The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  Sobek released his wrist, and Ali blinked, dazed, as though awakening from a dream.

  “See how much easier it is when you don’t fight communing?” the Nile marid remarked. “Tiamat will be pleased by these memories. You fought well.”

  Ali ran his hands over his face, returning to himself. Tiamat. Sobek. They were the reason he was here, reporting as the new envoy between his peoples. “It is satisfactory?” he asked groggily. “The Banu Nahida promises to respect the river as our border.”

  “It is satisfactory as long as the rest of her people do as well.” Sobek stretched, uncurling like the crocodile he was. “You should make your river wider. I can send more of my children to settle its waters.”

  Ali had a very good idea what kind of children those were, and he was not ready to fill his river with djinn-eating crocodiles. “I thought we might try peace first.”

  “As you wish. Will you return to them now?”

  He nodded. “My brother and sister wait for me. There is still much work to be done.” Much work, of course, was an understatement. They had a war-torn city to put back together. They had an entire civilization to put back together. To potentially build wholly anew.

  The marid let out a distinctly unimpressed snort. “Firebloods. You aim so low, Alizayd al Qahtani. You could be a proper river lord, and instead you will settle for paperwork and numbers.” He sounded scandalized. “Wasting your life attempting to make peace between squabbling djinn in a dry stone city.”

  “I am sorry to be such a disappointment,” Ali said drily. “I can return the armor and sword if you like.”

  Sobek bristled. “That will not be necessary. But know that Tiamat will expect you to return to her court and honor your pact, at least once every few years. It would be beneficial for you to visit me as well.”

  “Careful, Sobek. You very nearly sound fond of me.”

  “You know nothing of caring for a river. Someone must teach you.” He gestured to the river Ali had dragged through the land when Nahri had moved the city. “These waters and the life that flow in them are your responsibility. When they thrive, you will. Neglected, you will both fall.” He eyed Ali with the reptilian gaze they now shared. “You must understand, you will never have more than one foot in your djinn world again.”

  “I know the price I paid.” Ali saw it in the eyes of every single person he encountered—from the shocked djinn around the world who needed Fiza to convince them he was still one of them to the whispers that followed him everywhere. No one had rebuked him—yet. He was one of the saviors of Daevabad, among friends and family.

  But Ali knew the rebukes would come. He knew the whispers would occasionally be cutting. He’d be called a crocodile, a traitor, an abomination. His loyalty and his faith would be called into question. He knew too there would be times when it would be unbearable, when he would ache to call a flame into his hands and be a part of his people again, knowing it would never happen.

  He still didn’t regret it. He had helped free his city and knew too well others had paid worse prices—his Ayaanle ancestors, for one. And if he was honest, part of Ali felt at ease for the first time in his life, as if the trace of him rooted in Sobek had been acknowledged and settled.

  Ali rose to his feet. “I should return.”

  “Yes, I suppose you should. Tell the fire-bloods we will drown them if they approach our lake.”

  “I’m not going to say that.”

  Sobek strode through the water at his side. “You should mate with the Nahid if you insist on staying here. Offspring between our peoples would better seal our new pact. They could visit me too.”

  And with that, Ali was abruptly done with his ancestor. “Oh, would you look at the sky,” he remarked, gesturing to the featureless fog. “It’s getting late. Why don’t I continue alone?”

  Sobek didn’t seem to register Ali’s dodge, looking lost in his own thoughts. “She wasn’t much older than a child when first we met.”

  “Nahri?”

  “Her mother.”

  Ali stopped walking. This was the first time Sobek had brought up Nahri’s family on his own and definitely the first time he’d specifically mentioned her mother.

  Knowing how guarded Sobek could be, Ali chose his words carefully. “So, what Manizheh told Nahri was true?” He had already shared his memories with Sobek, and the marid knew what Ali knew: that the story of Manizheh denouncing Nahri as her brother’s “mistake,” the daughter of a shafit mother, was spreading like wildfire.

  “Yes.” Sobek was silent a long moment. “Your Nahid took a great risk for peace with my people. Giving back the lake … it edges into a gift.”

  Ali sensed where this was going. “You would not wish to remain in her debt.”

  “No, I would not.” He fixed his gaze on Ali. “The promise I made to her mother was to remove her memories so that she might start a new life. You are ally to her; I will leave it to your discretion if she has done so.”

  “Yes,” Ali said in a rush. There was little he knew Nahri would want more. “Restore her memories. I will bring her immediately—”

  “Your Nahid’s memories are gone. But her mother struck a deal with me. Duriya,” Sobek said, pronouncing the name with quiet reverence. “Her remembrances passed to me when she died. I can share them with you, and then you may do the same.”

  “But I’ve never done that kind of magic.”

  “It is not difficult.” Sobek paused. The marid’s face was rarely readable, shifting between humanoid and reptilian, but Ali would swear he saw a trace of sorrow. “They are not easy memories. They would be better coming from a friend.”

  Ali hesitated. In his mind’s eye, he saw Nahri sitting beside him on the bank of the Nile, the river reflecting in her dark gaze as she spoke with palpable longing of the early years she couldn’t remember.

  He saw the woman she’d become, surrounded by people who loved her, the woman brave enough to challenge death itself to save them.

  Ali held his hands out to Sobek. “Show me.”

  ALI’S HEAD WAS STILL SPINNING AS HE MADE HIS WAY upriver to where Zaynab and Muntadhir waited. It would have been faster to call upon the marid magic that would have transported him along the hidden currents beneath the water’s surface. But Ali needed the walk to clear his mind of what he’d seen—not to mention contemplating how he was supposed to break this new history to the friend who’d just had her world shaken up again. He needed firm ground beneath his feet, a gradual return to the other realm that claimed him.

  He heard them joking before he even came around the rocky river bend.

  “—because it’s not fair that you make everything look good,” Zaynab was complaining. “You’ve been out of the dungeon less than a week. How do you already have some fancy embroidered eye patch?”

  “Adoring fans, little sister. A whole network of them.”

  Then they were there before him, lounging on the mat Ali had carried out here and having clearly finished the food he’d brought from the kitchen. The siblings he’d thought he’d lost, the ones he’d missed and worried over so fiercely it took his breath away.

  Muntadhir glanced up, grinning widely. “Zaydi! We feared you might never come back. We ate all the food just in case.”

  Zaynab elbowed their eldest brother. “Don’t tease him. He already looks like he’s going to start crying and kissing us again.”

  Ali was suddenly glad he’d walked back, because he had enough muddy river water clinging to his clothes to send it splashing over his brother and sister as he dropped between them, provoking yelps from both. “You know I could have been king in Ta Ntry instead of coming back for the two of you. A castle, riches …”

  “Amma controlling your every move.” Zaynab pulled over the basket. “I didn’t actually let him finish the food.”

  “Bless you.” His stomach grumbling, Ali plucked out a piece of flatbread rolled up tight with spiced lentils and cabbage.

  His sister was still watching hi
m, concern visible beneath her air of indifference. “Did everything go okay with the marid?”

  “He pried a bit too deeply into plans for grandchildren, but otherwise we’re fine.” Ali said nothing about what Sobek had shown him; that was for Nahri alone. “As long as we respect the border, I think the peace will hold between our peoples.” He took another bite. “He did suggest filling the river with crocodiles.”

  Zaynab shuddered. “I hope you know I’m not exploring this part of our heritage. Ever. I’m happy being a djinn, thank you very much.” Her voice grew grimmer. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll … let you go?” she ventured. “Return your fire magic or—”

  “No,” Ali said somberly. “But it’s all right.”

  “Eh, I kind of think ‘marid ambassador’ looks good on you,” Muntadhir observed. “You’ve got your own river, the silver marks add an air of mystery, and your eyes are terrifying. Should suit you well when you’re negotiating the upheaval of our entire government.”

  “He’s definitely going to auction off any family treasure he gets his hands on,” Zaynab warned. “I hope you’ve put some away, Dhiru. I know I have. I’ll be observing this revolution of the people from the sidelines.”

  Ali scarfed down the rest of his food and lay back, shielding his eyes against the sun piercing through the leafy canopy. “I was hoping the two of you might join the revolution of the people, and then I could simply pay you salaries.”

  Zaynab was already shaking her head. “I love you, little brother, and I love my city, but as soon as things are calmer, I’m leaving.”

  “Wait, what?” Ali asked, taken aback. “Where are you going?”

  “Everywhere?” His sister gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile. “I’ve never left Daevabad. I never thought I would leave, not unless it was for the palace of some foreign noble, a husband I’d be expected to play politics with.” Zaynab toyed with the gold bangle on her wrist. “For a long time I was okay with that; I believed it the best way I could serve my family. But that world is gone, and overseeing the resistance in Daevabad … it was grueling. But it also taught me a lot. It taught me I want more.”

  Ali couldn’t conceal his worry. “At least tell me you’re not going alone.”

  “No, but thanks for thinking me incapable. Aqisa is coming with me. We’ll go to Bir Nabat first. She wants to take Lubayd’s ashes home.”

  “That’s where he should rest,” Ali said softly, grief rising in him at the mention of his murdered friend. “But I am going to miss you, ukhti. Terribly.”

  Zaynab squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back, little brother. Someone responsible needs to make sure you’re not mucking everything up.”

  Ali had left his weapons behind when he’d visited Sobek, but he sat up and reached for his zulfiqar now. “Take this.”

  Zaynab’s gray-gold eyes went wide. “I can’t take your zulfiqar!”

  “It’s not mine. It belongs to our family, and I’ll never wield it the way I once did. Take it. Learn to summon its flames and go have some adventures, Zaynab.”

  Her fingers closed around the hilt. “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Just as long as I can write and beg your counsel when I inevitably muck everything up.”

  His sister smiled. “Deal.”

  Ali turned to Muntadhir. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving to journey across the unknown too?”

  Muntadhir shivered. “Oh, absolutely not. You will have to pry fully stocked kitchens, soft beds, and clean clothes from my bejeweled hands.” He paused. “But I’m not going back to the palace either.”

  “You’re not?” His brother and Daevabad’s palace were utterly entwined in Ali’s mind. “But you’re the emir. I need your help.”

  “You’ll have my help,” Muntadhir assured him. “But not as emir.” He looked like he was trying and failing to offer a jesting smile. “I mean, you are planning to abolish the monarchy, and I …” Muntadhir exhaled, suddenly frailer. “I can’t go back there, akhi, I’m sorry. I can’t go back to that place where she slaughtered my friends and poisoned my people. Where they—” A tremor rocked his brother’s body, and he quickly wiped his right eye. “I know that’s probably cowardly.”

  But Ali didn’t think his brother a coward. In fact, after finding Muntadhir in the dungeon, Ali was pretty sure his brother was one of the bravest people he knew.

  Ali had gone to the dungeon as soon as he knew Nahri was okay, surrounded by a ring of friends and Subha on her way. He hadn’t gone alone—Jamshid had insisted on accompanying him, and as the two descended into the grim bowels of the palace dungeon, coming upon cells packed with Manizheh’s rotting enemies, Ali had never been so grateful not to be alone. It was an awful scene—a testament to Manizheh’s brutality as much as the pulverized neighborhoods above and the mass grave of half-burned Geziri remains they’d uncovered in the arena were.

  There had been familiar faces among the prisoners, scholars and ministers and nobles Ali had known growing up, names for the rising list of the dead. And as he and Jamshid ventured deeper, Ali had started to lose what remained of his composure, begging God that he wasn’t going to find the bodies of his murdered brother and sister.

  He hadn’t, a mercy Ali would be grateful for every day of his life. They’d discovered Zaynab first, locked away but unharmed—part of Manizheh apparently still pragmatic enough that she’d kept her most valuable hostage alive.

  Zaynab had thrown herself into Ali’s arms, clutching him so tight it hurt. “I knew you’d come back,” she’d whispered. “I knew it.”

  Muntadhir had been a different story.

  When they’d finally found his brother’s cell and broken open the door, Ali had been convinced Muntadhir was dead. The smell of decay and bodily filth was so thick on the air, Ali could barely breathe. And when he’d spotted the emaciated man chained and slumped against the gray stone wall, it seemed impossible that it was his charming, seemingly untouchable older brother. Bruises, scars, and open weeping wounds had covered Muntadhir’s grimy skin, a stained cloth barely clinging to his hips. His brother had collapsed as much as his shackles would allow him, his arms held over his head at a painful angle. His hair was overgrown, matted black curls plastered across his face.

  At Ali’s side, Jamshid had let out a low cry, and so Ali had ventured in first, trying to spare him as much pain as possible. Muntadhir hadn’t reacted when Ali touched his neck, but Ali had been relieved to find a pulse. And when he had gently called his brother’s name, Muntadhir had stirred, his chains rattling as he’d blinked open his lone eye.

  And then he’d shrieked. He’d wailed that Ali was dead and had been replaced by a demon, jerking back from Jamshid’s touch as well when his lover rushed across the cell. Muntadhir had started slamming his head into the wall, weeping and sobbing that the two men before him were a “Nahid trick.”

  Ali had been beside himself. He’d challenged Tiamat and traveled the currents of the world, but watching his big brother fall apart, he’d suddenly felt so small. So useless.

  So Jamshid had stepped in.

  The Baga Nahid had carefully taken Muntadhir’s hands, healing him as he brushed his fingers along Muntadhir’s dirt-caked skin and eased him out of the shackles. “It’s me, Emir-joon,” he’d assured him softly. “Just me, no tricks.” He’d kissed the tips of Muntadhir’s fingers. “You woke me like this after I’d been shot, do you remember? You said you were so afraid of hurting me that you knew not where else to touch.”

  At that Muntadhir had stopped fighting. Instead, he’d pressed his face into Jamshid’s shoulder, crying even harder. “I thought you were dead,” he’d sobbed. “I thought you were all dead.”

  And fancy eye patch and jesting smile aside, Ali still saw that man when he looked at Muntadhir now, his brother clearly trying to convince his younger siblings he was fine. Ali had learned the hard way how talented Muntadhir was at hiding his true self, even from those he loved.

  Ali reached out now, gripp
ing his brother’s hand. “It’s not cowardly, Dhiru. Not at all.”

  “I have money set aside,” Zaynab said softly. “Enough to buy you a house in the Geziri Quarter.”

  “I’m not moving to the Geziri Quarter,” Muntadhir replied. “Jamshid … he said I could stay with him for a bit. He has the space, and we’ve always been close …” His brother seemed to stumble over the words, the story he must have practiced.

  Oh, ahki … Ali bit his lip, aching to speak freely. But he didn’t know if Jamshid had told Muntadhir that his little brother knew about their relationship, and Ali felt like he’d lost the right to pry. Instead, he’d work to earn Muntadhir’s trust and let his brother choose when and how to share his confidences.

  For now, Ali just squeezed his hand again. “That sounds like a great idea. I think it would be good for both of you.”

  Muntadhir gave him a slightly guarded look, but there was a glimmer of hope there. “Thanks, Zaydi.” He leaned back on his elbows, the sunlight playing on his still pale face, and winked, a hint of mischief stealing into his expression. “Though you’re being very rude in failing to congratulate me on my latest personal accomplishment.”

  “Which is?”

  “Divorce.” Muntadhir sighed, sounding dreamy. “Ah, the sweet feeling of freedom and the world’s most ill-matched partnership going up in literal flames.”

  “Yes,” Zaynab said sarcastically. “Because your marriage so clearly restrained you.”

  “You and Nahri are divorced?” Ali asked. “It is … official?”

  Muntadhir grinned and glanced at Zaynab. “I’m telling you—at least three times.”

  Zaynab shook her head. “Just once. He’s definitely rash enough to have done it, but there’s no way he didn’t immediately fall apart into a panic over sin.”

  Ali did indeed find himself fighting panic. “What are you two talking about?”

  His sister’s eyes twinkled. “How many times you’ve kissed Nahri.”

  Ali was suddenly glad he’d given up his fire magic, because otherwise he would have combusted into embarrassed flames.