Five swirls of evanescence touched down: three Djan, one Ifrit, and one Shaitan. He recognized Raif and Tazlim, of course. And, yes, there was Shirin Djan’Khar, the thorn in Calar’s side while Raif was on Earth, and the Djan’Urbi girl—Zanari. He didn’t recognize the large Ifrit with the orange stripe down his long hair, though—perhaps he was one of the jinn from Earth who’d traveled through the Eye.
“Now might be a good time to put your weapon down” was the first thing Raif said to him.
Kes gripped the scimitar tighter. The jinni had murder in his eyes—and a hollow deadness more frightening than anything else. Djan’Urbi was known for his passion, his short temper. But a cold, seemingly heartless jinni stood before him now. Everything in Kes told him this was a mistake; he should never have agreed to this meeting.
“I don’t plan on making it easy for you to kill me,” Kes said evenly.
Raif grinned, dangerous. “It’s no fun if it’s easy.”
“Raif,” Tazlim murmured, “you promised to hear him out.”
“I’m not very good at keeping promises,” Raif said, his voice edged and bitter.
Tazlim glanced at Kes, his eyes imploring. Kes sighed and set his scimitar on the ground, but kept his hands at the ready, his Ifrit chiaan bubbling inside him. He didn’t have time for this. Calar would be looking for him, wanting to know why he hadn’t come to bed yet. And what if Yasri had a nightmare? Kes was the only one who could calm her down.
“Kesmir, this is Noqril,” Tazlim said, gesturing to the jinni with the orange stripe of hair, “and I’m sure you recognize Shirin Djan’Khar—”
Shirin made a rude gesture and Kes forced himself not to return the greeting, instead giving her a curt nod.
“And this is Zanari Djan’Urbi,” Tazlim finished.
Raif’s sister had dozens of small braids covering her head, and her green eyes had the weary look Kes saw in so many of his own soldiers. She didn’t acknowledge him so much as stare him down.
“If we join forces,” Kes said, “how do I know you won’t turn on my soldiers?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out,” Raif said with a heartless smirk. Maybe he was just as crazy as Calar.
“But you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Raif added. “Why don’t we start by you telling me what kind of ‘resistance’ you actually have.”
“You just want me to give you our military secrets with no promise of anything in return?” Kes said.
“Pretty much, yeah.” Raif shrugged, then took a step back, evanescence already beginning to pool at his feet. “We can just go right now, too—forget this meeting ever happened.”
Tazlim grabbed Raif’s arm. “Raif.”
Kes narrowed his eyes. “It takes more than a handful of seconds to establish trust, Raif Djan’Urbi—I’m sure you know that.”
Raif pointed to his face. “Does it look like I care whether you trust me or not?”
This, Kes realized, was what happened when someone lost their rohifsa.
More smoke pooled around Raif’s feet. Kes had seconds to decide. “No?” Raif said. “Then I’ll see you on the battlefield.”
Let him win this, Thatur said in his mind.
“Wait,” Kes said.
His eyes moved to Tazlim’s and it was only that something in them that Kes couldn’t quite put his finger on that made him willing to stay there and deal with Djan’Urbi’s sullen aggression.
“Please,” Kes bit out. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
The evanescence blew away in a gust of wind and Raif crossed his arms, eyes hard.
“I’m waiting,” he said.
This was it: the moment Kes truly turned traitor, not just on Calar, but on his own army.
“We’re going to clean out the plantations. Send the remaining serfs to Ithkar. Or . . . kill them,” Kes said. “I’ll try to keep as many alive as I can. You should begin evacuations tonight.”
Shirin cursed. “Why are we even talking to this skag, Raif? Clean out the plantations? Those jinn are not your enemies,” she yelled, turning to Kes. “What have they ever done to your godsforsaken race?”
Raif didn’t look at Shirin. Instead, he met Kesmir’s eyes and for a long moment they took the measure of one another.
“As I explained to Tazlim,” Kes began, “I’m here because I’d like to join the revolution. I want my people to be free—I want your people to be free, too. This old hatred must end. We can’t go on like this.”
Shirin turned to Raif. “This is a trap, another one of Calar’s games.”
“Maybe,” Raif said. But he was looking at Kes thoughtfully, the exhaustion in his eyes reflected in Kes’s own. “I, for one, agree with Shirin. My guess is you’re a lying son of a bitch and that Calar’s waiting at home for you to tell her all about our little meeting, but our Brass commander here disagrees with me.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Kes snapped. “Do you see any Ifrit? If this were a trap, you’d all be dead by now.”
“I don’t know about that,” Shirin said. Her eyes glinted—there was no doubt that she would relish the chance to slit Kes’s throat with the scimitar in her hand.
Kes clamped down the surge of annoyance. This tavrai posturing was part of the game; he knew that.
“See, this is the problem,” Raif said, taking a step closer. “Calar can read minds. You go home to the palace you stole, sleep in the bed that rightfully belongs to my rohifsa—” He stopped, looking down at his feet for a moment.
What? Thatur raged. Kes winced—this was not going to end well. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring the gryphon. He was executing remarkable self-control by not ripping off Raif’s head yet. Once Thatur made his presence known, though, all bets were off.
Raif straightened and, rather than look angry, all emotion drained from his face.
“What am I doing here?” he said, as if to himself. He looked at Kes, hatred written in his eyes. “You were there all along. The coup—okay, I understand that. I would have done the same before I met Nalia. But Haran—you knew about him. You knew what he was going to do to her.”
It had been a slim chance, Raif agreeing to work together. Kes saw that disappearing now.
“Yes,” he said heavily.
Raif took a step closer. “And Bashil?”
“I told Calar not to kill the child—”
“But you didn’t tell her not to use him to trick Nalia, did you?”
Kes shook his head. “No.” Anger surged through him. “You forget what was done to my family. Murdered by Aisouri—”
“Did Nalia murder them?” Raif said.
Kesmir, walk away. Now.
Kes knew Thatur was right, but he wouldn’t back down. Not when so much was at stake.
“Not to my knowledge,” Kes said.
Raif nodded. “That’s because she didn’t kill them. You condoned the dark caravan—made Nalia a slave—authorized a slave trade of thousands of jinn, an arms trade that brought human weapons into Arjinna. You set a ghoul on Nalia that wanted to eat her. You stood by while Calar butchered her brother. You closed the portal between our worlds just to keep her out, no matter how much it hurt the jinn on either side of it. Am I right so far?”
Kes swallowed. “Yes.”
“And you want me to help you?”
Kes sighed. It was too much to expect, he said to Thatur.
“This was obviously a mistake,” Kes said.
“You’re damn right it was a mistake.” Raif’s green eyes went dark and his lips turned up in a cold smile. He turned to Tazlim. “I tried, sorry.”
Without warning, Raif launched himself at Kes, and as they fell, they crashed into one of the manor house’s decaying walls, going clear through the rotting wood and into the abandoned house. Dust rained down on them as they grappled with each other on the floor. The crystals in the chandelier above them shook, the gentle sound a strange background to the brutal sound of fists hitting skin. There was no magic in this fight, no grace. Ju
st ribs cracking beneath knuckles and the taste of blood in his mouth.
The front door burst open, and in the second Kes turned, distracted, Raif’s fist punched deep into his stomach. Kes cried out, struggling for breath. He was dimly aware of the others as they entered the room—there was shouting, then hands gripping his limbs, trying to pull Raif off him. Then a roar that could only be Thatur.
“Holy gods and monsters,” Shirin said, her scimitar slipping out of her hand and clattering to the floor. Kes couldn’t see out of his swollen eye, but he assumed she was referring to Thatur.
“Let him go before I make one of you my dinner,” Thatur growled.
Someone grabbed Kes’s bare hand and he was flooded with the jinni’s chiaan: a curious, bright thing that rushed through him like a summer breeze. He looked up, the eye he could open landing on Tazlim’s golden ones. The other jinni stared at him, eyes wide, as their chiaan traveled back and forth between their palms.
“Taz! A little help here,” Zanari snapped.
Tazlim let go of Kes’s hand, but his chiaan lingered inside him a few seconds more. “Are you all right?” the Shaitan asked softly.
Kes nodded. Then shook his head—ouch. It was a complicated question, wasn’t it? “I don’t know,” he finally said. He was having trouble breathing.
There was a sharp pain in his spine as a heavy boot made contact with his back and Kes toppled forward. He couldn’t keep his head on straight with Tazlim around.
“Gods, Raif, cut it out,” Zanari shouted. “Do you not see . . . this?” she asked, pointing at Thatur.
Raif turned, his face suddenly ashen. Though he didn’t say a word, it was clear that the presence of an Aisouri gryphon only filled him with more grief.
“I don’t know, I think he’s got the right idea,” Shirin said, picking up her scimitar where she’d dropped it and turning her back on Thatur, her momentary surprise at the gryphon’s presence evaporating. She crossed to where Kes sat huddled on the ground. She was grinning, her arms crossed, thoroughly entertained. “I kinda like seeing this one in agony.”
“And that,” he heard Raif gasp behind him, “is why Shirin is my second.”
“Hurt this boy again and you will see why I was chosen to train the greatest fighters in our realm,” Thatur said, raising a menacing claw.
Tazlim placed his arm around Kes’s shoulders. “On three, all right?” he said.
Kes grunted his assent and he let the other jinni hoist him into a standing position.
“You gonna lick his wounds for him, too?” Shirin said.
Tazlim glanced at her, his voice withering. “This jinni is risking his life by meeting with us.” He nodded to where Shirin’s arms wrapped around Raif. “And I could ask the same of you, sister.”
Shirin’s face reddened and she said something crude about Tazlim’s mother under her breath. But she let go of Raif.
“This jinni is responsible for hundreds of tavrai deaths,” Raif said. He leaned against what once must have been an elegant banister. He turned his head and spit blood onto the dusty floor.
“I won’t deny it,” Kes said. Each breath he took was murder—it felt as if Raif had broken every rib in his body. “This is war,” he gasped. “Jinn die.”
“That’s right,” Raif said softly, “they do.”
“I say we put him out of his misery,” Shirin said. “And roast the bird.” Her teeth glinted in the light: Raif’s raiga, they called her. Kes could see why.
“The what?” Thatur growled.
“You heard me,” Shirin said. “Bird.”
Tazlim scowled. “Knock Kesmir around any more, and Calar’s gonna want to know what he’s been up to.”
This was true. Kes was already trying to figure out what he’d tell Calar. He’d have to find a discreet healer to fix him up before he returned to her rooms.
Raif rested his hands on his knees. “So why in all hells should we trust you?” he asked. Then he pointed to Thatur. “Or him.”
“You shouldn’t,” Kes said. “But you don’t have a choice. And neither do I. Calar must be stopped. So we do what we have to.” He straightened up, one hand gingerly pressed against his side. “I’ve done horrible things. I’m not proud of any of them, though some I would do again if I had to,” Kes said. “I’m the general of an army full of jinn who’ve been told time and again that they’re worthless. They’re angry about that, and so am I. That being said, how can I alleviate your fears that I’m lying to you? How can I convince you to put this behind us, at least for the time being?”
“Tell us how to get into the prison camp in Ithkar,” Raif said.
Kes raised his eyebrows. “I can assure you that none of the jinn there are in any shape to join your army.”
“And whose fault is that?” said Noqril. “I came here to bring my people back to Earth, not fight this godsforsaken war. Your empress killed our leader, enslaved our brothers and sisters. The devil take your realm. I just want to go home.”
Earth—home? Kes had heard of these Dhoma. Strange, that they should feel nothing for the land of their ancestors.
“If you try to break into it now, you’re never going to make it,” he said bluntly. “It’s heavily fortified and as soon as you show up, Calar will have the full strength of our army there. Even if you do manage to get inside, the prisoners won’t make it out alive.”
“Then what the hell is your help worth?” Zanari growled.
Kes turned to Thatur, and the gryphon nodded. “If I were to assassinate Calar and take the palace, the army would be sufficiently distracted. It’d buy you some time, anyway.”
“All right, what are we waiting for?” Shirin said.
“I’m training him to protect his mind from Calar. He needs time to build his powers,” Thatur said.
“How much time?” Raif asked.
“We don’t know,” Kes said. He heard Thatur snort softly behind him. “A lot of time, according to him.” He gestured to Thatur.
Kes hesitated, then turned to Raif. “We have a Shaitan mage sympathetic to our cause. When the time is right, he’ll be able to help you. He’d lift the bisahm off the prison—whatever you needed. And you should know . . . the Shaitan who’s helping us is Ajwar Shai’Dzar.” Raif gave him a blank look. Kes sighed. “Nalia’s father.”
Raif went still. Thatur watched him closely, weighing this new Raif, Kes guessed, against the one he’d taught his Aisouri to fight. For a moment, Kes couldn’t help but feel sorry for Raif. The love and grief he felt for the Aisouri was painful to see.
“I’d like to speak with him,” Raif finally said.
“Of course. I’ll arrange a meeting.”
“And you,” Raif said, turning to Thatur. “Will you help us, too?”
“That depends on many things,” Thatur said.
“Such as . . . ?” Raif asked.
“Your relationship with my mistress, for one.”
Raif furrowed his brow. “Your miss—” Understanding dawned on his face. “You’re Thatur.”
The gryphon bowed his head. “Yes.”
Raif looked away, overcome. No one spoke. After a moment, Raif motioned to Thatur to follow him outside. The jinn were silent until they left the room.
“The gods suck,” Zanari muttered.
Shirin furrowed her brow. “Suck? What does that even mean?”
Zanari sighed. “Human thing. Never mind.”
For the next few minutes they waited in wary silence. Raif’s and Thatur’s voices were too low to hear what they were saying, but at one point Thatur let out an earsplitting caw and Zanari and Shirin rushed out. Raif waved them away.
“Can gryphons cry?” Zanari asked, when they came back in.
“If they learn their mistress is dead, yes,” Kes said, “I believe they can.”
Raif came through the doorway then, hands shoved into his pockets. He turned to Thatur, who stood behind him. “Can he do it? Can he defeat Calar?”
The gryphon’s eyes met Kes’s
and something like satisfaction flickered in them. “Yes,” Thatur said, turning to Raif. “In time, he’ll be able to do it.”
“What about her shadows?” Shirin asked. “We’ll all be dead before Calar’s whore is finally ready to fight.”
“Enough, Shirin,” Tazlim said, his voice edged.
She whirled on him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she growled. “The last Shaitan who tried got stabbed in the heart by Dthar Djan’Urbi.”
“Shir,” Raif said, tired. “Cool it.”
Shirin’s eyes flashed. “I’m done with this.” She stormed past Raif and out into the burned field.
Raif turned to Kes. “What you did when that soldier of yours tried to hurt the Marid woman . . . it’s the only reason I’m here tonight. If you can do that to Calar, I’ll wait.”
Kes swallowed. Nodded. “I know what must be done.”
“Better get training then,” Raif said.
He turned and left the house without another word. The others followed him outside, including Thatur, but Tazlim lingered for a moment.
“I’m sorry about all that,” Tazlim said. “Raif got some . . . particularly bad news since last I saw you. He’s . . . unwell.”
“His anger is justified.” Kes smiled, wincing at the pain that shot up his cheekbone, then became a dagger behind his eye. Raif Djan’Urbi meant business when he punched someone in the face. “You did warn me he might not take meeting me well.”
Tazlim nodded. “That I did.” His eyes slid to Kes’s. “When last you and I spoke, you said you had a better reason for ending Calar’s reign than simply your own survival. What is that reason?”
Kes wasn’t ready to tell him what his daughter was, but there was no harm in telling him he had one.
“I have a daughter,” he said softly. “I want to make sure she inherits a future free of bloodshed and terror.”
Tazlim stared. “But you’re so young.”
Kes smiled, sad. “Yes. But Calar and I were anxious to have the world we’d dreamed up. A child was a big part of that. Yasri came . . . sooner than we thought she would.”