true. You deserve every happiness that exists in this world.” I combed her hair with my fingers and twisted it into soft plaits. I stroked her back and neck telling her how good she was, how lucky her husband was to have chosen someone so sincere.
When she could not rest, too worried of the future, I told her Saalim’s stories. I threaded together his tales of magic and chance and freedom and love while she closed her eyes, finally at ease as she let her mind wander, let herself dream.
When Raheemah’s breathing slowed to the familiar rhythm of sleep, I murmured one of my favorite stories of Saalim’s—one of a faraway place where there was a golden king with a powerful queen and vast pools of water that lapped against a castle of stone.
To the center of the empty rama, I carried the oil-fueled lamp. Its flame was too small to serve as light or heat. It had only one use: sacrifice.
A cold purple washed over the sky as the sun set. I pulled my heavy cloak tightly around my abaya as I set down the flame. I adjusted myself so that my back was to the guards, my cloak fanned so they could not see my hands nor the flame.
Searching between the layers I wore, I found the sack of salt. I grabbed a large pinch between my fingers and closed my eyes.
Masira, I give you my currency for freedom to protect my sisters, my mothers from the Altamaruq. Let them find nothing and move on, move away. Please guide the Altamaruq from here, let them pass us by.
I dropped the salt onto the flame, but it was not enough. I took a fistful and slowly poured it onto the flames until it was doused, hoping the sacrifice was enough to be heard.
Masira protect us.
The salt was stuffed from view, so I grabbed my lamp and rose.
Raheemah had left that morning, and all day I had avoided my home. I did not want to see her empty mat, some day to be replaced by a new, bright-eyed sister. It was the hardest goodbye. She was my half-sister, but she had my full heart. Despite promising I would try, I knew there was little chance I would see her again. So it was a forever farewell, and that was something I could not endure. I thought of what it would be like to say goodbye to Tavi, and I could not bear the thought. I thought of Saalim. No, that was enough thought of goodbyes.
I stopped at the harem in the evening. My mother was sitting with a handful of the King’s wives, all surrounding one who cried into her scarf. Raheemah’s mother. She had lost her child when Raheemah left with the prince. Of course she was inconsolable. The other wives were quick to remind her of the blessing that having a daughter wed to a nobleman was, that she should be grateful, not sad.
My mother sat with her hands on the woman’s knees. “It is okay to weep, to scream. Your only child has been taken from you.”
I cringed and walked toward the women. “Mama,” I said, tugging on her arm, leading her away from the emotional women. “How are you?”
She looked tired, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. No makeup was on her face, her hair was unbraided and uncombed. Even her dress was dirty. She brushed aside scattered pieces of parchment covered in her handwriting, and we sat at the edge of her low bed. She stretched out her fingers, then curled them into fists. Again and again.
Wrapping her arm around my waist, she said, “The days are shorter now.”
“Yes, winter has come. Even the nights are cold.”
“That is not what I mean. The days are going by quickly.” She rubbed at her eyes and brushed back her hair, the faint scent of frankincense wafting. Her foot bounced on its toes like she was excited, or nervous, or—
It was Sabra. In ten days, she would be exiled from the palace. I would never see her again, and neither would my mother. I clutched my mother’s hand tightly. How could I tell my mother it would be okay that her first-born was soon to be gone from her grasp? I couldn’t. Just as none could tell it to Raheemah’s mother, not sincerely.
“I feel like there is so much I want to tell you. So much that you need to know. But,” she looked up at me, “you keep so many secrets, how will I know what words you need to hear?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Tell me, is there someone that you see? Someone you love?”
I dropped my head into my hands. “No!” My chest and neck grew hot. “I can’t believe you would believe Father’s lies.”
She rubbed her hands on her knees and shook her head, mumbling to herself. “See, we can’t know for sure. I don’t want to be around all of this death. It is too much. I am scared. I’m—I’m worried. I need to go. Go somewhere and wait.”
“What are you talking about? Wait for what?” Who was this woman, and why was she crazed?
She looked at me sympathetically and cupped my cheeks with her palms. Kissing my temple, she said, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Go home, brave Emel.”