Ali held out his hands, trying to still their trembling and failing the moment the marid’s scaled fingers slid over his. His heart hammered as Sobek pressed his hands down, one over Nahri’s heart and the other upon her mouth.
He extended his claws, and Ali gasped as they pierced his skin.
But a far worse violation waited. Because with a wave of icy magic, the riverbank vanished, and then Sobek was in his head.
The intrusive presence was so horribly familiar that Ali tried to jerk back, thrown into his memories of the marid’s torture on Daevabad’s lake. It was too late: Sobek was already leafing through his mind. The harem garden back in Daevabad’s palace materialized before Ali’s eyes. The willow tree he and Zaynab used to hide under as small children, the canal …
“Look what I can do!” Zaynab wiggled her fingers over a glass bowl of water. The liquid inside rose to dance in the air, following the movement as they giggled together—
Ali shoved wildly at the presence in his head. “Get out of my mind,” he choked out. “You don’t get to see that.”
Sobek sank his claws deeper, both in Ali’s hands and in his mind. When he spoke, it was not aloud. This is how you save her.
Shaking, Ali tried to back down.
He was suddenly older. Still a child, but in the striped gray waist cloth of a Royal Guard cadet. He was again in the harem, but this time with his mother, learning to swim.
Hatset held him by his skinny waist. “Straighten your legs, Alu. You cannot swim crumpled up like a ball.”
“But why do I need to learn how to swim?” he’d asked, his child’s voice high and plaintive. “None of the other boys do. They make fun of me, Amma. They call me a crocodile.”
His mother had taken his chin in one hand. “Then you tell them crocodiles snap up boys like them every day and drown them in the river. You are my blood, and this is what we do.”
The garden vanished again, and then pain tore through his body, teeth and scales and claws. His possession on Daevabad’s lake. Ali screamed his own name and then was racing through the water. “Kill the daeva, kill the daeva—”
The flooded fields of Bir Nabat, rich mud squelching between his toes, springs bursting through rock to dance through his fingers. Daevabad again—the Citadel on that awful night, the lake looming up through the window …
“Please,” Ali begged. “Not that.”
The corridor outside his father’s office. Darayavahoush charged him, and Ali swung his zulfiqar, but it was like an invisible hand seized it, flinging him back. The Afshin ripped the blade from his hands, the flames soaring as he brought it back down. Muntadhir moved, shoving himself between them …
There was no fighting it. Ali’s hands were pinned to Nahri’s body; while magic burned through his blood, and Sobek rummaged through his mind, it was hard enough to remain conscious. So instead, he felt Muntadhir fall heavily against him again and heard the gasp that left his brother’s lips. Tears ran down Ali’s face, sparks bursting before his eyes …
And then Daevabad was gone.
He rested alongside his waters, sunning himself on a warm rock. It was a blissfully pleasant afternoon, the humans downriver bustling about their temples, men in pale waist cloths quarrying stone. His likeness was everywhere, on the shiny limestone pillars and carved statues, and it pleased him. He was sated with their worship and with the bloody gristle still staining his teeth, the remains of the young woman he’d lured into his shallows.
Ali gagged, but beneath his hands, Nahri stirred. Water gushed from her mouth as though he had summoned it, and then she was choking, coughing, fighting for air.
“Nahri.” Barely aware of Sobek removing his hands, Ali raised Nahri to a sitting position, helping her onto her knees as she threw up. “Breathe,” he whispered, rubbing her back as she sucked for air. “Just breathe. It’s all right; you’re all right.”
She put her head back against Ali’s chest, her skin still icy. The blue tinge had yet to leave her lips, but then her eyes found his, and Ali was so relieved he had to resist the urge to clutch her close.
“Ali?” Nahri’s voice was hoarse. Her gaze drifted past his shoulder.
Sobek laid a hand on her brow, and her eyes shuttered.
Ali whirled on the marid as Nahri slumped in his arms. “What did you do?” he cried.
Sobek rose to his feet. “She merely sleeps, daeva, do not fear. She is not to see me.”
Ali was still shaking, trying to understand everything that had just happened. “Why not?”
“I made a promise.”
That answered nothing. Ali held Nahri tight, trying to take reassurance from the steady beat of her heart.
Sobek was still studying him, his lambent eyes seeming to peel Ali apart layer by layer. He bent down, and Ali stilled as a webbed hand grasped his chin, a stubby claw brushing the seal marked on his face. It was everything he could do not to rock back in revulsion. Who knew how many people had died under these claws? How many more had been slaughtered in Sobek’s name?
The marid spoke again, his voice like water tumbling over rocks. “You are the daeva they took, the one they used to kill the Nahid’s champion.”
It was not a question. The Nahid’s champion. “Do you mean the Afshin?” Ali asked. “Yes.”
Sobek pursed gray lips. For a second, Ali saw rows of teeth like broken arrows jutting in every direction.
“A moment of hesitation,” the marid murmured. “A moment to taste the flavors of your blood, and all this might have been avoided.” Regret filled his voice, the first emotion besides anger that he betrayed. “They must have been so desperate.” His claw pressed harder against the seal mark, enough that the skin began to tear. “It was not your choice to take Anahid’s ring and bring it to my waters?”
Ali shivered. Just how much had Sobek seen? “No,” he replied.
Sobek’s eyes gleamed, and Ali had to fight not to jump as the pupils turned to vertical slits like a lizard’s. “So you do not know who I am?”
There was weight behind that question, the humid air heavy with tension. “No,” he said again, for it seemed impossible to lie to the creature before him. “I don’t know who you are.”
Sobek drew back like a whip. “Then you should leave, both of you. Qatesh spoke truthfully about the Nahid’s champion. My people owe him a blood debt; we cannot harm him, and I will not be able to protect you if she brings him.”
The Nahid’s champion. For a moment, the image of Darayavahoush danced before Ali. The zulfiqar ripped from his hand, Muntadhir’s blood on his face.
Let his brother’s murderer come. Ali would welcome it. Let the two of them finish this.
You’ll finish nothing. You couldn’t even raise a blade to him. The bitter truth crushed him, making Ali feel small and useless. If Qandisha returned with Darayavahoush, Ali was dead—the Afshin would not make the mistake of delaying his death again.
And then Nahri and Suleiman’s seal would be returned to Manizheh.
Ali exhaled, glancing at the river. His heart dropped. Their boat was destroyed, the pieces and supplies that hadn’t sunk smoldering. Their food, their possessions. Ali had his weapons, but they were otherwise right back where they’d been weeks ago, all their work for nothing. Worse—now there was no city, no village or farmland. Nothing indicating a nearby human presence where they could barter for a new boat or buy supplies. There was nothing but dark desert, untouched by djinn fires or human lamplight.
“Our boat is gone,” he said in despair, more to himself than to Sobek.
The marid stared at Ali, another of those long, assessing looks that seemed to open him up and rearrange his insides. “Where do you mean to go?”
“Ta Ntry,” Ali replied, his head spinning. “My mother’s homeland. It is to the south, along the sea—”
“I know where Ta Ntry is.” Sobek sounded snappish now and restless. He swung his head back and forth, looking more like a crocodile. “Will she be safe there?”
“Safer than with Qandisha.”
“Then I will take you our way. There is a place where my waters meet the sea, where your kind often visits.” Sobek made a beckoning motion. “Come.”
Our way? Apprehension trickled down Ali’s spine, but Sobek was already turning around, strutting toward the river like a general surveying conquered territory.
A trick, this could be a trick. “Why?” Ali called out. “Why would you help us?”
Sobek stopped at the water’s edge, sharp lines blacker than black against the moonlit sand and shadow-wreathed scrub of the opposite bank. He looked like a void cut in space, one that would drag in and devour anything that drew too close.
“I do not help.” The marid sounded thoroughly irked, the Nile rippling with his mood. “I make exchanges, and one was to preserve her life.” He jutted a snoutlike chin at Nahri.
It was not a comforting answer. Ali gazed again at the empty desert and then glanced at the woman in his arms. She too had once followed a mysterious magical being offering safety—and had her life upended as a result.
But they could not stay here, and the prospect of being whisked to Ta Ntry, to the richly lush coast his mother had spun bedtime stories about, to a place where Ali might find family and safety, was tantalizing.
Almost as tantalizing as facing off against his brother’s murderer.
Do not be reckless. Ali rose to his feet. Nahri felt too light, her skin covered in blood and mud, her dress torn. He trembled with the knowledge of how close he’d come to losing her.
He swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “May I request an … exchange?” he asked, his pulse jumping.
The marid gazed at him. “Speak.”
“She had a black bag with her, filled with medical tools. Metal things. I do not see it floating—”
Before Ali could finish the request, Nahri’s bag was being held incongruously in the marid’s webbed hands. It was dripping water but otherwise looked fine. “This?”
Ali nodded, trying to hide his fear. “And your price?”
Sobek tilted his head, considering. “Information. You will speak to me while we journey. I will have questions. You will answer them truthfully.”
Answers you couldn’t find digging through my head? But Ali didn’t say that. He just nodded grimly and took the bag. He could do this for the friend who’d saved him so many times.
“Understood,” he said, looping the strap through his weapons belt, still thankfully secure at his waist.
“Then let us go.” Sobek turned back around.
Ali took a deep breath and followed the marid into the Nile.
the water was at his chest when the world turned over. Ali stumbled as starlight and black water vaulted overhead as though he were rolling down a hill. His next step was on firm, wet earth, the smell of rich vegetation—of life—so heavy in the air it made him dizzy. He glanced up and gasped.
Gone was the dark, muddy river. Or if not gone, transformed. The water arched around him like a tunnel, marshy roots and submerged trees stretching to hold up a glittering canopy of refracted celestial light, glimmering droplets, and dappled green lily pads. Fish and turtles swam past, the silvery whites of their bellies flickering like candles.
Ali stared in wonder at the extraordinary sight. “Beautiful” didn’t come close to capturing the magic of the world around him. He might have been in a temple to the Nile itself, an illuminated mosque of water and stars. A long, narrow path stretched into the distance, warm, silty earth pebbled with shining river rocks and flecks of gold and white stone. And though he was breathing air, gentle currents of invisible mist teased his waist, billowing under his arms. Ali felt as though he could close his eyes and catch them, drift in peace along the languid Nile as it wound through desert villages and lush mountains …
Sobek’s heavy hand clasped his shoulder. “Take care. If your mind wanders here, you will go with it.”
Ali nodded, still bewitched. He gazed at the river path again, the glimmer of gold and silver-white tugging at his mind. “The river of salt and gold,” he said, remembering. “You—you’re the marid of the river of salt and gold. You’re the one whose memory I saw in my dream, of Anahid raising the island and—”
Sobek released his shoulder so fast that Ali tripped. “Yes,” he said in a blunt way that left no space for questions. “You can breathe and swim in our manner?”
Thrown by the change in topic, Ali stammered an answer. “Yes. I mean, I cannot drown if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then it would be easiest if we swam.” The marid’s eyes flashed to Nahri. “I could turn her into a fish, and she could accompany us.”
Ali instantly stepped back, hugging Nahri closer. “I don’t want you to turn her into a fish.”
Sobek’s head swiveled on his neck. Again, Ali would swear he saw a hint of a long snout and serrated teeth.
“You fear I shall harm her.” It wasn’t a question.
“I saw your memory,” Ali replied, trembling. “You swore vengeance against Anahid.”
“She is not only Anahid’s,” Sobek countered, pointing at Nahri. The webbing between his fingers looked like an armored glove. “She is also born of the people of this land—my land, my waters—and my bond with them stretches back long before that daeva demoness set foot in our lake.”
“Nahri’s human family was from Egypt?” Ali suspected that would bring her comfort. When the marid nodded, he ventured further. “Does she have any relatives still here?”
“They are dead.” The marid turned, the movement jerky; Ali half expected to see a crocodile tail hit the sand. “Come, if you insist on walking. These paths are meant to be swum and they are difficult to maintain in this manner.”
Adjusting Nahri in his arms, Ali followed the marid. The marid. After all this time, it seemed impossible he should be at the side of one of the creatures. A hundred questions hovered on his lips, and yet Ali—who’d been desperate for answers about his possession, who was normally never one to turn away a source of information—found himself almost afraid to speak.
Sobek wasn’t. “How many of you are left?”
Ali didn’t understand the question. “It’s just us,” he said. “Nahri and I—”
The marid clicked his teeth in irritation. “How many of your kin? I have seen your sister spin water in your mind, and your mother keeps our tradition. How many others are there?”
New apprehension rose through Ali. “Why do you want to know about my family?”
“Because you requested a favor, and I granted it. Now answer me.”
Lying in the powerful marid’s realm with an unconscious Nahid in his arms seemed unwise, but Ali still skirted the question. “I’m not certain. I grew up in Daevabad and don’t know my mother’s relatives well.”
“Have they always lived in Ta Ntry?”
“Yes,” Ali answered before realizing that wasn’t quite true. There was a reason his mother was queen, after all, her family well connected politically. “I mean, mostly. My mother told me our ancestors frequently traveled back and forth between Ta Ntry and Daevabad during the first centuries after the conquest. They were government ministers, advisors, that sort of thing. But since then many have returned to live in Ta Ntry.”
“Ah,” Sobek said quietly. “I see.”
“See what?”
The marid ignored him. “Are any of them blessed like you?”
Blessed. Is that what Ali was? He thought back to that day in Issa’s room, his worried mother begging the repulsed scholar for help. “Not as far as I know. Your kind are feared as monsters in Ta Ntry. I don’t think there’s anyone else like me.”
“Your people have short memories.”
Ali fought to keep up with Sobek’s long stride, Nahri getting heavy in his aching arms. “What are you talking about? Does that mean they’re not true, the stories about the marid?”
Now Sobek did glance back, his reptilian eyes gleaming. “I did not say that.”
; A chill swept Ali. Are there stories like that about you? he wanted to ask, but in a rare moment of self-preservation halted the question at his lips.
Trying to change the subject, he asked a different one. “The ifrit called you Sobek. Is that your name?”
“It is among the names mortals have given me.”
“Mortals know of you?”
“Mortals worshipped me.” Hunger again surged into Sobek’s voice, the cold dispassion fleeing like a drawn tide. “They filled shining temples with my visage and built cities in my name. I am the reason this land is great.”
Ali’s mouth was dry. “And what did this cost them?”
“Brides.” Ali gave him a shocked look, but Sobek didn’t seem to notice, lost in a reverie that had changed the marid’s entire misty expression. His face was all crocodile now, bloodlust in his yellow eyes and saliva glistening from his teeth. “Women, with that first flush of fertility, mortality … the power in such coupling, in their blood …” Sobek’s voice turned wistful. “It is unlike anything else.”
Ali swayed on his feet, but it was not exhaustion this time. The open craving and arrogance in Sobek’s voice, the way he met Ali’s eyes as though confiding a shared desire, it made Ali ill. And though he was trying to check his tongue in the presence of such a powerful creature, his heart could not let this stand.
“That’s evil.” He stared at Sobek. “Did you not think those women would rather have lived and had families of their own instead of being dishonored and drowned?”
“I did not always drown them.” Sobek didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by Ali’s revulsion. “They were the ones who chose to settle on my riverbanks. And no matter what blood it cost, they always rejoiced when they saw my floods. I never had to take the unwilling—I couldn’t. You know the laws between our races. I cannot kill a lesser being without their consent.”
“And you still call it consent when you threatened families with famine and pretended to be the Creator?”
Sobek’s gaze flickered over him, seeming to finally recognize Ali’s disgust. A bit of the hunger left his expression, but if Ali feared anger, he needn’t have: Sobek merely looked weary—and perhaps a little annoyed.
The Empire of Gold Page 22