Freedom's Slave

  Thatur vaulted into the sky, racing the wave, while the others evanesced around them, the land’s only hope.

  Shirin evanesced onto the cobblestone lane before the Third Wish. It was the first time she’d been there since the morning before the prison break. Music and loud laughter drifted out through the open door, the patrons oblivious to the watery grave that awaited them. Shirin kicked the door wide open and made her way to the bar, jumping on top of it and letting out one of her piercing whistles. The room immediately went silent.

  “The Godsnight has begun. Lathor is smiting the land—a wave is coming,” she called, breathless. “Get your families and evanesce to the Qaf—there’s no time to spare.”

  She grabbed the nearest jinni by the scruff of his shirt. “Where’s Yurik?”

  He pointed toward the stairway leading to Yurik’s room. She raced up the stairs and threw open his door as the bar dissolved into pandemonium. Yurik was standing by the window, staring at the Three Widows. He turned.

  “Shirin,” he said, surprised. He regarded her, wary. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  She opened her mouth to warn him, but the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stare at Yurik, shocked by the sudden flood of emotion at seeing him. Shirin had thought she’d lost everything the morning she’d held that gun to Raif’s head, but she hadn’t. Not by a long shot. It had taken the Godsnight for her to realize what had been right in front of her all along.

  “Hey,” he said, gentle. He walked slowly toward her, as though she were a wild animal in pain. A raiga.

  And suddenly she didn’t want to push him away anymore. Didn’t want to deny herself this one good thing.

  “I’ve been so stupid,” she said, the words catching in her throat. “I didn’t see . . . I couldn’t see . . .”

  Her eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her cheeks and Yurik’s arms were going around her and he was holding her close, his lips brushing her hair. She clung to him, breathing in his scent, like honeysuckle and elder pines. She’d never realized how good he smelled.

  “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Everything’s okay now.”

  There was the sound of screaming in the street and a crash as the wave made contact with the homes surrounding the Ghaz.

  “What—?” Yurik started, but Shirin gripped his hands in hers.

  “We have to go—the Godsnight, a wave . . .” Her evanescence swirled around them and she held tightly to him. “You trust me?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, actually, I guess I do.”

  She pictured her favorite spot on the far eastern ridge of the Qaf range. Moments later they were there, standing above the ravaged realm, hand in hand.

  “You saved my life,” he said, staring at the water-soaked land in horror.

  She glanced at him, his face familiar and suddenly so dear. How could she have been so blind? How could she not have understood her own heart, which had tried so hard to pull her toward him all these years?

  “I owed you one,” she said softly.

  They stood there for a few moments, breathing in tandem, their eyes on the destruction below. And, gods help her, she knew there was so much happening right at that very moment that deserved her attention, but all she could think was Yurik Yurik.

  “I heard about . . .” Yurik frowned as he looked down at their intertwined hands. “What happened. With the Aisouri and Jaqar. And Raif. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not.”

  In the long days of recovery since trying to save Raif’s life that final time, Shirin had begun to heal in more ways than one. Letting go had been easier than she’d thought it could be. And it wasn’t just Raif she’d let go of as her body mended. It was Arjinna too. Watching Nalia in the clearing—her love for Raif, her choice to put on the ring, the execution of Jaqar—Shirin knew that, in the end, Nalia would be on a throne. And Shirin wanted no part of that. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant for her. The revolution was dead without Raif, and the land was destroyed. There was nothing to fight for anymore. If she wanted to, she could walk away from it all without a backward glance, without it being wrong or cowardly. But could she let herself?

  “You love him,” Yurik said. She could hear the pain he tried to mask for her sake.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I think a part of me always will. But he’s not the future. Not mine, anyway. And I’m tired of waiting for something I will never have. Tired of being a raiga.”

  “I’m leaving,” Yurik said, letting go of her hand. “Going to Earth. There’s . . . there’s nothing for me here.”

  Yes there is, she wanted to say, but the words were lodged in her throat. Her breath caught, the pain swift and unexpected. So she would lose this, too.

  “Were you going to say good-bye?”

  He reached out a hand and gently ran his fingers along her jaw, a soft-as-silk touch her body craved.

  “I was, yes,” he said. “I was hoping . . .” He let his hand drop and a small, sad smile flitted across his face. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll miss you.”

  What would it mean to let him in? To stop fighting this man who wanted nothing but to be good to her? She looked at him, outlined in the moonlight, his hair its usual disheveled mess, his eyes warm despite their pain.

  “Do you . . .” She bit her lip, terrified of what his answer might be. “Do you need some company?”

  This was the freedom Raif had been talking about. Not endless war, but this choice, this man.

  Yurik stared at her, unbelieving. “You would come with me?”

  She took a breath, shy, and a little frightened of herself. “If you’ll have me.”

  Disbelief, then joy, flew across Yurik’s face. He pulled her to him, his arms wrapping around her, his cheek against the crown of her head.

  “Shirin, of course I’ll have you. Always. Always.”

  They moved at the same time. Yurik’s kiss was soft and hungry, gentle and all-consuming. It was the end and the beginning, banishing all the fear and loneliness she’d carried around with her ever since she was that little girl on her overlord’s plantation.

  For the first time in her life, Shirin felt completely safe.

  “When can we go?” she asked as he held her close to him.

  “I’d say now’s as good a time as any,” he said.

  She nodded. “Then let’s say our good-byes and get out of this godsforsaken place.”

  Thatur landed in the first of many Ifrit villages located in the center of Arjinna.

  “Help!” Nalia shouted, running through the streets as soon as Thatur landed.

  Cries for help tended to get people’s attention. She directed her chiaan toward the doors of the little homes, blasting them open as she ran down the small lane between the wooden cottages.

  Jinn began pouring into the lane, their screams reaching a crescendo as they caught sight of the approaching wave. They began evanescing, filling the air with crimson smoke. A jinni pushed through the throngs of villagers, a small child in her arms. It was clear from the child’s limp body and pale face that he was too ill to evanesce. The jinni screamed for help, but the panicked jinn ignored her cries as they evanesced to higher ground. She fell to her knees, and Nalia grabbed hold of the woman and her child before they were trampled by the mob, dragging them off to the side with the help of Thatur.

  “Thatur . . . ,” Nalia began, and he nodded, crouching low. Nalia jumped onto her gryphon’s back and reached out her arms. “Give me the child,” she said. “You can ride behind me.”

  The woman looked up, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Nalia’s purple eyes and the gryphon she rode. She began to back away.

  “It’s all right,” Nalia said, her hand still outstretched. She could hear the water getting closer, battering everything in its path.

  “Get on,” Thatur snapped. “Or you and your child will die.”

  The jinni handed over the boy, then scrambled up behind Nalia, clinging to her as they le
aped into the sky. Nalia held him close—he wasn’t much younger than Bashil. She hugged him to her, this light-as-a-bird boy.

  Thatur headed toward a flat cliff where many of the villagers had gathered. Aisha was in the process of setting up an impromptu clinic, and there were already several jinn in need of her care, sustaining all manner of injuries from the flying debris. The jinn stared as Nalia and Thatur landed. Most of them had never seen a Ghan Aisouri and her gryphon before, not unless they were being raided. When Nalia returned the child to his mother, the jinni burst into tears.

  “Shundai,” she said, over and over again.

  “Take your son to the healer,” Nalia said softly. She raised a hand in farewell as she and Thatur pushed back into the sky.

  In the light of the Three Widows, Nalia could clearly make out the small structures below, nestled in the fields and on the outskirts of the Infinite Lake. If it weren’t for the wave of water hurtling toward the jinn who enjoyed the evening meal with their families, unknowing, it would be a peaceful sight. When he touched down, she sent Thatur back into the air without her.

  “Go warn the village next to this one. I’ll evanesce to the Qaf if you can’t make it back to me in time.”

  “My Empress—”

  “We have to split up,” she said. “It’s the only way.”

  He roared. “No.”

  “I am your Empress and I am commanding you to go to the other village.”

  Thatur fixed her with a look of pure rage and shot back into the sky. Nalia started toward the first home.

  “Empress, eh?”

  She whirled around. An Ifrit clad in armor stood before her, crimson chiaan streaming from his fingers.

  Nalia raised her hands, brimming with her own violet chiaan. His eyes widened at the royal color and the smirk on his face disappeared. “Yes. Empress.”

  Before he could attack, Nalia’s chiaan wrapped around the Ifrit, a glowing rope that was impossible to escape. He struggled against it, cursing. Nalia leaned close to him. He smelled of sulphur and charred meat. She pulled the scimitar from its holster at his waist and he whimpered. She placed the blade against his neck. It was so tempting.

  “You tell your empress Nalia says hello,” she whispered. The jinni nodded, frozen with terror. Nalia slashed at the rope of chiaan and waited for him to evanesce before warning the villagers.

  Thatur returned before Nalia evanesced, the roar of the approaching wave sending them back into the sky.

  “The villagers?” she asked him.

  “Safe now—though the sight of a gryphon was, I think, just as terrifying as the water.”

  For the next hour, they flew through Arjinna, warning the jinn as they touched down in the plantations where serfs had remained, free from their masters and tilling the fields themselves. They flew over the churning mass of water and earth, plucking Djan and Ifrit out of the sea that threatened to drown them. Together, Nalia and her gryphon carried the sick and the elderly, anyone too ill or old to evanesce. By the time the wave had covered all of Arjinna, finally halting at the cliffs of the Shaitan territory with its elegant chateaus and the palace far above the water line, there were thousands of jinn huddled on the cliffs and plateaus of the mountains that separated Arjinna from Ithkar, many of them Ifrit who’d settled the land since Calar’s takeover.

  Nalia and Thatur aided Raif’s rescue boats that carefully navigated the sea in search of survivors. It was nearly impossible to evanesce while submerged in water. The element was too strong, overpowering the body’s ability to transform into smoke. It was slow going, pulling half-dead bodies from the water and transferring them to the mountains.

  After one more turn around the land, it was clear there was no one left to save. This time, Nalia allowed Thatur to take her back to Ithkar. As they passed over the watery tomb that was her land, she recited the prayer of the dead, her voice falling into the sudden stillness left in the wave’s wake.

  44

  TAZ SAT ON THE EDGE OF A CLIFF, RESTING FROM A NIGHT of pulling the dead from the water to ensure they’d be burned and not condemned to an afterlife in the shadowlands. Arjinna lay below him, almost entirely covered in water. The water ended just below the palace, sparing the only jinni in the land it should have wiped out. The sun had yet to rise and the moons continued to bleed over the land.

  “Do you think this is all that’s in store for us?” Raif asked, coming to sit beside him.

  Taz had been wondering the same thing. “If it is, only Lathor got to punish us. Somehow, I can’t imagine the others showing mercy.”

  Raif sighed heavily. “I don’t know how much more we can all take.” He gestured to the refugees. “They’ve lost everything.”

  Taz nodded. So much suffering. An endless supply of misery.

  “We did the best we could,” Taz said softly.

  Their search for survivors had confirmed their worst fears: more jinn had drowned than survived.

  “We have to tell ourselves that a lot these days,” Raif murmured.

  Behind them, thousands of refugees had pitched tents in Ithkar and were manifesting what they needed. Wailing filled the air. The pajai who’d survived the wave kept their eyes on the sky, their lips moving in silent prayer to the gods.

  Taz was no longer filled with wonder for this night. It had begun with such promise: Raif and Nalia, joined together, changing the realm with their love. It had ended with senseless death. What had he been thinking, talking about how lucky he was to witness a prophesied event like this? The wave had shaken Taz, threatened his devotion to the gods. It was one thing for him to be condemned to the bottle, it was another to see scores of dead children and families floating facedown all over the realm.

  “Where’s your mother?” Taz asked.

  “As soon as the wave stopped, I took her to the Cauldron. She’s looking after the children.”

  “I suppose there are a lot of orphans now,” Taz said quietly.

  “After tonight . . . yes.”

  They sat in heavy silence and then Raif stood, clapping him on the back.

  “Come,” Raif said. “You need food. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

  As they made their way to one of the fires, a whistling noise came from the direction of the sea, an eastern wind carrying the scent of salt and the musty dampness of dark, unexplored places. Taz shielded his eyes as dust along the range kicked up, and he had to throw his hands out when a particularly strong gust threatened to push him off the ridge entirely. The darkness made it difficult to get his bearings and he nearly plummeted to the choppy water below. The Shaitan sometimes called their goddess the Trickster. She was so unpredictable, ever-changing. Taz tired of her.

  Raif swore as tents began to topple, the sky filling with flying projectiles as the wind picked up speed, bullets in the dark that found their mark in soft flesh. Taz cried out, pain exploding through his head as an oar from one of the rescue boats drew a deep gash on his forehead, nearly knocking him unconscious. Raif shouted something to him, but whatever he said was lost in the wind. The gusts became a roar, and the water covering Arjinna began to pull back into the sea, leaving behind the drowned land.

  Taz stumbled about, woozy, colored lights flickering before his eyes. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him until he realized that the wind had begun pulling chiaan from the earth—a rainbow of color that swirled against the darkness, a funnel cloud heading straight for the Qaf range.

  He followed Raif, scrambling down the mountain into Ithkar, sliding part of the way, barely hanging on as the wind pushed and pulled his body. The mountains were hundreds of feet tall, but evanescing wasn’t an option. Already Taz had seen the few jinn who, in their panic, had tried to evanesce. They’d been torn apart in the gusts, their essence ruptured—instant death.

  It was slow going as his fingers, raw and bloody, gripped the rock, and he screamed as he bashed his knee on a jutting rock it was too dark to see. The dust the wind had thrown into the air blasted him
in the face so that he had to keep his head tucked into his chest to avoid being blinded. Just as he was certain his muscles were about to fail him, Taz found a crevice in the rock and wedged his body inside as jinn all around him fell over the mountaintop to the obsidian plains below. Raif, he noticed, had found a similar crevice, both of them holding on for dear life.

  It wasn’t long before Taz was crying out as he lost his grip on the crevice wall. A gust of wind sent him flying into the face of the mountain, his body helpless against the invisible fists that beat him to a pulp. He caught a ledge and held on with both hands. A falling stone grazed his temple, the pain searing, his vision going in and out. And then, suddenly, the wind changed direction. Taz could still hear its roar, but he was no longer being continually backhanded by Grathali.

  He reached the bottom of the mountain, raising an arm to shield himself from the flying shards of obsidian that the wind was kicking up from Ithkar’s floor.

  He blinked.

  Stared.

  Nalia was standing in the center of the chiaan-filled maelstrom, violet chiaan beaming from her palms, shooting out from the tips of her fingers like starlight. She’d taken hold of the wind, drawing it to her. Obsidian swirled around her small frame, as though she were controlling an army of ravens.

  The Empress of Arjinna was battling with the gods—and winning.

  Raif could only stand by, helpless, as Nalia raised her hands and directed the tornado deeper into Ithkar. His ears ached from the strong winds, and the black dust and ash of Ithkar had gotten into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Once the wind finally left them, Nalia collapsed to the ground and Raif ran to her. He picked her up in his arms and evanesced to the Cauldron, with Taz, Touma, and the rest of her guard not far behind.

  “I’m fine,” she kept saying, her eyes bright, feverish.

  “Have the Brass Army set up stations with healers to help Aisha,” Raif said to Taz. He pointed to the deep cut on Taz’s forehead. “Have them look at that, too, brother.”