“Later,” Taz said. “There’s work to be done.”
“That wasn’t a request,” Raif said. “Have everyone who has the energy begin manifesting food. Have the Marid supply some freshwater.”
The lakes and rivers and wells of Arjinna were now polluted with salt water. This placed the burden of procuring drinkable water on the Marid.
“What should we do about the portal?” Taz asked.
“I’ll use hahm-alah to contact Zanari,” Raif said. “The Dhoma will need to be ready.”
Scouts had reported a mass exodus, a stampede leaving dozens of jinn injured or killed. The majority of the jinn were in Ithkar looking alternately dazed and terrified, but many had been willing to risk the horrors of Earth and its wishmaker humans rather than sit around to wait for whatever else the gods had in store for them. Raif didn’t blame them. He knew Shirin and Yurik were out there, thankfully gone before the stampeding started. It had been a quick good-bye—forgiveness and moving on. He hoped he’d see her again someday, but he knew wounds like Shirin’s could take decades to heal. He was glad—beyond glad—that she had Yurik.
“Taz,” Nalia said, her voice strained. “Would I be right in guessing we’ll have two more disasters?”
They’d already seen water and wind—earth and fire had yet to make an appearance.
Taz nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”
“Then we need to start evacuating people,” she said. “Send soldiers to the portal to instill order and begin preparing the refugees to leave for Earth in groups, each one accompanied by a regiment of soldiers. Let them know this is just a temporary solution until the sun comes back out.”
It would be an enormous burden on the Dhoma, but it was their only option.
Taz gave a slight bow. “As you wish, My Empress.”
Raif followed him out into the hall. “Once you’re finished, take my mother and the other children to the portal and get out of here,” he said.
“I’ll escort them and return to—”
“No,” Raif said. “Yasri needs you. Nalia needs you. And I sure as hell can’t command this army without you. Don’t die on me, brother.”
“What kind of soldier would I be if I left the fight when you needed me most?” Taz said. “I’ll get your mother and the children out, but I’m not leaving.”
The corner of Raif’s mouth turned up. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”
When Raif returned to Nalia, her father was at her side. “Daughter,” he said, “you should leave too. We can set up your court on Earth and you can return once it’s safe.”
Nalia shook her head, resolute. “I’m not abandoning the realm.”
Ajwar gave Raif a pleading look, but he just rested a hand on Nalia’s shoulder and sighed. “I serve at the pleasure of the empress.”
Nalia placed her hand over his. “Let’s go help,” she said, looking up at Raif. “I don’t want to hide here while everyone below suffers.”
Raif turned to Ajwar. “Can you get a restorative tonic from Aisha?” He ran his hand over Nalia’s hair. “My wife doesn’t know how to rest.”
My wife. Saying those words gave him a thrill. He held what had happened in the temple all those hours ago close. No matter what happened next, he’d have that.
After Ajwar left the room, Raif sat on the floor and pulled Nalia onto his lap. She rested her head against his chest, holding tightly to him.
“I know it’s horrible to even think about the wedding after everything that’s happened,” she said, her lower lip trembling, “but I had such a beautiful night planned.”
“It was a beautiful night.” He tilted her chin up. “It was the absolute best moment of my life, marrying you.”
She smiled, her eyes filling. “Mine too.”
He pressed his lips against hers, letting himself pretend that there weren’t any more plagues from the gods and that Nalia wouldn’t have to fight Calar or deal with the sigil on her finger. He didn’t want much, didn’t want a kingdom. All he cared about was having this jinni by his side for the rest of his life.
Nalia rested her head on his shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to take a rain check for our honeymoon.”
“Rain check? Honeymoon?” He laughed softly. “Let me guess—human things.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” she said, yawning.
Within seconds she was asleep. He held her against him, leaning his head against a wall, eyes closed. Ajwar roused them when he returned with the tonic.
“I have an idea,” Nalia said. She downed the tonic, her nose wrinkling.
Raif smiled. “Of course you do. And I bet it’s dangerous.”
“Only a little.” She grinned as she turned to her father. “On Earth, I read about carpets that flew in the sky,” she said. “In the stories, these carpets had jinn magic. Can you do this?”
“I . . . suppose.” Ajwar took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, clearly exhausted. He’d spent most of his time helping Aisha in the healing room she’d set up in the Cauldron. “But for what purpose?”
“Transportation,” she said. “So many of the jinn are too hurt to evanesce, and we need to get them to Earth or to the healing room here in the Cauldron before the next plague hits.”
Raif glanced out a large window that looked over the plains. He eyed Ithkar’s volcanoes warily. Tirgan and Ravnir had yet to make an appearance. He wondered what the gods of earth and fire had in store for them. It wasn’t going to be pretty.
“It might be a good idea to get them off the land too—they’d be safer in the air,” he said.
“Clever,” Ajwar said approvingly as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ll need—”
There was a flash of violet light and a stack of carpets appeared, then another and another.
“—carpets,” he finished, smiling. “The mages at the palace always were excellent teachers. Your manifestation skills are a testament to that.”
Ajwar’s knowledge was vast—there was so much he could teach Nalia, Yasri, and the other Aisouri. Not just the Aisouri, he suddenly realized: all of them. Nalia was lucky to have such a learned jinni in her court—their court, he reminded himself. He couldn’t think of himself as an emperor, equal in power to her.
Ajwar held out his hands, mumbling Shaitan spells as his golden chiaan shimmered over one of the carpets. It seemed to rustle, then hovered in the air. He placed one palm on it and pushed down. It remained flat as a board. He glanced at Nalia.
“Would you like to try it?”
Nalia nodded eagerly, her eyes alight with curiosity. She climbed onto the carpet, then gestured for Raif to get on, too. He looked at it, wary.
“Scared?” Nalia teased.
“Of course not,” he said. He jumped on behind her, marveling at how firm the fabric was—it felt as though he was sitting on the floor. “Okay, a little,” he whispered. “Don’t kill us.”
She laughed and leaned forward, grasping two of the tassels that dangled from each of the carpet’s four corners.
“How do I—” She pulled them and the carpet shot up so fast Raif’s ears popped. It was like one of the human elevators he’d been on in Earth, but much, much faster. Nalia’s delighted shriek echoed off the black stone in the Cauldron’s high ceilings.
“This reminds me of my Maserati,” she said, turning to him. At his questioning look, she added. “A car. Malek gave it to me. It was so fast—I used to drive all night sometimes.”
Raif wondered if Malek would always find a way to insert himself into their conversations, their life. Her dead master had embedded himself so deeply inside Nalia’s psyche that Raif was certain Malek had left a part of himself behind—he’d never had any intention of letting Nalia go.
Stop it, he thought, pulling Nalia against him. She was his wife. There was nothing Malek or his memory could do to change that.
Almost as if Nalia knew what he was thinking, she turned her head and kissed him on the mouth, hard. They were high enough to touch the vaulted ceiling of the Cau
ldron, high enough that no one could see them.
No one could see them.
Nalia pushed Raif onto his back and climbed on top of him. Without a word, he slid his hands beneath her wedding dress, in tatters now, and she bit her lip as he gripped her hips and drew her closer. She leaned over him, her hair falling around his face so that all he could see in the darkness were her glowing eyes, the contours of her perfect face.
“I heard a rumor,” she whispered against his lips, “that if you don’t consummate your marriage, it’s as if you weren’t married at all.”
“Well,” he said, “we can’t have that, now can we?”
She smiled as she brought her lips to his ear. “You might want to remember that this hallway. . . .” She gasped as he pressed against her, his chiaan shimmering over her skin like strands of emeralds. “Echoes.”
They had to be quick, and maybe it was wrong, to do this when there was so much suffering, when they could be helping people. But what if this was their only chance—what if this was the last night of their lives?
She kept her dress on, the bridal crown of wildflowers still miraculously in her hair. Nalia pulled off his tunic, careful not to let it go flying over the side of the carpet, which, thankfully, was large enough to fit four jinn comfortably.
“Nalia? Raif?” her father called from below. “Everything all right?”
Nalia stifled a laugh against Raif’s chest. “Yes,” Raif called, biting down a moan as Nalia’s lips traveled down his neck, her hands doing things he’d only imagined on late, lonely nights. “Just . . . checking something,” he said.
He rolled so that Nalia was beneath him, running his fingers through her hair as he brought her face closer to his. “Everyone is going to know,” he murmured.
Not that it would stop him. Even one of the plagues couldn’t stop them now.
“Good thing we’re married, then—it’s less scandalous.”
They wrapped themselves around each other, their kissing frenzied—love at the speed of light. Nalia lay on her back, arms above her head, their hands intertwined. Raif never realized how tangible love could be, how you could taste it, hold it. There wasn’t enough time, they had to hurry—
Oh, gods. Nalia pressed her palm against his mouth, sucking in her breath at the same time he cried out her name, the sound muffled by her hand. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, eyes glazed.
“I think,” Nalia said, her voice so low he could barely hear her, “we’re officially married now.”
45
THROUGH IT ALL, THE PALACE REMAINED DARK, SILENT. There was not a hint of evanescence above it, no sign that Calar was rallying her troops or sheltering them. Nalia had told Taz that she’d seen most of Calar’s army perish in the flood, and those who hadn’t seemed to have no intention of fighting Nalia or the other jinn. They stayed in small groups, looking dazed. It occurred to Taz that as of tonight, Calar might no longer have an army to speak of. Were her shadows enough to protect her? He doubted it. Taz relished the thought of her death, of seeing her die in front of him. He hoped he lived long enough to spit on her corpse—but not before he found out what she’d done to Kes. He had to make sure his body was burned.
No one knew what was happening in the palace. With Kes and all his informants gone from the premises, there wasn’t anyone to tell the resistance what Calar was planning. Taz hadn’t realized how much they’d grown to rely on the luxury of Kes’s information until it—and he—were gone.
Taz rested against a mound of Ithkar’s dark soil, watching Nalia and Raif as they circulated among the jinn, an empress and emperor of the people. They organized groups, directed healers, manifested medical supplies and food for jinn too injured to do it themselves. Enchanted carpets were passed out to all the jinn, many of them already in the air, families who tried to get as far away from the land as possible. It had been a brilliant idea on Nalia’s part. Already there were countless casualties from the wave and the windstorm. No doubt whatever Tirgan and Ravnir threw their way would be just as bad, maybe worse.
As much as Nalia said she didn’t want to be empress, there was no doubt that she was made for just such a purpose. Her compassion was real, her sorrow authentic. She got her hands dirty, received blessings from peasant women, and tended the needs of the Ifrit, her supposed enemies. And Raif—he’d given so much in service of the realm and still he gave more. Taz had never known a jinni so selfless, so determined to wipe out evil in his midst. He helped the tavrai who, just days ago, had thrown him out of the forest as though he were a piece of trash. He administered tonics to the jinn who’d called for his execution, gave nourishment to their children, sat with them while they cried for those tavrai who the wave had taken away. There was no doubt he was just as deserving of sitting on a throne as his wife.
They would have to be crowned soon—Nalia was empress by birth and could already claim the title, but only Taz and Thatur knew that she intended to have Raif be named emperor. They’d gone so far as to abolish caste prefixes to their last names—the first jinn of Arjinna to intermarry. Usually the male’s name became the couple’s family name or, if the married couple was of the same sex, the older jinni’s name. But Nalia and Raif were now the Taifyeh’Urbis. May they reign with light and power, he thought, amending the expression of honor to use they instead of she.
Taz prayed the jinn would see the wisdom of Nalia’s choice, how the realm needed Raif just as much as it needed her. Nalia brought out the very best parts of her husband, balanced the dark and light within him. Yet it was his love for her that had given Nalia the courage to enter into her birthright. He was the first jinni to ever call her My Empress, the first jinni to recognize who she was and to kneel at her feet. The realm needed his humility, his ability to recognize greatness. Raif’s choice to follow her had paved the way for Nalia—without him, Taz very much doubted she would ever have claimed her title. They needed each other to be their best selves.
Taz looked away as a look of pure devotion passed between the newly married couple. Kesmir had looked at him like that once, on their last day together in the little cave by the sea. Taz could live off those stolen afternoons with Kes for the rest of his life, but the memory of them was a poor substitute for Kes himself. Taz hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on the loss because if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to care for Yasri, wouldn’t be able to breathe. So he’d thrown himself into helping Nalia set up her court, attacked the problem of the ring, helped Raif plan the coup against Calar that would soon take place. And now he focused on the Godsnight, on keeping as many jinn alive as possible.
The god of earth’s plague began as a rumble beneath Taz’s feet—the earthquake he’d been dreading. He jumped on the carpet Nalia had given him as the ground began to shake in earnest, the plates beneath Arjinna shifting so that the hard ground became a sea that bucked and swelled. Steam poured down the volcano the Cauldron sat precariously perched above, the stilts that held the Ifrit stronghold to the volcano’s rock shaking.
As hundreds of carpets surged into the sky, some with whole families of jinn sitting on top of them, clutching one another, Taz raced to the Cauldron. Aisha, Ajwar, and hundreds of injured jinn were inside, and if he didn’t get them out soon, they’d perish. The sound of falling rock was deafening, the roar interspersed with the screams of jinn who became trapped under boulders or fell into chasms that hadn’t existed moments before.
Taz ducked as he flew his carpet through the Cauldron’s open doors, not stopping until he’d reached the cavernous room the healer had commandeered for the sick.
He spotted Aisha right away, her white robes coated in blood and grit. The healer and Nalia’s father were carrying any jinn who couldn’t mount a carpet on their own to a long line of carpets that hovered in the air. Taz grabbed one of his Brass soldiers and together they began to help, the Cauldron swaying as though it were a leaf blown by the wind. Onyx tiles began to fall from the ceiling, hitting more than a few jinn.
The room filled with frightened cries, but Taz and the others didn’t stop until all the injured jinn were on carpets and sailing out of the Cauldron. Taz pulled Aisha over to his carpet, helping her on, while Ajwar scrambled onto the spot beside her. Seconds later they were speeding out of the Cauldron. They’d no sooner made it through the door than the entire structure collapsed into the steaming volcano.
Aisha screamed, holding on to Ajwar as Taz navigated the skies and scanned the plain for Nalia and Raif. Panic overtook him as he squinted his eyes against the moons’ light, hoping to see Thatur carrying them in the air. But there were only the undersides of the flying carpets.
“Hold on,” he called to Aisha and Ajwar. They nodded, their faces pale, their terror palpable.
He brought his carpet as low to the earth as he dared—he’d already seen several jinn topple off their carpets as the fabric got caught under the avalanche speeding down the side of the Qaf Mountains. The plain became a series of earthen ruptures, the shaking so intense that it was as if the land were in a bottle being thrown by the gods. There was a shrill caw and Taz whipped around. Thatur was screaming at Nalia not far from where Taz flew, the gryphon’s words unintelligible in the din. Nalia was bending down, trying to hold the earth together with her chiaan. An impossible task, but that had never stopped her before. The earth was not like Grathali’s wind, though, and, even from the distance between them, Taz could already see Nalia’s chiaan diminishing, bright purple fading fast to lavender. Touma stood by, trying to guard her and keep his balance as the earth shattered all around them while Raif was on his knees, grasping Nalia’s hands in an attempt to stop her flow of chiaan.
“What in all hells is she doing?” Aisha yelled.
“Being Nalia,” Taz called back. He shot toward them and jumped off his rug.
“Don’t move,” he said to Aisha and Ajwar. They nodded as the rug hovered in the air, a few inches from the ground.
“Nalia,” Raif was shouting, pulling at her. “So help me gods, if you don’t stop right now—”