They seemed to be at a dead end, nothing but a few feet of rock on all sides and a small pool of water lying in an alcove beneath a collection of tiny stalactites. It reminded Malek of the architectural models he’d once inspected for a hotel he owned in Dubai. The pool spanned several feet, but the space between the water and the shelf of rock above it was hardly large enough for someone to sit beneath.
“Magnificent,” Malek whispered as he drew nearer to the pool. It was a large, shallow puddle, accumulated over thousands of years through the constant drip of water from the sweating rocks above it. The water was so pure that the surface of the pool perfectly reflected the stalactites so that it seemed as though the daggerlike rocks were in the pool, rather than above it. A mirror image so real it was hard to believe it was simply a trick of the light, an optical illusion.
“Oh,” Nalia breathed as she drew near the water. She stared at it, transfixed. He moved the flashlight’s beam slowly over the pool, then stopped at the cluster in its center.
“Nalia,” he said. “Look.”
The stalactites formed a perfect, eight-pointed star.
“We found it,” Nalia called over her shoulder as she pulled her dagger from its sheath and crawled into the shallow water.
“Watch your head, hayati,” Malek said as he angled the flashlight so that she could see the stars better.
Nalia sliced her palm and smeared thick, red drops of blood over the symbol. Without warning, the bottom of the pond gave way and Nalia shrieked as she fell through the stone. Seconds later, there was a splash far below them. Malek moved forward, hesitant, unsure what the wisest course of action would be. Raif charged past him and dove headfirst through the hole.
There was a shout and then a peal of laughter. Nalia’s laughter. Malek suddenly realized he’d never heard her laugh. Not once in all the years they’d been together.
“Raif? Are you okay?” Zanari called, leaning over the hole.
Malek couldn’t help but notice Raif’s sister didn’t seem concerned about Nalia. He’d noticed the slights since their time in the Dhoma camp and wondered if Nalia had, too. Didn’t Zanari know that she was only alive because Nalia had fought for her? If it hadn’t been for Nalia, Malek would have happily let the jinni suffer Haraja’s madness.
“Well?” Malek yelled into the hole, impatient. “What do you see?”
Zanari ignored him as she beamed her hand into the darkness. In the jade light of her chiaan, Malek could make out Raif and Nalia treading water in what looked like an underground lake.
“We’re fine,” Raif called. His voice echoed. “I hope you all know how to swim.”
32
ZANARI TWISTED HER BRAIDS INTO A CROWN AROUND her head, then lay back against the water, floating. The water was cold, but it numbed her skin and, best of all, there weren’t any scorpions. She stared at the slabs of rock that covered the ceiling and walls of the cavern. This rock was different from the other caverns, a luminescent silver that shimmered whenever she swept her chiaan across it. The sounds of the jinn’s voices echoed in the cave as they searched for bottles on the lake’s bed. The desert water was salty, wonderful for floating, but terrible for diving. In order to reach the lake’s floor, they’d had to tie weights to their ankles. It was slow, exhausting work, and Zanari was giving herself a much needed break.
Not one bottle had been found, and the joy of possibility was quickly turning to surly frustration.
A beam of golden chiaan moved toward her and Zanari pushed herself into a standing position, treading water.
Phara.
“Come with me,” she whispered, grabbing Zanari’s hand.
Phara led her around a tiny bend in the lake, out of sight of the others. The clear turquoise water was shallow here and Zanari’s bare feet touched down on the soft mud. She sighed as her body connected to the earth. She could never get enough of her element’s energy.
“How are you?” Phara asked.
“After nearly being cut in half by a thousand rocks, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Phara said quietly. “No more . . . scorpions?”
Zanari shook her head. “No, thank the gods.” She hesitated, not even sure she wanted the answer to the question sitting on her tongue. “It won’t come back, will it—the hallucination or whatever was happening to me?”
“I hope not. Anso seems to think you’ll be fine. She said she couldn’t detect any disease inside you.”
It’d been horrible, what Haraja had done to her. Zanari could still feel the sting of the scorpions, still hear their claws cutting at the air as they tried to gain purchase on her skin. Phara reached out a tentative hand, then traced Zanari’s jaw. Zanari opened like a flower under the healer’s light, delicate touch. Her eyes filled with tears and Phara leaned in and brushed them away, her touch like butterfly’s wings.
“It’s over,” she murmured. “You’re okay.”
Zanari shook her head. “It’s . . . not that,” she said.
“What?”
“I’ve been fighting for most of my life.” She looked up at the glittering ceiling. Waited for the tears to stop before continuing. Zanari wasn’t used to confessional conversations or having someone other than her brother give a damn about what she had to say. “I grew up in a war zone. I’m surrounded by soldiers every minute of every day. But being with you . . . you’re like the first deep breath I’ve gotten to take in a long time.” She looked down, guilty. “The scorpions . . . they were kind of it for me, you know? I just can’t take any more. Part of me doesn’t want to go back to Arjinna.” She took in a shuddering breath. “Like, a big part. Does that make me a horrible person?”
Phara shook her head. “No, of course not. You could never be a horrible person.” She ran her fingers down Zanari’s arms, then gripped her hands. Zanari shivered as Phara’s chiaan melded with her own. Again, there was that inexplicable sense of tranquility. “We’re not meant to live like this—fighting, running, hiding.” Phara brought her lips close to Zanari’s. “This is what we’re meant for.”
Kissing Phara was like running through the fields in spring, barefoot, with the sun playing on her face. Zanari’s chiaan was melting, singing, dancing, and it felt so good to finally be wanted. It was temporary, she knew. When they got out of that cave, Zanari would go back to Arjinna and Phara would stay on Earth. The thought threatened to crush her.
All the more reason to make it count. She pressed closer to Phara, her thoughts falling away as the healer’s chiaan took over.
Later, when they returned to the beach, Noqril looked up from where he was roasting fish. A sly grin spread across his face.
“Ladies,” he said, with a pointed look at Zanari’s messy hair.
Zanari threw him a contemptuous glance before joining her brother by the fire. He sat by himself, a short distance from the glum Dhoma who spoke in quiet voices.
“What’s next?” she asked, falling down to the sand beside him.
“After we eat and take a bit of a rest, we’ll follow that tributary,” Raif said, pointing to where the lake became a fast moving river.
Zanari could hear the distant roar of rapids.
“We’re swimming it?” she asked, beaming her chiaan in the direction Raif had pointed. The shore stopped a few feet before where the lake disappeared inside a tunnel.
“Got to. See what’s over the arch?”
A large star had been carved into the silver rock just above the tunnel.
“Not to mention that it’s more water—there could be bottles down there,” he added.
The water in this cavern was one thing—it was calm and Zanari could see the bottom when she lit the surface with her chiaan. But trying to navigate violent water with unknown depths in a pitch-black cave?
“Perhaps there’s an alternate route?” she said.
Raif laughed. “Not even if you could wish for it, sister.”
Phara frowned at the water as she sett
led down beside Zanari. “Is it possible the pardjinn is wrong? Maybe the bottles aren’t in the water, after all. They could be hidden anywhere.”
Zanari glanced at where the slaver stood removed from the others, gazing at Nalia as she helped Noqril prepare the fish.
“His guess is as good as any,” Zanari said. “Besides, I haven’t seen any other particularly good hiding spots.”
The Dhoma had said there would be upward of two thousand jinn trapped in the cave. So where were they?
“No matter where the bottles are hidden, we’re all in this together if the only way to open the bottles is with the ring,” Raif said. “I can’t believe how long this is taking. By the time we get the sigil, the godsdamned war will be over.”
Zanari rubbed his back. “You’re doing the best you can, little brother.”
He was right, though; she didn’t think the tavrai would be able to hold out against an Ifrit offensive indefinitely. Their mother, Zanari knew, was worried sick—about them and about the prospects for the revolution. But there was nothing to be done for it.
“Samar has agreed to help me take Malek down,” Raif said quietly. “When the time is right.”
“How?” she said.
“We have an invisible jinni, a disease maker, two fawzel, and one of the strongest jinn on Earth,” Phara said, nodding over at Umbek. “The Dhoma can handle one pardjinn.”
“But you’re forgetting something,” Zanari said. She jutted her chin toward Nalia. “Her.”
“I don’t understand,” Phara said. “We’re on her side.”
“Anyone who tries to interfere with Nalia’s ability to grant Malek’s wish will feel the full might of Ghan Aisouri power,” Zanari said. “She’ll have no choice but to do whatever it takes to keep him protected.”
“Zan’s right,” Raif said. “We wouldn’t stand a chance. Which is why we’re waiting to make our move. Nalia only agreed to take Malek to the location of the sigil. After that, she’s on our side.” Raif leaned back on his hands, his eyes flicking to Nalia. “You saw what happened on the dune. She’s more than capable of handling Malek.”
“She’s pretty good at killing people, too,” Zanari said, her voice sharp. She glanced at Raif. “Or have you forgotten?”
“Zanari,” he said quietly, “not now.”
“When’s a good time to talk about this, then? Because it’s like you’ve forgotten—”
“Zanari.” Raif glared at her, his eyes flashing. “Drop. It.”
“Better come get your grub,” Noqril called. “Couple more minutes on the fire and these fish will be black as Calar’s heart.”
Raif swept past Zanari and she stared at the lake, fuming.
Phara placed her hand on Zanari’s shoulder. “It does no good, you know.”
“What?”
Zanari threw a rock at the lake’s surface. She watched as the ripples moved further and further toward the water’s edge. It was like the Ghan Aisouri. All the pain in her life seemed to stem from that one point.
“Holding on to the hurt.” Phara glanced at Nalia. “Her heart is pure, Zan. What she did for you—”
“Did for me? What are you talking about?”
Phara’s eyes widened. “I thought Raif told you.”
Zanari shook her head.
“Malek required . . . payment from Nalia. He wouldn’t hypersuade you otherwise.”
Zanari’s stomach turned. “What kind of payment?”
“He made her kiss him—really kiss him—in front of Raif. In front of everyone.”
“Gods, he’s despicable.” It could have been worse, she knew, but Zanari had to admit that she hadn’t done much to make Nalia want to help her. “That was . . . kind of her.” She frowned. “Still doesn’t mean I want her anywhere near my brother.”
“Would you deny Raif the one happiness he has?”
“Happiness? All Nalia’s done since she’s met him is put his life in danger and break his heart!”
“I suspect you’re oversimplifying,” Phara said.
It didn’t matter that Nalia had told Raif to leave LA and go to the cave without her. How she’d practically begged Zanari to get Raif out of Marrakech. Yes, she’d wanted him to survive and had been willing to face Haran and the entire Ifrit army on her own. But her brother never listened to Nalia. That was the problem. Even when Nalia was good to Raif, she was bad for him.
“She’s not one of us,” Zanari said, stubborn.
Phara pressed her lips to Zanari’s hair, then stood. “Neither am I.”
“I didn’t mean—”
But Phara was already walking toward the fire.
If Papa could see us now, she thought. Raif, in love with a Ghan Aisouri, and Zanari kissing a Dhoma in secluded lagoons. If they made it back to Arjinna alive, the Djan’Urbi kids would have a lot of explaining to do.
Nalia stood by the arch bearing the third star. They couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to see what new horrors awaited them. Noqril whistled as he peered into the tunnel’s gaping mouth. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”
“Maybe the Marid and I should go ahead and check it out?” Nalia suggested. Samar and Umbek were the only other jinn in the group who wouldn’t be harmed by rapids or unexpected whirlpools.
“I go where Samar goes,” Noqril said.
Anso stepped forward. “As do I. We should not separate. It may be far too easy to never find our way out again.”
“As you wish,” Nalia said.
She beamed her chiaan into the darkened entrance. All she could see was more tunnel, more water. Black rock, black water. Gods knew what was beneath its surface. She hoped Haraja couldn’t swim.
Nalia threw a silent prayer to Lathor, then pushed into the tunnel. The water moved swiftly, pulling her body down a serpentine path. Below her, she could see Samar and Umbek’s bright blue chiaan searching the water for more brass bottles. There was the faint crimson glow of Noqril’s chiaan, the Djan emerald of Raif and Zanari, the gold of Phara and Anso. Malek floated in the middle, surrounded by the light he couldn’t produce.
Their chiaan did little to dispel the darkness, but Nalia savored the water’s cool energy as it seeped into her. The gauntlet had been exhausting, terrifying. This was almost fun, the water pulling them along faster than they ever could have walked. Yes, she could do this for a few hours. This was her very own Lethe.
Until the water turned on them.
There was a rumble, slow at first and then a deafening roar. It took Nalia a moment, but then she suddenly realized what it was: the cavern behind them was closing, pushing them faster toward the rapids she could hear further down the river. The tunnel echoed with the panicked screams of the jinn, the darkness overtaking them as they lost their connection to their chiaan.
“Marid!” Nalia yelled, “grab hold of someone!”
Umbek and Samar cut through the water, their sapphire light blazing as they sped toward the flailing limbs of their companions. Nalia swept her chiaan over the water’s surface, searching for Raif. She caught him several feet away from her, struggling against the water’s power. Nalia screamed his name, but he couldn’t hear her, not over the deafening roar of the rapids.
She started toward him but the water smacked her against the tunnel wall, and bright pinpricks of light flashed across her vision as her head hit the rock. Nalia pushed under the water, letting the rapids rumble over her until her chiaan swept away the pain in her head. It was tempting to lose herself in the folds of cool liquid, but she couldn’t dissolve into the river, not now, not if she was going to help anyone. Nalia flooded the water with violet light. No Raif. She caught Malek, struggling underwater, the current pulling him down. She shot toward him and wrapped her hands around his waist, hauling him to the surface. He gasped and spluttered.
“Thank—” he started, but she was already swimming away.
He wasn’t the one she wanted to save.
Nalia tried to calm the water, to tame it, but she was
too disoriented, everything moving too fast from behind, the water angry and charging and hungry. The roar she’d thought were rapids grew louder and Nalia steeled herself, waiting for the chaos, but when her chiaan lit up the tunnel, her stomach lurched.
Oh gods.
A waterfall.
“Raif!” she screamed. “Zanari!”
No answer. Just screams that suddenly fell away as the jinn tumbled over the ledge, and the sound of water pummeling rock and flesh.
Louder, louder, no time.
Nalia dissolved into the water just as the river pitched her into the falls. She was the water, a cascade, shredded ribbons and spray and power. If she could just stay here, falling forever . . .
She was the foam at the bottom of the falls now, light as air, then she burst through the roiling water, back in her body. The black surface of the lake they’d been thrown into glittered with the light of the jinn’s chiaan. Emerald—just one.
Just one.
Was it Raif or Zanari? A whistle pierced the din of the waterfall: two high tones, one low. A second later an answering whistle came. She remembered Zanari doing that in Marrakech, when they’d lost track of Raif in the medina.
Alive—they were both alive.
“Nal?” a voice called out to her. Raif. Where was he? Nalia could barely hear him over the roar of the falls.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice breaking as she finally saw him across the lake.
He started moving toward her, then jumped and began kicking frantically at the water. Nalia swam toward him with fast, sure strokes.
“Something grabbed my leg,” he said, when she reached him.
“What was it?”
“I couldn’t see, but I swear to the gods it was a hand or . . . something.”
Nalia’s blood went cold. “A fish. I’m sure it was just a fish.”
There was a shout at the other end of the cavern and a burst of blue light. “The bottles!” Samar crowed in delight. “They’re here!”
Raif jumped again, pointing his chiaan into the water. “There!”