by Nafiza Azad
“I would appreciate that.” Fatima Ghazala’s lips quirk in a half smile. “Talking to you is an interesting feeling. You are a stranger, but because I Named you, I know all your secrets.”
“So you already know how I feel about the Emir,” the apprentice says softly.
“I don’t think I would need to look into your memories to know that,” Fatima Ghazala replies.
“I thought that if I came here, he would look at me again. That he would forgive me.” The Ifrit woman grimaces as if in pain. “I was such a fool …”
There is nothing Fatima Ghazala can say to that, so she says nothing at all.
After a minute, the apprentice takes a breath and says, “Shall we begin, then?”
And so begins a long week of training. Fatima Ghazala spends the afternoons and a major portion of the evenings with Tali. She learns how to control her fire, how to wield it like a blade, how to intensify its heat. She learns about Names; the golden pieces of a Name reflect the kind of person the Ifrit is. She soaks up the knowledge.
After breakfast with Sunaina, she spends time in the practice hall, where teachers skilled in various fighting disciplines regularly make appearances to train and teach willing students. Fatima Ghazala sees Zulfikar everywhere, but he doesn’t approach her, nor does he try to get her attention in any way. Of the Wazir there is no sign and no one seems particularly anxious for his company.
On the seventh day of training, Fatima Ghazala finds herself, suddenly, in Zulfikar’s path. She is entering Northern Aftab as he is leaving it. She bumps into him, and he catches hold of her arms when she would have fallen. The moment is unexpected and all the more bittersweet for it. Fatima Ghazala makes to move away, and Zulfikar tightens his grip. She raises an eyebrow at him.
“If you think you are ready, the Raees wishes to be Named today,” he says, sounding oddly stilted, as if he no longer knows how to speak to her.
“I don’t know that I will ever be ready,” Fatima Ghazala replies, not meeting his eyes, “but I am willing to try.”
Zulfikar nods politely to her and continues on his way. Fatima Ghazala looks up to see that Tali has been observing their interaction from the second floor.
Later, after the training, the apprentice sits beside Fatima Ghazala in a wide airy room and asks, “Do you have him in your heart?”
“The Emir?” Fatima Ghazala does not want to have this conversation.
“Coyness doesn’t become you, Name Giver.”
Fatima Ghazala wonders how the apprentice can say that with any authority, considering she has known her for less than a week at this point.
“If you are talking about the Emir, I … Do we really have to talk about this? I confess you are not the person I would choose to be my confidante,” Fatima Ghazala tells the apprentice.
“Because of my history with him?” Tali replies.
“Because you do not consider it history,” Fatima Ghazala corrects her.
“I asked him to come back to me. To return to Al-Naar with me,” the Ifrit woman confesses entirely without warning.
Fatima Ghazala steels herself. “Are congratulations in order?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Perhaps it is a warning. I do not intend to let him go so easily.”
“Your intentions are not the problem, though. His are,” Fatima Ghazala points out.
Tali looks as if she is going to speak. Fatima Ghazala stands up, no longer wanting to be physically part of this conversation. “I apologize. I spoke out of turn. I know nothing about the Emir, let alone what his intentions are. You do not need to worry on my account. I am not going to confess my feelings, whatever they are, to him. Excuse me.”
After the week of training, on a Monday morning, Tali pronounces Fatima Ghazala ready to name the Raees. When the night has settled in, they gather in front of the now-familiar fire pit behind the barracks. Fatima Ghazala is conscious of the world around her in a way she has never been before. Not even when she was Naming Tali. She closes her eyes and takes deep measured breaths. Tali stands on one side of her and Zulfikar on the other. Fatima Ghazala feels their Names tug at her. Not urgently, just little pulls to make her aware of their existence. If she concentrates, she can feel the Names of all the Ifrit soldiers sleeping in the barracks.
The fire in the pit is blazing. It keeps the cold at bay and anticipates the Raees’s arrival. If she doesn’t fail. If she is strong enough. Fatima Ghazala feels like a string taut with possibilities and little else. She sneaks a look at Zulfikar and finds him looking at her, a worried frown tangling his eyebrows. He meets her gaze and holds it without smiling. The moment stretches. Fatima Ghazala turns away, her breath short and her cheeks hot.
“I’m ready,” she says, aware that her voice is not at all convincing.
The two Ifrit nod and step back. Fatima Ghazala lets her consciousness expand, opening entirely to the world around her, an invitation of sorts. A tickle in her mind makes her turn, and for a moment, she forgets to breathe. A column of fire, easily as tall as one of the mahal’s spires, undulates in front of her. Fear slams into her, and she has to force herself not to flee at the sight. She can barely see the pieces of the Name she is supposed to be joining together.
Fatima Ghazala forces herself to take one step closer and nearly recoils at the heat emanating from the fire. She squares her shoulders and takes another step. The heat is so intense that she is surprised she is not on fire already. She is not going to survive this Naming. But she gave her word to her baba. Death has been dogging her heels for so long now she may as well give in. Fatima Ghazala wonders how badly dying will hurt. She decides to find out and raises a hand to plunge into the column of smokeless fire.
Before she can do so, however, someone pulls her back and away. She finds herself cradled against the Emir’s chest. His heart is racing. Or maybe it’s hers. Fatima Ghazala can’t tell. She tries to pull away, but she is trembling so hard she finds herself unable to. A few minutes later, she finally finds enough strength to step out of his arms.
She looks at the Emir, but he is looking at Tali defiantly.
“I will not stand by and watch her die, Tali. I will find another way,” he says to the Ifrit woman.
Sunaina looks in consternation first at her sister and then at the rajkumari. She has to prepare a big batch of various cosmetics for a visiting merchant’s wife. In order to have everything prepared in time, she needs to work without distractions or interruptions. Fatima Ghazala and Bhavya are both distracting her from her work and interrupting it. They are sitting opposite each other at the worktable, hostility thick in the air between them.
“What is your relationship to the Emir?” Bhavya demands.
Fatima Ghazala’s eyebrows rise at the rajkumari’s tone. “I suppose I am a citizen of the half of the Noor City he administrates. What relationship does a citizen have with the leader of the city?”
“You are lying to me,” Bhavya says. Her calmness is worrying. “I will ask you again. What is your relationship to the Emir?”
“I cannot tell you.” Fatima Ghazala frowns. A little impatiently. “But let me reassure you, the Emir and I are not in a romantic relationship.”
“Am I supposed to take your word for it?” the rajkumari says coldly.
“Whether you do or don’t is not my concern, rajkumari.” Sunaina watches her sister’s eyes flicker and tenses.
“Have you forgotten who I am?” the rajkumari asks. Her voice is low and filled with an emotion Sunaina cannot identify.
“Why do you think your social status has any bearing on me? Am I supposed to give you respect simply because of the family you were born in?” Fatima Ghazala leans back in her chair and folds her arms.
Bhavya breathes in sharply. “How dare you?”
“Are you never tired of being judged for what you are instead of who you are? Don’t you wish to be more than a title? Ah, but we were not talking about this, were we?” Fat
ima Ghazala gets to her feet. Sunaina meets her eyes across the room and gives a quick shake of her head. The younger girl sighs. “Listen, I do not know what monsters chase you, but you can rest assured on this one point. The Emir—whatever he feels for me isn’t love. He told me so himself.”
She leaves the room without another word. Sunaina stares after her and frowns. Does this mean that Fatima Ghazala has feelings for the Emir? Her sister has never previously expressed any interest in romance. The Emir … there was more than anger in his eyes when they saw him yesterday. Sunaina shakes her head. She does not want the Emir for a brother-in-law.
“Here.” Sunaina hands Bhavya a mortar and pestle along with a bag of dried marigold petals. “Grind this for me.”
The rajkumari accepts the proffered items without protest. After a moment of silence, Sunaina cautiously ventures, “Are you in love with the Emir?”
The rajkumari doesn’t reply. Sunaina chooses to take her silence as an admission.
She moves around briskly, stirring a potion here and sifting a mix there. “Why do you love him?”
“Why does anyone love anybody?” Bhavya finally responds.
“I don’t know. I haven’t loved anyone before,” Sunaina confesses, looking at the rajkumari’s bowed head.
“He is an escape,” Bhavya finally says in a small voice. “Being with him would mean no one would push me around to behave in a certain manner or be a certain way.”
“Does it need to be the Emir? I mean, wouldn’t anyone do if he lets you escape tradition?” Sunaina speaks carefully.
“You have no idea what you are talking about!” Bhavya stops grinding. Her face is flushed, and she looks panicked.
Sunaina sighs deeply. “The thing is … I do. I’m only saying what I am because I see myself in you. Does that seem presumptuous of me?” The rajkumari’s silence encourages her to continue. “I was with a man simply because I was expected to be in some sort of relationship with one. I suppose I still am. I just don’t care about expectations anymore.”
Sunaina grimaces, remembering the last time she saw Niral. “I didn’t want to marry him, so I told people Fatima was an obstacle to the wedded bliss I didn’t really want. In the end, I hurt Fatima Ghazala and I hurt Niral both by clinging to and fighting against what was expected of me.”
Sunaina looks to see if she has the rajkumari’s attention. She does.
“I thought that if I tried hard enough, I would be able to love him. If I pretended hard enough, I would.” Sunaina smiles slightly. “I wanted to love him. Being with him felt normal. It felt like the natural progression in my life, in any woman’s life. You grow up a daughter to become a wife and later a mother. That was all I knew. But … I couldn’t accept it in the end. I couldn’t accept him or the idea of marriage. I felt suffocated when I thought about marrying him. He felt wrong. All men do.”
“But you are not a rajkumari. You decided not to marry, so you didn’t. I don’t have that luxury.” Angry tears escape the rajkumari’s eyes. Sunaina looks away. She is uncomfortable with excess emotion. “Having the Emir on my side would mean freedom. A limited sort of freedom but freedom anyway. I wish I wasn’t a girl. I wish I had been born a boy. Then no one would have been able to force me to do things I don’t want to do.” The rajkumari gets up. The chair she was sitting on falls to the ground. She leaves without another word.
Tali’s silence follows Zulfikar into Noor in the early morning and throughout the day as he meets with various petitioners, has meetings, and goes through reports from Achal Kaur’s messengers. He can hear everything she doesn’t say. He feels judged. Or maybe he is judging himself. Should he have let Fatima Ghazala proceed to her death? How could he?
He is weary of the tension when they finally return to Northern Aftab around noon. He heads into the mahal followed closely by Tali. They end up in a room on the first floor.
“I wish you would speak your mind,” he says to her as soon as the door closes behind them.
“Have you found a way?” Tali replies. At Zulfikar’s puzzled look, she elaborates, “To strengthen the Name Giver’s fire.”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Why aren’t you discussing this with the Wazir? Why haven’t I seen Anwar anywhere?” Tali crosses her arms. Though this is her first time in the human world, she is well aware of the hierarchy in the Ifrit-controlled cities of Qirat.
“He spends the majority of his time traveling between the desert cities and patrolling the Silk Road. We have found that the less we are in each other’s presence, the better our relationship is. Besides, he isn’t exactly rational where Fatima Ghazala is concerned,” Zulfikar replies.
Tali looks at him sharply.
“He thinks Fatima Ghazala belongs to him because she has Ghazala’s fire.”
The Ifrit woman winces. She drops down on a chair and looks up at Zulfikar. “I have a suggestion, though I would rather not make it.”
Zulfikar raises an eyebrow.
“I really am not as selfless as this will imply.” Tali scrunches up her face. “It is a matter of survival, however …”
“Get to the point, Tali.”
“Marry the Name Giver,” she says in a rush.
“Are you out of your mind?” Zulfikar gapes at her.
“If her fire bonds to yours, her fire will increase in strength,” Tali says unhappily. “The increase in fire strength between married couples is documented.”
Zulfikar stares at the Ifrit woman. She meets his gaze calmly. “Do you think I want you to do this? Do you think I’m taking pleasure in telling you this?” Tali asks. “I came here to convince you of my heart, not encourage you into someone else’s! But I am a soldier, Zulfikar. I know about the Raees’s condition. I know that she can’t remain in Al-Naar.”
“Your plan is a mad one,” Zulfikar says. The idea of marrying Fatima Ghazala terrifies him, mostly because of how much he wants to.
“It needn’t be a true marriage, Zulfikar. It needn’t be forever.”
“If I marry her, it will be forever, Tali. I’m not going to use her for our convenience,” he tells her, and watches as tears fill the woman’s eyes.
“So be it,” Tali mutters.
At four in the afternoon, the royal family, including the maharajah and other courtiers, make their way to a baag located on the outer edges of the mahal grounds. The baag’s main attraction is a line of gulmohar trees that are currently in bloom. Fatima Ghazala accompanies the rest of the companions because she can never deny herself a chance to be near flowers, and the gulmohar flowers, especially, are glorious.
The retinue moves slowly due to the Rajmata’s mincing gait. Fatima Ghazala hangs in the back, not wanting to gain anyone’s attention—especially the rajkumari’s. Suddenly, someone wraps an arm around her waist. Fatima Ghazala twists away and turns to see Aaruv grinning at her. He seems unconcerned that people are taking note of the attention he is giving her.
“Don’t touch me,” Fatima Ghazala tells him in a voice dangerous for its lack of inflection. Indra and the rest of the companions are too far away to provide distraction or aid.
“The fun is just beginning,” Aaruv replies, unrepentant, and moves away. For the entirety of the time they spend in the baag, no matter where Fatima Ghazala is, Aaruv is always in her line of sight. He looks at her as though she is his, and people begin to whisper. Some titter in amusement, and others look at Fatima Ghazala with different gazes. Even the maharajah looks upon Aaruv’s actions with an indulgent eye. The maharani looks troubled but doesn’t speak up. Fatima Ghazala tries to stay with the rest of the companions, but that doesn’t deter the rajkumar from looking at her boldly. His very gaze is a violation. Fatima Ghazala’s anger grows steadily; her eyes become molten and her skin flushes.
The party wraps up when the skies are streaked orange. Fatima Ghazala lags behind, watching the members of the royal family go first, making their slow way to the mahal. She tries to help the servants tidy up the det
ritus left behind but is shooed away. Finally, she joins the very end of the group of people walking slowly so as not to outpace the Rajmata.
“Do I not deserve at least a smile?” Aaruv says suddenly in Fatima Ghazala’s ear. She moves away from the rajkumar and is about to leave the group when Aaruv, taking advantage of the falling darkness, grabs her shoulder.
Fatima Ghazala stops and turns around. She feels her control snap, feels her fire ready. “I believe I told you not to touch me,” she says in a clear, carrying voice.
The rest of the party turns to see what is happening. Aarush and Aruna exchange panicked glances.
Aaruv, conscious of the eyes on him, puts on a bored expression. “I am a rajkumar; you should be honored I even look at you.”
Fatima Ghazala doesn’t blink at his words. She says in the same even tone, “Do not touch me again.”
“And if I do?” Aaruv grabs Fatima Ghazala’s arm. “Like this. What will you do? What can you do?”
“Aaruv!” the maharajah says, moving toward them.
For a moment, Fatima Ghazala’s expression remains unchanged. Then her eyes flicker orange, and a smell of burning flesh fills the air. Aaruv screams and flings Fatima Ghazala’s arm away. He looks down at his hand, a disbelieving expression on his face, before he looks at Fatima Ghazala again. He staggers back a few steps.
Fatima Ghazala feels her fire cover her skin. She looks at the faces around her, lit by the orange glow of her fire, before her gaze finally stops on Aaruv. “Consider this one consequence,” she says to him. She turns and walks away. No one dares to stop her.
Flames flutter in fluted glass lamps, illuminating rich rugs, fine silks, and the kind of grandeur that most people cannot even imagine. Present in the room, small by the standards set by others, are the royal family excluding Bhavya.
The maharajah glances at his brother; Aaruv stands turned away from the rest of them, his face in shadow. A familiar exasperation fills Aarush. This time, though, the exasperation is spiced liberally with anger. He had thought his brother a harmless flirt, but what he witnessed in the garden seems a lot more sinister and concerning.