“You remind him that there’s more to life than the revolution,” Zanari said. “And I think that scares him. For so long, the only thing that’s mattered to Raif is the realm. And me and Mama, of course. He’s fiercely loyal to the people he loves.”
That doesn’t include me.
“I don’t need my brother’s permission to be your friend, you know,” Zanari added.
“You sure about that?”
Zanari laughed. “He’s all bark and no bite—well, at least with me, anyway. I wouldn’t recommend getting on his bad side, if you can help it.”
“I’m already there, sister,” Nalia said. The word felt strange in her mouth, but good.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Nalia couldn’t even begin to decode the mischievous glint in Zanari’s eyes.
They were quiet for a while, sipping their wine, lost in their own thoughts.
“Nalia, if I really am your friend, can I ask you a sort of personal question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Nalia stiffened. “I guess that depends on what the question is.”
Zanari cleared her throat. “Well, in my vision the other day, I think I might have figured out how you’re planning on getting the bottle.”
Nalia’s head jerked up. “What did you see?”
Zanari reddened. “It wasn’t anything much, I promise. Just your master sitting on your bed. And he . . . kissed your cheek. You were smiling at him, but when he left, your face . . .”
Nalia’s hands shook and she set her glass down, then slid to the floor, hugging her knees. It was stupid of her to think the Djan’Urbis wouldn’t find out. She thought she’d be able to keep it a mystery, how she got the bottle. It wasn’t something anyone else needed to know. Laughable now, considering Zanari was a seer.
“Do you spy on me all the time?” Nalia asked quietly.
“No! I don’t do that. I was just checking in, to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”
As much as Nalia hated the idea of Zanari peeking in on her, she couldn’t really blame the other jinni for, as Malek would say, protecting her interests. Maybe Zanari really had been worried, but Nalia wouldn’t be surprised if Raif had his sister keeping tabs on Nalia’s whereabouts.
“I’d rather you didn’t look in on me anymore,” Nalia said. “Don’t do it, okay?”
Zanari hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “I promise I won’t. Not unless you ask me to.”
Nalia let out a long breath. “You must think I’m despicable, selling my body like this,” she whispered.
“Not at all. If I hadn’t had Papa, I would have maybe had to do the same. I know plenty of slaves who’ve done that and more for their freedom.”
Nalia nodded, thinking of Leilan. “Me too.”
“Have you ever . . . been with a man before?”
Nalia shook her head.
“I’d give you advice, but I haven’t either.” A wry smile slid across Zanari’s face. “And never will, if you get what I mean.”
Nalia nodded. “That’s very common among the Ghan Aisouri, you know. It’s so much easier, to have lovers that are our own kind. Of course, the empress always ordered the older Aisouri to find male lovers to bear children, but other than that . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t really know what I wanted until . . .”
Until she’d kissed Malek back? Or danced with Raif? Nalia wasn’t sure.
“You don’t know until you know,” Zanari said. She hopped off the counter and sat on the floor next to her. “I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, except for maybe my brother.”
“I’m not brave, I’m desperate.”
“It just looks like that, but it’s not true. Most jinn would have given up by now, but you keep fighting. Why?”
Nalia was quiet for a moment, wavering between her desire to confide in someone and her belief that every person she knew could betray her, or endanger Bashil. Nalia had worked hard to keep her secrets carefully tucked away inside herself. She’d made a tomb of her heart and sealed the entrance. She wasn’t sure if she could let another person in, bring all those secrets back to life. But the weight of the memories and regrets was beginning to crush her. Maybe it was the word friend or Zanari’s eyes—open and encouraging and so like Raif’s that it hurt a little. Or the fact that if she didn’t survive her encounter with Haran, her secrets—and her brother—would die with her.
Maybe it was the wine.
“My brother,” Nalia said. The words tumbled out of her; it felt good to say my brother out loud.
“But how do you even know him? Isn’t he keftuhm?”
“Bashil is not a blood waste,” Nalia said, her eyes flashing.
“Well, of course, I don’t think that,” Zanari said. “But I thought most Aisouri had nothing to do with the nonroyal children.”
“My father would often bring Bashil to court. He was an overlord. You’re right, most Aisouri have nothing to do with the . . . what they call the keftuhm. But I loved my brother from the moment I saw him. My mother disapproved, of course. But she quickly realized she could use him as a punishment. If I didn’t train well or was disobedient, she’d say I couldn’t see him. It worked.”
“I’m sorry,” Zanari whispered.
Nalia shrugged. “It’s nothing compared to what you went through.”
Zanari propped her chin on her knees, her eyes thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I never thought of the Aisouri as slaves. But I wonder if the ones like you were. In a manner of speaking.” She sighed. “How old is he, your brother?”
“Just eight summers. He’s at a work camp in Ithkar.”
“Gods. Ithkar. Are you sure he’s—”
“Alive? Yes. He’s . . . surviving. Barely.”
“And you plan to rescue him after you take Raif to the sigil?”
Nalia nodded. “I just need to make it through the next few days,” she said.
There was a shift in the apartment’s energy: someone was evanescing into the living room. Nalia sprang up, suddenly sick at the thought of seeing Jordif. Could she really kill him?
“Don’t worry, it’s just my brother.”
Of course. The sandalwood scent of his smoke wafted into the kitchen, sweet and mysterious. Nalia’s heart beat a little faster, and she moved away from the living room on the pretext of rinsing her glass in the sink, her back to the doorway.
“I wouldn’t have let you kill Jordif, anyway,” Zanari said. Nalia took her glass and put it under the water.
“Like you could stop me.” The room spun and she leaned against the counter and took a breath. “Okay, that wine was a bad idea.”
She’d have to sober up—replenish her chiaan, drink some coffee. It would be hard enough fighting Haran as it was—they should have saved girls’ night for after she dealt with him.
“Why would she kill Jordif?” asked Raif.
He was suddenly in the doorway, his eyes and face betraying none of the emotion from earlier that day. She turned off the water and busied herself with drying her hands.
“It’s a long story,” Nalia said. She couldn’t stand being in Raif’s company—it was too confusing. It felt like her chiaan was calling to his; it pulled like an impatient child’s hand. “I have to go. I’m sure Zanari can fill you in.”
Raif dug into his pocket and handed her a small glass vial, careful not to touch her. Nalia couldn’t help but notice how his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
It doesn’t matter, she thought. She didn’t have time for the feeling she had in her stomach whenever Raif was around.
“A sleeping potion?” she asked, examining the white powder.
“The Shaitan said that you should put it in a drink—it dissolves completely and is tasteless. On jinn, she said it lasts a few hours. On humans, it can last up to a day. Since your master is half jinn, there’re no guarantees, but I’d say you have just enough time to give it to him, then return to us so I can perform the unbinding.”
She
thought of Jordif and how he was working with the Ifrit—maybe even helping Haran.
“I don’t want to come here anymore,” Nalia said. “I don’t trust that Jordif won’t bring Haran.”
“I missed something big, didn’t I?” Raif said, looking from Nalia to Zanari.
His sister nodded. “I’ll tell you later.” She turned to Nalia and handed her an unopened bottle of the potent wine they’d been drinking. “Where can we meet you once you’ve got the bottle?”
“Malek has a loft nearby that I use for clients. I’m the only person with a key.”
She closed her eyes and envisaged a pad of paper and a pen. When it materialized, she wrote down the address for them. “You’ll have your cell phone with you, right?” she asked Raif. How he managed to fight a revolution without such a device, Nalia could only guess. After three years on Earth, she couldn’t imagine her life without the human technology she’d come to rely on.
“If I must,” Raif said, frowning.
Nalia bit back a smile as she remembered her first strange encounters with technology on Earth—phones, tablets, televisions. They’d all seemed so confusing. So disconnected from the elements and the gods. At some point they’d become normal, but she couldn’t remember when.
“Okay.” She looked at the bottle of sleeping powder once more, then put it in her pocket. “Wish me luck.”
A ghost of a smile played on Raif’s lips. “There’s no such thing.”
Her words in his mouth.
“If not luck, then what?” she asked. She could feel Zanari pretending not to watch them.
His eyes finally met hers. “Destiny.”
22
NALIA LANDED ON THE SIDEWALK NEXT TO HER Maserati. She hadn’t had a chance to pick it up since she’d left it by the Venice Boardwalk the afternoon before. Now her eyes ran along its smooth surface, ignoring the parking ticket on the windshield. It was strange, she knew, and maybe even a little pathetic, to be so attached to a human machine. But she’d miss it, nevertheless.
Venice was as crowded as usual. She hurried past the familiar shops and restaurants, saying a silent good-bye to the carnival of weird she’d witnessed for the past three years. After tonight, she’d never see it again—unless she survived Haran and rescuing her brother. Then she would return to free the slaves on the dark caravan. Even though that seemed far away, like a dream the gods laughed at, Nalia was surprised at how much the thought of destroying the caravan bolstered her spirits. Loving her brother had kept her alive; giving herself to a cause not because of obligation or destiny but because it was right gave her a reason for living. Now she had a word for the feeling coursing through her veins: passion. With a start, Nalia realized she’d never had it before.
Leilan sat among her paintings, as if she’d never left. Today she was wearing a bright turquoise blouse that matched her eyes and a gauzy, long skirt that made her look like the peasant jinn who worked Arjinna’s fields. She was absorbed in the canvas propped on an easel, her mouth twisted in concentration as her brush swept across the painting’s surface. Nalia watched her friend for a long time, carving this image of Leilan into her memory. The Marid girl had been her first true sister-friend. Not close to her because they were bound by a royal sisterhood, but someone who had accepted Nalia for who she was.
Who she thinks I am. It had always pained Nalia to lie to Leilan about her past and her identity. And the worst part was, she couldn’t stop now. She didn’t have time to explain and she couldn’t risk Leilan giving her away before she’d gotten free of Malek. She trusted her friend, but there were too many ways for something to slip.
“That’s lovely,” Nalia said, as she finally drew closer.
Leilan looked up. “Where the hell have you been the past twenty-four hours? I’ve called you about ten thousand times!”
Nalia rolled her eyes, playing off the concern. “Really, ten thousand times? Did you count or is that just an estimate?”
“I was seriously worried!”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry—really, I am. I ran into one of Malek’s clients and by the time I was finished dealing with him, I had to get ready for that thing at the Getty. And you know how bad I am about the phone.”
Leilan grunted. “Well, don’t do that again. Jordif says jinn girls have been disappearing. Something creepy’s going on.”
“Disappearing?”
“Yeah, all over the world. It’s like a jinn serial killer or something.”
Nalia shivered, despite the warmth of the afternoon. Had Haran been doing more than searching for her? A heavy gust of wind swirled around her, smelling of burned toast and campfires. Nalia shaded her hand and looked up at the sky. To the north, thick plumes of smoke pushed toward the sun. From where she was, it looked like whole swaths of the oceanside hills were on fire.
“It’s that time of year,” she said, gazing at the line of smoke.
Leilan nodded. “These humans are crazy. They spend all their money on fancy homes in the hills, even though every single year there are fires that wipe out whole neighborhoods. It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, they can’t just manifest new houses!”
“I guess it’s like Arjinna. The higher up you live in the mountains, the more power you have.”
“I’d take my beach house over your mountain mansions any day,” Leilan said, with a half smile.
Nalia grinned. “Smart jinni.”
She had to get back to Malek’s and there was no easy way to do this. How did you say good-bye to one of the only real friends you’d ever had?
“Hey. I’m going away for a while, and I want you to have my car, okay?” She held up the keys to her Maserati.
Leilan looked at the keys but didn’t reach for them. “What do you mean?”
Nalia set them on the lip of the easel. “Remember the first time we met, when the wind blew my scarf over here to your stall?”
Leilan nodded. “Of course.”
“I really do think Grathali brought us together. I don’t know how I would have made it through these past three years if I hadn’t met you.”
For a moment, those long, cozy nights at Habibi and Leilan’s attempts to make Nalia more human swam between them. Shopping trips in Beverly Hills. Standing in line to try Pink’s famous hot dogs. Manifesting tickets to the Oscars.
“Nalia.” Leilan’s voice was tight and uneven. “You’re talking as if we’re never going to see each other again.”
Nalia looked past Leilan, to where the waves battered the shore. She could almost feel their power bearing down on her, as if she were the sand the crests fell upon.
“Is this about Malek? Did he threaten you, or—”
Nalia shook her head. “No. He’s . . . no.” She looked into her friend’s wide blue eyes, usually so full of laughter. They turned darker when she was serious or sad. Just now, they had taken on the color of the sea before a storm. “I can’t explain, Lei. I wish I could, but it’s too dangerous right now. I’m sorry.”
Nalia took a paisley silk scarf from her purse and pressed it into Leilan’s hand. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re joining the revolution. With Raif Djan’Urbi, right?”
Nalia hadn’t expected this to be easy. Leilan would never have just let her walk off without some kind of explanation.
“Sort of. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“So Malek made his third wish?”
Nalia hugged her arms. “No.” Leilan looked like she was about to ask another question and Nalia raised her hand. “Lei, I can’t.”
A gust blew through the boardwalk and on it Nalia caught the scent of raw sewage: dead animals, rotting food, and a vinegary tang that turned her stomach.
“Gods,” Lei said. “What is that?”
A tourist came up to the stall and Nalia stood back while Leilan showed off her paintings.
The scent lingered, vaguely familiar. It seemed to nuzzle her, as though the scent itself were a conscious, living thing. But as soon as
Nalia began to scan the crowd, it disappeared. She shook her head—she didn’t have time to worry about putrid drafts of wind, not with Haran hunting her. Nalia’s eyes drifted toward the glimmering ocean. The sun was inching toward the horizon, bathing the sea in tangerine light.
It was time to go.
The tourist took the painting away—it was one of Nalia’s favorites, a rendition of the water temple of Lathor with paints that made the liquid walls glisten, much as they did on the real temple. It felt wrong that Nalia might get to actually go there while Leilan was stuck on Earth, having to paint it from memory.
Nalia opened her mouth to say something, but surprised herself by reaching out and pulling her friend into a tight hug. She’d always been so careful to avoid close contact for fear of Leilan guessing that Nalia was more than the Shaitan she pretended to be. Leilan’s body went still as Nalia’s chiaan flowed into her skin. Nalia could feel Leilan’s chiaan, as well, and it was just as her friend seemed to be: a heady, vibrant energy that held the restlessness of the sea.
After a few moments, Nalia pulled away. Leilan stared at her, understanding slowly dawning in her eyes.
“No,” Leilan breathed. “They all died.”
Nalia shook her head. “Not all of them.” She stepped away. “Good-bye, Leilan.”
She turned around and practically fled down the boardwalk. Even when she was far away, Nalia didn’t look back.
By the time Nalia arrived at the mansion, shadows clustered in the corners of her bedroom, draping the furniture and covering the walls. Another day, she thought. Another day wasted. But not entirely. She carried her determination to end the caravan inside her like a treasured secret. To have a point, to have a purpose, was its own kind of freedom.
She’d left her window open that morning and now the acrid stench of fire slithered inside. Nalia looked out the window and wrinkled her nose at the charred scent. The sky had turned a brownish purple and dark smoke rose to the west. She’d have to keep an eye on the fires—Malek would be furious if the house burned down.