Freedom's Slave

  “And?”

  “Calar got this look on her face. . . .” Kes shook his head, and his lips turned up in a soft smile. “What I mean is, I saw her fall in love with our daughter in a matter of seconds. She loved her from the moment she saw her. Purple was all she said. Then she looked at the healer and she didn’t need to say a word. No one could know but us. So I killed the jinni right then, fast, before she knew what was happening. Before she could feel it. And then we had a mage come in to glamour our daughter’s eyes and chiaan. I killed him, too.”

  His confession was wrought with sadness, but no regret. There hadn’t really been another option; Raif could see that himself. And he knew if he’d been in Kes’s position; if that had been his child, Nalia’s—he would have done the same. No question.

  “What’s her name?” Raif asked.

  “Yasri.”

  A perfect name for a Ghan Aisouri—yasri were hearty wildflowers that bloomed in the heights of the Qaf, their petals a shimmering purple.

  The love in Kes’s voice when he said his daughter’s name broke Raif’s heart. He and Nalia would never have those children he’d dreamed up in the story he’d liked to tell her, time and again, when they imagined their future together. He’d never watch her belly grow, never see her hold their child in her arms.

  Kes sighed. “I worried about what would happen when Ri got older, of course—when she came more fully into her power.”

  Raif nodded. He didn’t need Kesmir to tell him what Calar would likely do to anyone—even her own child—who tried to take the throne from her.

  “But then I met Thatur. And . . . and Taz,” Kes continued. “For the first time, I feel like there’s a way out, whether or not Calar dies.”

  “Why tell me this?” Raif asked.

  “Because you loved a Ghan Aisouri. Because you grieved that dead child in the Marid village. Tazlim will be her guardian should anything happen to me—he’s the only other person who knows about Yasri, other than Thatur and Yurik.”

  “Thatur will train her,” Raif said.

  “Yes. And I told Yurik because he’s risked his life countless times to save Aisouri and I wanted to know that there was one person outside the tavrai who would be there should Yasri need help.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m also telling you,” Kesmir added, “because if Shirin or any other tavrai discover what Yasri is—and she can only hide her power for so long—they will want to kill her. To murder her just as I murdered my daughter’s ancestors. And I need to know you won’t let them.”

  “There’s no question, Kes. I would never let them hurt her.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But you’ll be around to take care of her, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s the plan,” Kes said.

  “Next time I see you, the gods willing, the war will be over.”

  Kes nodded. “There’s one more thing.”

  Raif raised his eyebrows. What else could Kes possibly be hiding?

  “There’s a boy who works at the Dragon’s Lair—do you know this place?”

  Raif nodded—an Ifrit granter’s shop.

  “Quan is an orphan I took in. If I can’t . . . care for him, will you keep an eye on him, make sure he’s provided for?”

  “Of course. We should bring him to the forest, anyway. When you get back, we’ll get him together.”

  “Yes. When I get back.” Kes placed his hand over his heart, relief softening the tightness of his mouth. “Jahal’alund.”

  As crimson evanescence filled the room, Raif returned the salute. “Kajastriya revlim,” he murmured.

  25

  ZANARI’S EYES FILLED WITH RARE TEARS AS SHE THREW her arms around her brother. “I’d almost given up hope,” she whispered.

  Raif hugged her tighter. “I knew you’d find your way back to Phara somehow,” he said.

  Not only was she going back to Earth, she finally had a chance to lead—Raif had just asked her to take over the tavrai on Earth and the mission to intercept the slave traders with their bottles.

  “Come with me,” she said, her face buried against his chest. They were on the banks of the River Sorrow and night was creeping in. “You don’t have to stay, little brother.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “Yes I do,” he said quietly.

  Zanari pulled away. “What about the Brass Army? You only stand a chance if they stay.”

  “They’ll stay,” Raif said. “Taz assured me. Those who want to go back to Earth will leave after the war is over.”

  “Noqril?”

  Raif was counting on Noqril’s fawzel form to give Raif a bird’s-eye view of all Ifrit troop movements.

  “He’s going to help you on Earth, then come back and fight with us,” he said. “When it’s all over, Yurik will help him through the tunnel, along with the Dhoma from the prison.”

  “Do you remember when we were on Earth you said that any jinni unwilling to fight for Arjinna wasn’t allowed to come back?” she asked.

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re always welcome here, Zan. No matter what.” His eyes fell to the River Sorrow, a salt river born of ancient tears. “There’s no shame in wanting to leave—I know that now. I’d go in a second if . . . I were in your place. I used to think the highest honor was death. There’s nothing wrong with deciding not to fight a battle you’re likely to lose. It’s okay to choose life instead of going out in a blaze of glory.”

  “That’s just what Nalia would have said,” Zanari said softly.

  Raif smiled a little. “Guess she rubbed off on me.”

  “A year and a day,” Zanari said, squeezing his hand. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Nah. I’ll never be okay—you know that.”

  They sat in silence a few minutes, Zanari’s arm slung around his shoulder.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay until you’ve done the ritual?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  Touma was still waiting by the gate, but he refused to sing the songs or light the elder pine fires. Not until Raif was ready. But he’d never be ready to see Nalia’s spirit off. He told himself he would do the ritual after the battle was over. In truth, he waited because maybe he wouldn’t have to do it at all. If he died in the battle, the last thing Raif wanted was Nalia’s spirit to think he’d given up on her. He didn’t want to sing those songs of farewell. Singing them would mean tearing her from his life for good. There was magic in the songs and the fires: they made those who grieved accept the jinni’s death. They allowed you to move on—to fall in love again, to build a life without that person. And Raif didn’t want to do that.

  “I’ll do it . . . soon,” Raif said. “I’ve got too much on my mind right now. And if I go there tonight, it’ll just mess me up.”

  This was all true, too: he had to stay focused. There were too many lives to save tonight.

  “But you’ll say good-bye to her after the battle?” she asked, real worry in her voice.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. And I know what you’re going to say, but can we not do this now?”

  He knew Zanari thought he should move on. But that wasn’t an option for him.

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Good.”

  The widr trees along the bank swayed in the wintry breeze, their willowlike branches skimming the surface of the water. Raif watched them, forcing his mind away from Nalia, away from his sister’s departure. If he focused on the coming battle instead, this would all be easier, hurt less. He wondered how Kes was holding up in the palace, awaiting his chance to kill Calar. He could picture Yurik readying the tunnel, Taz organizing regiments, going over the plans with Jaqar and Shirin.

  “Ready?” he asked as the stars above winked at him, too cheerful for what this night would bring.

  “I’ve been ready to go home for a long time, little brother.”

  Earth was home to her now, but it didn’t upset him as it once would have. He’d come to realize that there were things more impor
tant than the revolution, more important than making your dead father proud.

  “Then we’d better get you there,” he said.

  He took her hand and, together, they evanesced to the Wish. They’d both been to the tunnel before, which was located through a trapdoor in the Wish’s cellar. Zanari stood to the side while Raif opened the cellar door. He threw a ball of emerald light into the darkness and started down the stairs.

  “I’m getting tired of all these dark journeys,” Zanari muttered.

  Raif smiled. “This should be the last one for a while yet.” He froze as a blade glinted in the darkness. A pair of mismatched eyes narrowed.

  “Better tell me who you are before I slit your throat,” the jinni said. It was so dark, Raif could only make out the jinni’s form. But few jinn had those hagiz eyes.

  “It’s Raif Djan’Urbi, Yurik.”

  The knife disappeared and a lantern turned on, the warm glow filling the cellar with dim light.

  Yurik grinned. “Can’t be too careful.”

  Onions and garlic-filled baskets dangled from the rafters, and the walls were lined with dusty bottles of savri. Barrels filled with potatoes and salted meat were stacked in one corner beside a canvas sack heavy with an assortment of weapons.

  Yurik turned to Zanari. “You ready for this?”

  “I’ve been ready since the minute I set foot on Arjinnan soil.”

  Yurik smiled, a sadness in the depths of his eyes. “Been thinking about heading back to Earth myself.”

  “Even though you were once on the dark caravan?” Raif asked, surprised.

  “I’d like a chance to . . . start over,” Yurik said.

  Shirin. Why did she have to be so pigheaded?

  “The more the merrier,” Zanari said. She looked around, brow furrowing. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’re on their way,” Yurik said. “I staggered the meeting times so no one would get suspicious. Not everyone’s evanescing—no need to alert the Ifrit on patrol. There’s . . . something else you need to know about.”

  Yurik gestured toward a dark corner of the room, and Raif went still as he took in a small group of jinn, each holding a sleeping child. Most of the children were babies, some not much older than three summers—

  He turned to Yurik. “Are these . . . ?”

  Yurik nodded. “All glamoured, just in case.”

  The Aisouri children.

  “Holy gods and monsters,” Zanari breathed. There were over a dozen of them.

  Raif nodded to the families, who stared at him in terror. He knew what they were thinking: he was Raif Djan’Urbi, enemy of all Ghan Aisouri.

  He placed a hand to his heart. “My rohifsa was an Aisouri. We will protect your children with our lives.”

  Their relief was palpable.

  There was a shift in the air and the room suddenly filled with a dozen jinn—Brass soldiers and tavrai.

  Yurik nodded to them in greeting. “You told them every ten minutes?” he asked a soldier.

  The jinni nodded. “The next group will be here shortly.”

  Raif threw chiaan into the tunnel as he spoke. “Zan. When you get a chance, go find Saranya. Let her know we haven’t forgotten about the dark caravan.”

  Raif hadn’t been with Zanari and Nalia when they’d gone to visit Malek’s sister-in-law, but they’d told him about the leader of the underground caravan.

  “Good idea,” Zanari said. “She’ll be able to get the word out to the free jinn on Earth—maybe they’ll help us.” She frowned. “I’m not sure if I’m dreading telling her that Malek’s dead or not.”

  “It sure as hell comforted me,” he said.

  Malek. The bottle. The ring. It all seemed so long ago.

  “What’s the plan?” another soldier asked.

  Raif pointed to his sister. “Zanari will lead the charge when the slave traders enter through the tunnel. Kill them, take the bottles, then head for the Dhoma camp.” It was time for him to go. “Jahal’alund.”

  “Jahal’alund,” a chorus of voices answered.

  “Good luck out there tonight,” Yurik said.

  Raif nodded. “You too. We’ll all need it.” He glanced once more at the Aisouri children. He wished Nalia could see this. “Guard them with your lives,” he said to the soldiers in the room.

  Before he left, Raif grabbed Zanari in a fierce hug. “I love you, Zan,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too, little brother.” Her arms tightened around him. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Come visit us sometimes.”

  He pretended that was possible. Pretended he’d still be alive when the smoke cleared. “Sure. Give Phara a hug for me.”

  He kept his eyes on Zanari’s until his evanescence took him away. Raif couldn’t help but wonder if this was the last time he’d see his sister.

  26

  KES SLIPPED INTO HIS DAUGHTER’S ROOM AND WATCHED her sleep for several minutes, memorizing her.

  Yasri lay in the middle of the bed, limbs splayed out, a thumb in her mouth. The nursery was warm—a small fire kept out the winter chill. Balls of dim red chiaan hung midair, providing just enough light for Yasri or the nanny to see without keeping her awake.

  In one corner of the nursery sat a collection of dolls and toys. Kes would often sit with Yasri, watching her play, joining when she wanted him to. A thick rug with a pink rose pattern covered the whole floor. It was the room of a girl well loved.

  A shadow formed behind the glass doors that led to Yasri’s balcony, silent. Waiting. Kes moved forward and sat on the edge of Yasri’s bed. He set down the dram that would keep her sleeping for several hours: he’d made sure it tasted like her favorite ice—sugarberry and vanilla.

  Yasri sighed in her sleep and Kes reached down and picked her up, holding her against him. It was for her that he risked his life—tonight and all the nights before it—so that she could live in a world where darkness didn’t reign.

  “Wake up, gharoof,” he said softly into the pink shell of her ear. He moved back the hair on her face with gentle fingers, pressed his lips against her rosy cheeks. “Yasri. Time to wake up, sweet one.”

  She stirred, her eyes opening slowly. Dark crimson, like vixen roses—no one would know she was an Aisouri, at least not for a good long while.

  “Papa?” she said, her voice heavy with sleep.

  “You know your papa loves you, right?”

  She nodded as she reached up and put her hands around his neck.

  “Do I get a kiss?” he asked.

  She pressed damp lips to his cheek. “I’m tired, Papa.”

  “I know,” he whispered. He reached for the dram. “I brought you a treat.”

  Her eyes opened wider at that. “What is it?”

  “Magic,” he said. “Drink this and you’ll get to go on an adventure. Would you like that?”

  She nodded, more awake now, eager.

  He took the stopper off and held it to Yasri’s lips with a shaking hand. “Drink it all up, little one.”

  She smacked her lips when the bottle was empty. “Where will we go on our adventure?” she asked.

  “You’re going to see some good friends of mine. They know all about you. They’re going to take care of you while Papa’s working.”

  She frowned. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon,” he said. He had to stay alive for her—Kes couldn’t bear for this to be their last moment.

  It won’t be, he reminded himself. He had let Calar take everything from him, but he’d be damned if she took this too.

  He pressed his lips to her hair as Yasri’s eyes grew heavy.

  “Be a good girl, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Papa loves you,” he whispered once more, as her eyes closed and her body went slack.

  He put the bottle in his pocket and, holding Yasri in one arm, made up the bed to look as though she were still in it, should the nanny look in. He wrapped Yasri in a soft blanket made of sea silk and
wool. Then he grabbed the rucksack he’d filled with her favorite toys and some clothes.

  He stood still, listening. He had to be quick. Kes opened the glass door. Thatur crouched on the balcony, Taz already sitting astride him. They’d been able to get through the bisahm because it didn’t protect against gryphons. No one had sounded the alarm because the sentries on duty had been handpicked by Kes, all his own trusted soldiers who would be helping secure the palace once he killed Calar.

  Taz’s eyes lit up when he saw Yasri, and Thatur bowed low—of course. She was royalty, perhaps the next empress, if the Ghan Aisouri were ever allowed to reign again.

  Not likely, Kes thought. He and Taz had already decided that after the war, they would live as far away from the palace as possible.

  “She’s beautiful, Kes,” Taz whispered as he held out his arms. It looked a bit like love at first sight, the way Taz gazed at her. “She looks just like you.”

  “Thank the gods,” Thatur grumbled. “I never wish to see Calar again.”

  Kes planted a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and then tilted his head to look up at Taz.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Kes whispered against his lips.

  “Yes,” Taz agreed, “soon.” He leaned forward, and his kiss was sweet and soft and held the promise of more and more and more.

  “I love you,” Taz said, so softly Kes might have imagined it, were it not for the look in his eyes.

  Kes squeezed Taz’s hand, then turned to Thatur. The only reason any of this was possible was because this gryphon had helped him—despite Kes being one of the Ifrit who had ruined his life.

  “You’re carrying everyone I love,” Kes said. “I am forever in your debt.”

  Thatur met Kes’s eyes.

  If you don’t show up to claim them, I’ll be very angry with you, boy. I hope for your sake you do not have to see my wrath. It’s terrible to behold.

  Then Thatur winked. Kes smiled, shaking his head.