Exquisite Captive

  “Raif’s the leader of our people. He told her not to speak and I believe she will honor that. Unless she’s a Loyalist. Many of the Shaitan still are. Then she’ll spread the word.”

  “A Loyalist?”

  “Those who want a Ghan Aisouri empress on the throne. There have always been rumors that one survived. Stories. Most people don’t believe, but there are a few who have been looking for someone like you. And, of course, whenever a new infant is born, they check the eyes.”

  Purple eyes. Maybe her race wasn’t extinct, after all.

  “I don’t want to be empress,” Nalia said.

  “I don’t want you to be, either. The realm needs to be ruled by free jinn.” She sighed. “But being a leader isn’t always about what you want. Look at my brother.”

  What did Raif want? Against all odds, he’d chosen her over the sigil. Nalia knew very little about the jinni whose life had become so tightly threaded with her own.

  Zanari held Nalia’s hand as she stepped into the bath. The water burned in the best kind of way and Nalia moaned as her body eased into the large marble tub. Zanari let Nalia grip her hand until the wave of pain subsided, then helped her wipe the battle with Haran off her skin. Dirt and sand and blood turned the water brown. Zanari swirled her finger in the murky mess and the water became fresh and clear again. Nalia’s chiaan responded to the water, and she felt some of the pain drift away.

  “Must be nice to wash the ghoul off you, eh?” Zanari said.

  Nalia nodded. “Gods, the smell . . .”

  “If I hadn’t had to burn the body before we left the beach, I never would have believed it. Of course, now it makes total sense why I never saw Haran in my voiqhif—he always looked like one of his victims. When Raif said Haran was a ghoul . . .” Her eyes grew wide. “As if things in Arjinna aren’t bad enough.”

  “The only question now is: how many ghouls are in the Ifrit army?” Nalia said.

  “Honestly? I don’t even want to know.” Zanari held up a bottle of expensive shampoo. “Is this what you use for your hair?”

  Nalia nodded. Zanari’s hands were gentle as they worked through the tangles the sea and wind had made. The room became warm, filled with the scent of Nalia’s amber musk soap. It felt unbelievably good to have someone else wash her hair. It had been so long since someone had taken care of her in this way. The nights in the opulent bathing rooms of the palace with their perfumed waters and attendants ready to assist her seemed like a million summers ago. Zanari’s face glistened in the steam and Nalia watched her for a moment, this unexpected sister-friend.

  “Zanari.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I love Raif.”

  The words slipped out of Nalia’s mouth and she didn’t even know they were true until she said them. She expected to feel embarrassed, ashamed by this ultimate weakness so scorned by the Ghan Aisouri. But she wasn’t.

  “I know,” Zanari said, her voice soft. She poured a last cupful of water over Nalia’s long strands of hair, then stood and walked to the stack of thick towels sitting on a shelf. She grabbed one, hugging it to her chest. “I love him, too. And I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “Not on purpose, maybe. But let me ask you this: if everything goes as Raif hopes it will—he saves you from Malek and you get the ring and come back to Arjinna together—then what will you do?”

  “I have to get my brother—”

  “And after that, if Raif asked you to help the revolution, would you?”

  Nalia crossed her arms over her chest, the bathwater suddenly cold. Being a slave on the dark caravan had certainly helped her to understand the plight of Arjinna’s serfs. And she was more aware than ever of the Ghan Aisouri’s sins. But she was already breaking her vow to the gods to protect the realm by helping Raif get the sigil—how much more could she do? How much more did she want to do?

  “Did he say something about it?” she asked.

  Zanari gave her a withering look. “Does he need to?”

  Nalia flinched. “Someone needs to come back and stop the dark caravan.”

  “First, you’re not the only one who wants it to end, you know. I’m sorry you’re on it, but there are plenty of jinn who have been slaves longer than you, who are just as anxious to get off the caravan and punish the people behind it.”

  Nalia frowned. “I know. It’s just—”

  “And second,” said Zanari, talking over her, “let’s be honest: at the end of the day, you’re a Ghan Aisouri. Are you gonna marry my serf brother? Have his low-caste babies and live in the Forest of Sighs?”

  “Gods, Zanari, I don’t know!” Nalia threw her hands up and they smacked the surface of the water, splashing both of them. “I mean, I can’t even imagine being alive long enough to think about that stuff. This has all happened so fast—”

  Zanari’s eyes were full of compassion. “I know—that’s what I’m saying. For some reason, my brother loses all perspective when it comes to you. It’s not like he’s . . . inexperienced when it comes to this sort of thing. Do you know how many jinn fall all over themselves just for a chance to talk to him, eat a meal with him? He’s never given any of them a second glance. Maybe spent time with one or two on a lonely night, but . . .” She sighed. “Just don’t make a fool of him, sister, that’s all I’m asking. When we’re all back in Arjinna and his tavrai meet you, I don’t want them to think their leader is a starry-eyed boy in love who’s being played by the enemy.”

  “I’m not the enemy!”

  “But they don’t know that,” Zanari said quietly.

  Nalia grabbed Zanari’s hand. “I love him, Zanari. I really do. I can’t make any promises about the revolution, but I can promise I would never make a fool of him.”

  Guilt squirmed inside her as she thought about the revolutionary she’d killed, but Nalia pushed it away. She’d never pretended not to be a Ghan Aisouri. Raif had to know she’d done some pretty awful things. It was war; they all had.

  After a moment, Zanari smiled. “All right, then. I’m glad we got that out in the open. You should probably get some rest before your master’s servants get back.”

  She leaned over and put an arm around Nalia to help her stand, then Nalia took the towel and wrapped it around her body. She allowed Zanari to guide her back into the bedroom and help her change into a loose shirt and cotton shorts. She waited while Zanari manifested clean bedding, then sank gratefully onto the mattress.

  “I’ll try to put the rest of the house in order, but you did some pretty serious damage with that earthquake of yours,” Zanari said.

  “Thanks,” Nalia whispered, already drifting off to sleep.

  Just before the world fell away, she felt the bed sag under additional weight and then a thick pair of arms folded around her. She breathed in Raif’s scent, clean as her own, and smiled into their little bubble of warmth. These moments with him were an unexpected gift, and she took each one and tucked it away in her heart, knowing it might be her last.

  29

  NALIA STOOD ON THE TARMAC, WAITING FOR MALEK TO descend the tiny set of steps leading out of the private jet. The Santa Anas whipped around her body, and as her sundress flew up, the men working near her stopped to stare in admiration.

  Nalia ignored them. Her stomach was in knots and all she could think about, other than getting the bottle, getting her freedom, getting her brother, was the look on Raif’s face when she left for the airport.

  “What?” she’d asked him, as he leaned her against the driver’s-

  side door of Malek’s Aston Martin. Miraculously, the car had been towed after she left it on the freeway the night before. Nalia had had to pick it up—neither of the Djan’Urbis knew how to drive, and that was something even magic couldn’t help them do.

  His face was carved out of stone and he looked at her as though she were standing far away, at the other end of an impossibly large field.

  “I don’t want him to touch you,” Raif finall
y said. “Or look at you. Or even breathe the same air.”

  “Me either.”

  How had this happened, their sudden need for one another? She tried to remember what it felt like to despise him, but she couldn’t. Somehow, he had become essential, like sunlight and water and sleep without dreams.

  Nalia slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. “It’s the only way, Raif.”

  “He’ll kiss you.”

  “Yes.”

  Raif brushed his fingertips over her mouth, his chiaan seeping past her teeth, over her tongue, down her throat.

  “But he won’t kiss me like this,” she whispered, bringing her lips to his.

  Her kiss told him everything she couldn’t say, wouldn’t say. It was hello and good-bye, yes and I hope so. It was an apology written as a love letter, sealed with fierce hope.

  Then she got in the car. Malek had called her that morning to let her know when his flight was coming in. She’d insisted on meeting him at the airport.

  Are you sure you’re up for it, hayati?

  Malek—I’m a jinni. I’m perfectly fine now. Good as new.

  It hadn’t been true, of course. Her body still ached from Haran’s burns and the gunshot wound. But she couldn’t waste time being an invalid. Malek missed her enough to fly across the world at a moment’s notice, just to see her face. If she was ever going to get the bottle from him, it would be tonight.

  Now, her heart clenched as Malek stepped out of the plane. He was the opposite of Raif in every possible way. He wore a light gray suit, the jacket slung over his shoulder, white button-down rolled to the elbows. Malek handed his jacket and leather briefcase to someone behind him, then descended the small staircase with the grace of a jungle cat. He was beautiful. Marble that lived and breathed, eternal, a face for artists.

  She felt his gaze, the possessiveness of it. There was no doubt to anyone who might look at them that she was his. Utterly and completely. Without question. Nalia made her lips curl into a smile, come hither. Malek didn’t stop when he reached her. His arms lifted Nalia up so that she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist and he held her close.

  “Hello,” he murmured.

  Her body was screaming in pain, but she circled her arms around his neck and leaned into him.

  “Hi.”

  Malek’s kiss, the heat of it, coursed through her, fire calling fire and she hated herself for wanting more, for kissing him back. It was like being in a vortex, the force of him pulling her away from everything else. His lips crushed hers, claiming Nalia like a prize that he’d fought for.

  Finally his kisses slowed and he gently let her down and brought his lips close to her ear.

  “I don’t think I can be a gentleman tonight.”

  She shivered, even though it had been an unseasonably warm day and the evening was mild. She wanted Raif’s warmth, not this burning, these flames that never ceased.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. Malek slipped an arm around her waist and gestured for his attendant to follow them.

  He insisted on taking her to a late dinner. Nalia had to force the expensive steak down her throat even though every few minutes she felt like she was going to vomit. Now and then she would catch Malek watching her, a thoughtful look in his eyes. She wondered what that was about. What had happened in Beirut? Or maybe he was seeing her differently, now that she’d almost died. He might have Draega’s Amulet, but she did not.

  The hours ticked by. Drinks on the restaurant’s patio, a leisurely stroll along the beach. She imagined Raif and Zanari, checking their watches, wondering what she was doing, where she was.

  But once it was time to return to the mansion, the drive back felt unbearably short. The freeway was empty, a fast-moving river whose current she couldn’t fight. After all this waiting, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. Part of Nalia wished she’d died on that beach, not listened to Raif’s voice or let him lead her back to life. How could she repay that devotion with what she was about to do with Malek?

  Raif will never be able to look at me again. I’ll never be able to look at me again.

  Words, horrible words, threw themselves at her, arrows that hit their mark every time they were loosed: whore, killer, liar, traitor. All true, according to her calculations. But one word kept her going, the only one that could matter for the rest of the night: Bashil.

  The house was empty—no sign of Delson or the servants, who had returned the evening before. Raif and Zanari had gone to Malek’s loft, to await Nalia’s arrival with the bottle. Or to wait so long that they would know she hadn’t succeeded and that instead of stealing the bottle from her master, she’d been put inside it. Again.

  “Looks okay in here,” Malek said.

  Nalia nodded. Zanari had done a fantastic job, despite her comparative lack of magical ability. With some pointers from Nalia, she’d restored the chandelier and broken antiques, and there wasn’t even a hint of a crack in the marble floor.

  She smiled. “It was an easy fix.”

  Malek dropped his bags inside the door and drew Nalia to him. He traced the line of her collarbone, ran his finger over the lapis lazuli pendent, now back around her neck as though she’d never taken it off.

  “When I gave you this, I never expected you to react the way you did,” he said. “I thought I’d have to wait decades, centuries, to be this close to you. It wasn’t so long ago that you hated me.”

  “I was young. And you were cruel.” His eyes tightened and she ran her fingers though his hair, then let them slide slowly to his face. “But when you gave me this necklace, it felt like you’d given me back a piece of myself. And then I knew how much you cared.”

  The lie was uncomfortably close to the truth. His lips turned up in a soft smile, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. “Someday, I hope you’ll truly know how much.”

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  Does he know? Oh gods, please, please don’t let him know.

  He shook his head. “Nothing, hayati. Nothing at all.” His hands slid around her waist. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’re alive.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  His forehead creased with concern. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  She held his gaze, waiting.

  “No,” he said softly. “I don’t think you would.”

  Malek had seemed so eager to see her when they’d spoken on the phone, but now he seemed pensive. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was grieving.

  Nalia forced a bright smile. “Let’s go swimming,” she said. Anything to stay out of his bedroom, away from the huge four-poster bed, fit for a king and his consort. “Because I think you need cheering up and I’m tired of being stuck in the house all by myself.”

  He let go of her and picked up his bags. “All right. I’ll meet you out there.”

  He started toward his study, then stopped. “Oh—did everything work out all right with Sergei?”

  Her meeting with the Russian client felt like it had happened in another lifetime.

  “Sure. He wanted the Cayman Islands, so now they’re his.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie; she’d thrown the islands in as a freebie, to cover up Sergei’s real wish.

  “And the payment?”

  “In the safe.”

  “Perfect.”

  She smiled and went up to her room. Once inside, she changed into her swimsuit, her new scar temporarily invisible with a bit of magic. She never would have been able to explain it to Malek. He’d seen her in a bathing suit before, and nothing escaped his notice. She grabbed the bottle of wine and the sleeping powder, then hurried down to the kitchen and poured two glasses, emptying the vial of powder into the glass with the blue stem. She picked up the other glass, holding it by its clear stem as she took a large sip, then poured more wine inside. Liquid courage. Sweat bloomed on her upper lip as Nalia strained her ears, terrified he
would sneak up behind her and see what she was doing. She prayed to all the gods as she stirred the powder and watched it dissolve. Prayed that it was enough, that he would drink it, that it would work.

  She grabbed the glasses and went outside to the kidney-

  shaped pool inlaid with a colorful mosaic. Zanari had done wonders with it while Nalia had been recuperating in bed: the ash from the fires had disappeared. Except for the faint scent of smoke in the air, it was as if multiple disasters had never occurred. A tiny waterfall tumbled into the deep end from a rocky wall, and honeysuckle grew all around the edges of the patio, sweetening the air. Lounge chairs were scattered around the stone floor, but she knew Malek always preferred the thick, flat futon piled high with colorful silk pillows that sat beside the pool, under a latticework roof held up by four carved pillars. The few lights around the patio were already on, but the rest of the property remained in shadows. Nalia glanced at the dark outline of the conservatory and tried not to think about how Raif must be feeling, knowing what Nalia had to do. A dozen thick candles surrounded the whole structure, and Nalia ran her hand over each one to set them blazing.

  Finished with her preparations, Nalia eased into the water, mindful of the pain that still pulsed under her skin. Though it was November, it wasn’t too cold outside and the pool was heated. It was almost like being in an oversized bathtub; under different circumstances, a swim would be relaxing. But tonight it was just a prelude to gambling with her life.

  Nalia wanted to be obliterated, to become the water, but it had chemicals in it and, besides, she had to keep her skin and bones so that she could give them away to a man who’d bought them. The highest bidder.

  When she resurfaced, Malek was strolling over, two thick towels in his hands. He wore a pair of expensive, black swim trunks and the button-down shirt he’d worn on the plane. When he got to the futon he unbuttoned the shirt and threw it across the back of a lounge chair, then took off the chain holding the bottle, just as Nalia had hoped. It made a tiny clink as it hit the glass-topped table beside the futon. Nalia forced herself to look away from it, to focus her gaze on Malek as she walked up the stairs, out of the water and onto the patio. He stared at her hungrily, not even bothering to disguise his want.