Freedom's Slave

  She’d come upon Raif sitting against a tree deep in the forest. For once, he looked at peace. Green swirls of chiaan crawled up his arms and he was gazing at the bit of moonlight that slipped past the thick branches of the elder pines. Shirin drew closer and he looked up, really looked at her for once. He smiled and patted the thick carpet of moss he was sitting on. They sat like that for a long time, silent. She breathed deeply of his earthy, sandalwood scent. Felt wisps of his chiaan on her skin as his palms sat against the moss, replenishing his magic. A breeze blew past, carrying the soft cry of a lasa bird. It was said that when two jinn heard the lasa, they would fall in love. Just a story, but right then, she let herself believe it.

  Shirin turned to him and gently tilted his face toward hers, just the tips of her fingers on his chin. His eyes were glassy, warring between his love for Nalia and the comfort of Shirin. She didn’t pretend he loved her now. But she knew she could ease his pain, be the one he found shelter in. He didn’t move away as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Instead of breaking off the kiss as she assumed he would, Raif’s lips parted, tentative at first, then more certain. His hands reached up, his fingers tangling in her hair. Joy like she had never known pulsed through her and she let herself move closer to him, to taste the mint leaves he must have been chewing before she arrived, her tongue against his, her arms around his neck. She didn’t mind the beard, the way it scratched her chin, because it meant he’d been there, so close, so real. His lips were soft and hungry, and when she pulled him down on top of her, he met her urgency, his hand snaking up her shirt, gently gripping her ribs, and for a moment, Shirin was the happiest jinni who had ever lived.

  Until he whispered, “Nalia.”

  They both froze and he pushed himself off her, scrambling back as though she were one of the forest’s nighttime predators. And it was only then that she realized she hadn’t felt his chiaan as he kissed her. She’d let herself open up to him, had given him all that longing and love and desire, but he hadn’t given her that energy of his that her blood craved. She’d only felt the echo that always happened when two jinn touched each other.

  “Shir, I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, as though coming out of a dream. A nightmare. “I . . . can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  She lay there on the moss, chest heaving, and covered her eyes with her hands. “Go,” she whispered. “Just go.”

  Once she heard him walk away, she curled into the moss, her hot tears slipping into it. The moss thickened, pushing itself up so that she was lost in the crevice of a soft series of mounds. Jolip, a plant that brought healing to the brokenhearted. That, she realized, was why Raif had been sitting there. Why he’d even, for a moment, allowed her to kiss him. It hadn’t been him, but the moss, trying to stitch their shredded hearts. Shirin sobbed until, exhausted, she fell asleep, cradled in those soft emerald arms.

  Now, as her eyes traveled over Ithkar, preparing herself for battle, she held one thought in her mind: the fact that Raif had even sought out the moss told her he was trying to move on. And she’d be there waiting when he finally did.

  A swirl of golden evanescence appeared beside her: Taz, back from inspecting his troops.

  “Can you believe this shit?” she asked, when his smoke cleared. She gestured toward the offending sky. The aurora, for once, paled in comparison to the moons, the colors muted by the blazing light.

  Taz’s eyes shifted upward, his face filled with a momentary rapture. “It’s amazing. I never thought I’d live to see a prophecy come true. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to live for quite so long.”

  “This isn’t amazing! It could, I don’t know, kill all of us, destroy the realm—who knows? You spent way too much time meditating in that bottle, Mystic.”

  Taz smiled at the nickname the Brass Army had given him. “It’s the only way I survived.”

  Shirin would never understand how Taz could still believe in the gods’ benevolence when everything pointed against it.

  “Are we good at the palace?” she asked.

  “Kesmir said he’ll do it when she’s sleeping. Should be any time now.” The worry was plain in Taz’s voice.

  “What about his soldiers?” she asked.

  “They’re in place,” he said. “As soon as we see the signal, we go. Thatur is staying close to the palace to assist Kesmir—no doubt he’ll be in for a fight once word gets out about Calar.”

  “And if we don’t see the signal?” she asked.

  Shirin was only half confident that Kesmir would succeed in killing Calar. More likely, she’d take him down and then where would they be? She’d never thought this was a good plan, but it was the one Raif was stubbornly sticking to, so she was here, awaiting his orders.

  “We’re to wait until dawn,” Taz said. “If Kes doesn’t . . . if he can’t . . .” He swallowed, his eyes shifting behind him, to where the palace overlooked the Infinite Lake. “We still go with the plan.” He pointed to the sky. “Unless, of course, they have anything to say about it.”

  “And I’m sure they do,” she muttered. “You seen Raif anywhere?” He should have been here by now, preparing to advance.

  As if on cue, a burst of green evanescence shot out of the air—Raif, finally.

  “You good?” she asked as he strode toward them.

  “Define good.” Raif gave them a grim smile as he pulled out his scimitar, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape of Ithkar. He seemed to be purposely ignoring the moons above.

  “Good is we pull off the greatest prison break in the history of jinn and live to tell about it,” she said.

  “Then I’m good.” Raif glanced at her. “Godsnight or no, we’re going in there.”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  This was why Raif was always the best soldier on the field: he didn’t care about anything but the fight. Even ancient prophecies and the threat of plagues from the gods didn’t distract him from the task at hand.

  Raif gently clapped Taz on the back. “He’ll be okay. We’re gonna see that sign over the palace any minute now.”

  Taz nodded. “I hope so.”

  In the distance, Shirin could make out Noqril in his fawzel form. He’d returned from the skirmish with the slave traders on Earth and would remain here until the battle was over. His birds-eye vantage point on what went down on the earth below gave the tavrai a slight edge over the Ifrit. She envied him his flight, the wind under his wings, no longer burdened by his body. He could leave and nothing here would hold him back or make him want to return.

  Must be nice.

  Raif began walking away, then hesitated, turning back to them. “Nalia’s brother was imprisoned here. Her plan had been to set him free as soon as we got the ring, but Calar found him and . . . well. It feels right, doing this. It’s what she would have wanted. And the Dhoma inside—she and I both owe them a blood debt.” His voice grew heavy. “It’s the least I can do for Samar.”

  Shirin watched the grief settle over Raif. Losing Nalia, losing Samar. Shirin wasn’t sure Raif could take any more. He made his way toward his troops, shoulders hunched, body tense.

  Taz leaned toward her, quiet. “Keep an eye on him out there. I’ve never seen a jinni so eager to die.”

  She’d watched Raif mingle among the troops, fooling them with his confident smile and his hand on their shoulders—they’d never know anything was wrong.

  Raif turned and caught her eye. She stuck out her tongue and a small smile dusted his face. I did that, she thought. Her heart filled with a longing so fierce, a love so brutal, she couldn’t say a word.

  “You know,” Taz said, “it takes time.”

  “What does?”

  “For the heart to love again. My rohifsa has been dead for over three thousand summers and not a morning goes by that I don’t think of him.”

  “And yet you’ve moved on,” she said. It was the closest they’d come to acknowledging the relationship between Taz and Kes.

  “In one sense, yes
, I have,” he said. “That’s the funny thing about the heart: it can hold two people in it at the same time.” He shrugged. “Raif is pure passion and drive. If he lives long enough, he won’t be able to help falling in love again.” He patted her arm. “You’re good to him—you’re good for him. He knows that.”

  Shirin was tired of competing with a ghost. You win, she told Nalia. Raif would always love Nalia best. But dead girls couldn’t kiss or hold the boys who loved them.

  “Thanks, brother,” she said softly.

  Taz nodded, his eyes back on the palace. “Anytime.”

  Shirin willed her body to evanesce. She wasn’t going to let Raif out of her sight tonight, because she loved him, yes, and because maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

  If he lives long enough, he won’t be able to help falling in love again.

  Shirin wanted to be there when he did.

  29

  TAZ GAZED AT THE MOONS, FULL OF WONDER. THOUGH he worried for Kes and and every soldier who would be fighting tonight, he couldn’t drown the excitement thrumming through him. The Godsnight. It hadn’t escaped Taz’s notice that he was able to experience the most important night in the history of jinn faith only because of his long imprisonment. What would happen tonight? If it was indeed the gods’ night, their sense of time was not the same as that of the jinn. A night could be a few minutes or a million years. What songs and stories would be composed about the coming hours—the full moons, whatever happened in the palace with Kes and his soldiers, the battle at the prison, the journeys through the portal? The very air felt charged with importance.

  He looked away from the moons and returned to his vigil, eyes back on the palace just across the range. By now the sun should be rising over the Arjinnan Sea, yet the sky remained dark, the moons burning brighter with every passing minute. Perhaps dawn would never come again in his lifetime.

  Taz had been here for hours now, nervousness turning to terror as he waited for Kes’s signal. Calar should have been dead long ago, with Kes’s troops taking over the palace and Kes himself throwing shards of white chiaan into the air. Instead, there was only this eerie quiet and the darkness above the palace.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” Raif said softly as he came to stand beside Taz, his emerald evanescence slipping down the side of the mountain.

  Taz shook his head. “I know him—Kes will wait to the last minute. Calar sleeps fitfully, he’ll be afraid to . . . afraid to wake her.”

  Every muscle in his body was tense as he forced himself to stay on this mountaintop and not evanesce to the palace. He wouldn’t let himself accept that Kes was dead, or good as dead. The gods couldn’t be so cruel, to take away both of the jinn he loved. Not after Taz’s centuries of devotion, not after those years in the bottle spent in meditation and worship.

  Taz moved away from Raif, overcome as the first of the dawn prayers sounded over the land. Tears slid down Taz’s face as the lament filled his ears, calling on his Shaitan goddess, begging her for the one thing Kes would need now more than ever: grace.

  Restless goddess of the skies, send us your spirit on the wind. O Grathali, fill us with the power of your ever-changing, ever-shifting grace.

  Taz wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, angry swipes that he knew Raif pretended not to see. The tavrai commander kept a respectful distance, silent as the prayers continued. Taz thought of Yasri, sleeping in Thatur’s nest, unaware of the dangers her papa faced. The thought of her warmed Taz’s heart, the one bright spot in the night’s terror. In the time it’d taken Thatur to fly them to his nest, Taz had felt a connection to the child he hadn’t believed was possible to experience so quickly. She was not of his blood and yet he loved her. He loved the parts of Kes that were in her face, loved her glorious Ghan Aisouri chiaan, loved how she curled into him as though she knew she was safe.

  Please, Kes. Please be alive.

  A cascade of rocks slid down the mountainside just as the Marid call to prayer began. He was dimly aware of Shirin’s voice as she came up to them: “Raif, Taz. We can’t wait any longer. Let’s do this.”

  Shirin was right: it was time. He and Raif had agreed that if they didn’t see the sign by the final changing of the guard, which took place just after the dawn prayers, the Brass Army and tavrai would storm the prison anyway. The hope was that even if Kes failed in his assassination attempt, his Ifrit comrades would still be able to take the palace. If Kes had failed, then Calar might have read his mind. It was possible they were walking into a trap, but none of Taz’s scouts had reported any movement from the palace toward Ithkar. Their road to the prison was clear.

  Everything in Taz strained toward the palace, toward that boy with the garnet eyes, toward the bravest jinni he’d ever known. Brave as Nalia herself had been. From where he stood, Taz could make out the palace’s domes and columns, the elegant arches, the waterfall that shot toward the Infinite Lake. Somewhere inside those walls, Taz’s future happiness lay under the knife of Calar’s magic, dependent on a mercy she didn’t possess. It didn’t matter that she loved Kes—she would only see him as her would-be murderer now.

  He turned to Raif. “You still want to go through with the plan?” Taz asked, anxiety taking over sense.

  “Of course we still want to go through with the godsdamned plan,” Shirin snapped.

  Raif threw a glare at her before leaning closer to Taz, his voice pitched low. “I know just how you feel, brother,” he said. “I know all you want to do is go to that palace and find him. But your soldiers are depending on you. This is our best chance to rescue the Dhoma. If Calar has caught Kesmir, we won’t have an opportunity like this again.”

  He motioned for Shirin to follow him and together they scrambled down the mountainside. Taz watched them for a moment, facing the prison just as the faint shimmer of the bisahm above it shuddered, then disappeared. Taz couldn’t see the Shaitan tavrai mages who worked their magic against Calar’s defenses, but he knew they were down there—if it weren’t for their ability to destroy the shield above the prison, there’d be no hope for their plan.

  An ear-splitting caw came up the range behind Taz, followed by the sound of furiously flapping wings. Taz turned just as Thatur skidded to a stop, sending a shower of rocks his way.

  “Kesmir?” Taz asked. Something’s happened to him, gods, no, please—

  Thatur’s wings flapped, agitated, and worry shot through his rumbling voice. “I waited at our meeting place and he never showed.” The gryphon’s eyes full of sorrow, he growled and began to pace in a circle.

  Taz had noticed the grudging affection that had developed between Kes and the formidable gryphon. It occurred to Taz that the creature might be nearly as beside himself with fear for Kes as Taz was.

  “He’s alive—he has to be,” Taz said, as much to comfort himself as anything else. Thatur’s only answer was another rumbling growl.

  “Take me to the palace,” Taz said, desperate. “We have to help him.”

  The gryphon just looked at him.

  “Thatur, please.” Taz was begging and he didn’t care, he didn’t care because Kes had to be alive, he had to, he had to.

  “Calar could be on her way right now with her shadows,” Thatur said, his voice cold. All it would take was one of the prison guards evanescing to the palace with the news that the tavrai were bombarding the prison. “And you would abandon your soldiers who have pledged their blood to you? Abandon those prisoners?”

  Taz’s face warmed with shame. “You’re right,” he said, voice heavy. “I know you’re right. But—”

  “You are the commander of the Brass Army,” Thatur growled. “Now get down there and act like it—before I throw you off this mountain myself.”

  Taz nodded wordlessly. Kes would be furious if—when—he found out Taz had considered leaving the battle for him. Golden evanescence began to swirl around his feet. He scanned the battlefield below, searching for Raif. They were already surging toward the prison, with Raif at the very front. Hoping, Taz
well knew, to die. And here he was, letting it happen.

  “I’ll see you down there,” Taz said.

  Thatur nodded, suddenly distracted. The moons began pulsing with bright, shimmering light—a beacon. Taz felt a slight shift in the air, but he couldn’t place it. The land seemed to hold its breath, the calm before the storm.

  “Thatur?”

  The gryphon didn’t seem to hear him as he turned toward the Arjinnan side of the range, his eagle’s head cocked to one side, as though listening to a faraway whisper. His body went still and tense, then he leaped into the air, wild-eyed.

  “What is it?” Taz shouted.

  Just as Taz’s body began its shift from flesh to smoke, Thatur shouted his answer from the sky above. Whatever he’d said to Taz was lost in the roar of the battle beginning below them, and Taz had no choice but to give himself over to the magic that would throw him in the thick of it.

  30

  DARKNESS, ENGULFING. UNENDING.

  Nalia trudged on, her bones aching, weary, but she wasn’t stopping, couldn’t rest. The summons from Arjinna was a magnet, dragging her across the Eye. She couldn’t ignore it if she tried. A high-pitched keening sounded far behind her—a ghoul that had been tracking her for days.

  Nalia picked up speed. She had to make it. They’d come so far.

  Raif. Arjinna. Raif. Arjinna.

  Then: a glimmer of light. Nalia blinked. Stared. This was not the phoenix’s clear diamond light but rich, creamy beams of moonlight. Familiar. A shape, indistinct at first, shrugged off the Eye’s endless night, with spires reaching for the sky. Metal bars. A gate.

  Arjinna.

  Nalia began to run, her feet flying over the dust. The phoenix kept pace, singing a wordless song, a gorgeous melody Nalia had never heard before, a song that evoked the terrible beauty of her land and those who dwelled in it.