Nothing.
Please, she begged. It was the only prayer she could manage. Please.
Nothing.
Nalia stood and slipped off her shoes, then stepped into the first pose of Sha’a Rho, Dawn Greeter. The Ghan Aisouri martial art was intended to strengthen chiaan; she hoped the poses could also bring it back.
Nalia closed her eyes, calling up the scent of the Ghan Aisouri training room in the palace. Sweat, incense, the oiled wood of the floor. The gryphons, the wooden sticks that hit her limbs into alignment, the sound of the Aisouri moving as one. She raised her arms as her right leg sliced the air behind her in a vertical arabesque, the pose executed with the precision and control that had been beaten into Nalia since childhood. One breath. She launched into Dancing Crow, an impossible pose without chiaan, as it required Nalia to pull herself into the sky. Her chest tightened, despair threatening as she abandoned the pose. She inhaled, grasping for the focus she’d had just moments before, then moved to the third pose, Leaping Gazelle.
Breathe. Align. Stretch. Bend. Kick. Flip. Crouch. Breathe. Center. Breathe. Focus.
Each pose of Sha’a Rho was a struggle, a fight with her body. It was no longer a dance with the universe; it was a death march. Nalia’s eyes blurred, the desert turning soft and watery. She pushed on, the wall between Nalia and her magic growing thicker, taller. How could she ever climb it?
Pose 378: Dragon’s Claw. Impossible. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Pose 439: Windstorm—without evanescence, it was nothing more than a whirling dervish’s desperate prayer. Pose 524: Battle Cry. Nalia shot into the air, but she listed to the side and lost her balance, pinwheeling her arms like a wounded bird as she tumbled to the ground.
And she knew. The gods had turned their faces from Nalia and thrown the remaining minutes of her life into an hourglass. She could almost see the grains of sand pouring down.
“Please!” she shouted at the sky.
“I doubt they’re listening.”
Nalia turned her tear-soaked face to the girl behind her. “Zanari.”
The last person she thought would seek her out. There was so much she wanted to say to Raif’s sister, but Nalia could tell from the stony expression on her face that it would only fall on deaf ears.
“Thank you for backing me up in there,” Zanari said, jutting her chin toward the Dhoma camp.
“You were right. We’ve run out of time.”
There was a long pause, awkward without their once-easy camaraderie. “What the two of you have—it’s reckless,” Zanari said softly. “How many people need to suffer before you see that?”
“This isn’t about anyone else,” Nalia said.
But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Nalia knew they weren’t true. She’d battled the ghosts of her past to be with Raif and he’d had to go against everything he believed, betraying his tavrai’s trust, to be with her. Their relationship had never belonged entirely to them.
“Do you remember what I told you, the day after Haran died?” Zanari finally said.
Zanari had been washing Nalia’s hair, helping her bathe since she was still weak from Haran’s dark magic. Nalia could smell the soap, feel the surprise in her chest as the words that would change everything tumbled out of her mouth: I love Raif.
Just don’t make a fool of him, Zanari had said.
“Yes,” Nalia said softly. “I remember.”
“I think we can both agree that you didn’t keep your promise.” Zanari’s bright green eyes flashed and, for the first time, Nalia realized what an intimidating figure Raif’s sister cut with the scimitar strapped to her back and the kindness absent from her face. “At first, I thought maybe you guys could make it work. Somehow. But now . . . Do you have any idea what the tavrai will think of Raif if they find out you killed Kir and he wants to be with you anyway? Or that he’s risked his life and the revolution several times over just to protect you? Not to mention you’re a Ghan Aisouri! They would hang him, Nalia.”
Everything between Nalia and Raif had happened so fast. She’d known him for two weeks. Two weeks. And yet what they had felt ancient, like it could shatter the world if it wanted to. There hadn’t been time to think about how selfish they were being, or how many lives they were putting in danger simply by loving one another.
“The tavrai will never know about us,” Nalia said. “That’s all over now.” You should have let me die, she’d told him.
“I don’t think my brother is aware of that,” Zanari said. “You’re his rohifsa and he won’t hear otherwise. Not even from you.”
Nalia’s eyes settled on the desert that surrounded her. The dunes rose and fell in endless waves. They looked almost pink in the sunlight. So beautiful. Part of her wondered if she should just start walking. Start walking and not stop until she collapsed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nalia said. “I’ll be dead the minute that lightning strikes me.” She had a sudden, sickening realization. “It’s why you pushed the council to vote the way they did—to leave before I have my chiaan back. Isn’t it?”
Zanari shook her head, stricken. “No—Nalia, that’s not true. I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Kir, and how you lied to Raif about it, but I don’t want you to die. I told Raif we should go home and forget the ring, but he refuses to leave you. I pushed to go tomorrow because the longer we wait around, the more tavrai die. The more likely it is that the Ifrit will find us. My vote had nothing to do with you.”
For a moment, Zanari’s face seized up in something like grief, and she looked away. When she turned back to Nalia, her eyes were glistening.
“What Calar did to your brother—that’s nothing compared to what she’ll do to Raif when she gets her hands on him. And the closer he is to you, the easier it will be for her to capture him. You can’t protect Raif anymore, not without your chiaan. He’s just one Djan. Raif doesn’t stand a chance if the Ifrit catch up with us.”
Nalia reached out a hand, but Zanari shrank away, as though the touch would burn her. Nalia ignored the hurt.
“I’m going on that dune tomorrow for him,” Nalia whispered. And for you.
“What about Malek’s wish?”
“It doesn’t have any control over me without my chiaan.”
Zanari was quiet for a moment. “Well, you’re the most powerful jinni in all the worlds. If anyone can survive that lightning, it’s you.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about what happened to Bashil. I’d never wish that on you.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“He was an innocent kid and I know how much you loved him,” Zanari continued. “I know because that’s how much I love my brother. I’m his big sister and I have to . . . I can’t let him die, Nalia. I know you understand that.”
Nalia nodded. If she’d been given the choice, Nalia would have let every single living creature in all the worlds perish before she’d give up Bashil.
Raif’s sister turned and walked away without another word. When she reached the bottom of the dune, jade evanescence swirled around her body. In seconds she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of sandalwood.
For the first time in her life, Nalia had nothing left to lose.
24
A ROUGH HAND SHOOK RAIF’S SHOULDER. HE SAT BOLT upright, disoriented. The night clung to him like an ill-fitting cloak.
“Wake up, Djan’Urbi.” Samar. In the dark of the tent, he could hardly see anything, but he recognized the Dhoma leader’s gravelly voice.
“What’s going on?” he said, instantly awake.
“Ifrit. The fawzel scouts report red evanescence half a kilometer from here. A lot of it.”
Raif threw back the covers and felt around in the darkness for his pants. When he stepped outside, Zanari was waiting for him. It was pouring rain, the drops hard and cold. In seconds, Raif was soaked.
“It’s over, little brother,” she said. “We tried. We failed. We need to get back to the portal before the Ifrit arrive.”
Raif was already heading
toward the healer’s tent. “I have to get Nalia. Get as far away as possible.”
“And go where, Raif?” Zanari growled.
“There’s nowhere to run in this desert, my friend, and she can’t evanesce,” Samar said. “Your Ghan Aisouri’s only hope is to get inside the cave before the Ifrit find her.”
“She’ll die. We’ve been over this. The lightning—”
“There is a reason the Aisouri are called daughters of the gods,” Samar said. “She may survive.”
“Being an Aisouri means nothing if she doesn’t have any chiaan,” Raif said.
He kept seeing Nalia’s eyes, gray and dim. Without her magic, she was defenseless.
Samar took in the wakening camp. “Then I have no choice but to give her to the Ifrit. I won’t risk my people’s lives unless it’s to save those of my ancestors.”
“They’ll kill her,” Raif said, incredulous.
“Yes,” Samar said. “I imagine they will.”
Raif had never wanted to murder someone so badly in his life.
“Hey.” Zanari put her hand on his arm just as Raif reached for the scimitar strapped to his waist. “We can still leave. You need to get home and get back in the fight. If we stay here we’ll die.”
“Zan, you’re delusional. Get back in the fight?” he spat. “We are being wiped out over there. If we go back to Arjinna without the ring, without Nalia, we’re done. She is our only chance.”
“Are you saying that as the leader of the revolution or as her lover?”
Raif’s eyes flashed. “I’m not leaving her. And I’m done with this conversation.”
“What about the tavrai?” Zanari said, grabbing him before he could turn away. “What about me and Mama?”
Raif put his hands on Zanari’s shoulders. “Go, Zan. Get to the portal. Tell the tavrai—”
“Tell them what, Raif?” Zanari was furious, practically spitting. “That you’d rather die a pointless death trying to save a Ghan Aisouri than come home to fight a battle you can actually win?”
The rain was coming down harder now, pummeling him. He leaned forward, his lips close to his sister’s ear. “Tell them there’s hope for our future when a Djan is willing to die for a Ghan Aisouri. Tell them the old ways are dead.”
“Raif, please don’t do this,” she begged as he let go of her.
Thunder boomed, a shout from the gods.
“I’m not leaving her.” Her squeezed his sister’s hand. “Don’t waste time. Get to the portal.”
Samar nodded. “Meet me at the lake after you have the Ghan Aisouri. Tell the healer it’s time. I will bring the others.”
Raif grabbed his sister in a fierce hug before she could argue, then ran to the healer’s tent. He wouldn’t let himself think that he might never see her again.
Seconds later, he stood outside the tent, his hand against the soaked flap, waiting. His love was nothing more than a wooden sword waved before a fire-breathing dragon. But he wasn’t just protecting the jinni he loved; he was protecting the future of his realm.
He stepped inside and crossed silently to her bed. Phara slept across the room, oblivious. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Nalia’s short hair.
“Wake up, rohifsa,” he whispered.
Nalia’s eyes snapped open and her free hand immediately reached under the pillow for her jade dagger.
“It’s me!” he said, backing away, hands raised.
“Raif? What are you—”
“They’re here. Hurry.”
He didn’t have to tell her who they were. In seconds she was out of bed. She crossed to Phara and gently shook the healer awake.
“Sister, it’s time.”
“Fire and blood,” she said, groggy. “No common courtesy, these Ifrit.”
Phara stumbled out of bed and began throwing medical supplies into a leather bag. Raif turned around as they changed their clothes. He peeked out of the tent flap. The camp was still dark and silent, but he could see shadows moving around as the Dhoma took up defensive positions around the perimeter.
“We’re ready,” Nalia whispered.
He led them into the storm, toward the lake, but she stopped and grabbed his arm. “Malek.”
In his fear for Nalia, he’d forgotten all about the pardjinn.
“So?” Raif tightened his hold on his scimitar. “Leave him as a present for the Ifrit.”
“If my chiaan returns, it’ll make me come back for him before I go into the cave. We have to take him with us.”
Raif cursed under his breath and motioned for her to follow him. Malek’s tent was near the back of the camp, near the latrines. A small punishment from the Dhoma.
Nalia made to go inside, but Raif held up a hand. “Let me. For all we know, he sleeps in the nude.”
A tiny smile sneaked across Nalia’s face. He latched onto it, a piece of bread thrown to a starving man.
“I hate to disappoint either of you,” Malek said as he came out of the tent and stood underneath the tiny awning over its entrance, “but I am neither nude nor asleep. Bit of an insomniac these days. What’s going on?”
“Ifrit,” Raif said. “We’re leaving.”
“Excellent. I was tiring of this little desert retreat, anyway. Do we have a plan?”
“No,” Raif said. “Let’s go.”
The bisahm shivered above them. He could see red chiaan in the distance.
“It’s not going to last much longer,” Phara said, pointing to the shield that protected the camp.
“By the time they get through we’ll be gone,” Raif said.
A jinni stalked toward him in the rain, the braids in her hair swirling around her like tentacles.
“What are you still doing here?” Raif hissed as Zanari drew closer.
“You have a message for the tavrai? Then deliver it your own damn self,” she said. Zanari glanced at Nalia and a look passed between them. Nalia nodded and his sister turned on her heel and started for the lake, where Samar and the other Dohma waited.
“What was that about?” he said.
“The minute I die, you better evanesce with her to the portal,” Nalia said, ignoring his question. “I have enough death on my conscience as it is.”
The minute I die. Not if I die.
There was nothing he could say that hadn’t already been said, and she knew it. As Raif watched Nalia follow his sister, only two thoughts remained: save their lives or die trying. That was all that mattered. The sigil could rot for all he cared.
When they reached the lake, Samar was waiting with the Dhoma who had volunteered to journey into the cave. They stood in the rain, silent. There was his wife, Yezhud, the fawzel who had been so against Raif in that first council meeting. Beside her stood the lecherous jinni from the Sun Chaser who had flirted with Zanari: Noqril, if Raif remembered correctly. Having an invisible jinni in the cave with him wasn’t something Raif was looking forward to, but he had no say in which Dhoma would accompany them.
“This is Umbek,” Samar said, gesturing toward a giant of a Marid with striking blue eyes. Raif nodded a greeting and Umbek grunted in response. “Anso,” Samar said as he pointed to a wiry Shaitan. Her skin had a sickly yellowish tinge and she was so thin he could see the outline of her bones.
There was another burst of bright crimson chiaan, closer now. The Ifrit would be at the camp any moment.
“All right, brother, we need to get the hell out of here,” Raif said.
Samar nodded. “Follow me.”
They skirted the lake and climbed over the large dune bordering it. There, docked in the middle of a valley, was the Sun Chaser.
“This storm is a good omen,” Samar said as they hurried to the ship. His Marid eyes drank in the pouring rain that lashed their faces. “It happens so rarely in our desert. It is a blessing from Lathor.”
Raif followed Nalia with his eyes as she ascended the gangplank. “We need Ravnir’s help tonight, not Lathor’s.”
“The god of fire isn’t known for his
mercy,” Noqril said, sidling up to Zanari. “Being an Ifrit, though, I’ll put in a good word for you.” He winked.
“You do that,” Zanari said as she pointedly moved as far away from Noqril as possible.
“Give it up,” Raif said. His sister generally preferred females, but that wasn’t why Noqril didn’t stand a chance with her.
The Ifrit laughed as he joined the other fawzel who stood at the bow of the ship in their jinn forms, silent.
“They will assist us with the Sakhim,” Phara said, nodding toward the fawzel.
Raif wasn’t looking forward to facing the cursed sand soldiers again, but he was grateful the Dhoma were willing to help fight them.
They boarded the Sun Chaser, and the Shaitan crew ran around it, drawing wind from the sky to make the sails taut. The Marid kept the rain from touching the ship so that it was a dry oasis in the middle of a drenched desert. The other jinn set to work casting a thick bisahm over the ship. It wouldn’t keep the Ifrit out for long, but some protection was better than none.
Raif pulled Malek roughly aside. “I need your help,” he said quietly. It killed him to say it, but he had no choice.
Malek raised his eyebrows. “You need my help? This should be interesting.”
“You love her,” Raif said. “In some twisted pardjinn way I can’t begin to understand, but I know you do. Help me keep her off that dune.”
Malek looked across the ship to where Nalia stood against the railing, gazing at the lightning storm in the distance.
“I’ve known her a lot longer than you,” Malek said. “One thing you don’t seem to understand about Nalia is that she’s going to do what she wants to do.”
Raif grabbed a fistful of Malek’s shirt and shook him. “Why don’t you just tell the truth for once? You’d rather Nalia risk her life than lose your chance at the sigil.”
“The last time I chose her instead of the sigil, it didn’t work out very well for me.” Malek pushed Raif off him, then smoothed his shirt. “And you can stop with the noble lover routine. The truth is, Nalia’s the best weapon you have in your arsenal. Lose her, you’ll lose your war. So tell me, tavrai: are you intent on saving Nalia because you love her, or because you don’t want to go home empty-handed?”
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