Zarina and the Djinn

by Vivienne Savage

  The beggar stiffened. “How did you realize?”

  “No one else has ever compared me to a desert rose. Only Joaidane has ever called me anything so beautiful.”

  Instead of rising to face her, he turned his head. “Now you see my face. There is no silly disguise, Zarina. This is me, and all I will ever be from now on. Are you not disgusted?”

  “No.” Despite the waver of her voice, she meant it with all her soul. She stroked her thumb over his pock-marked cheek and shook her head. “No.”

  “This is the face you would wake beside. The knotted body that could give you no pleasure.”

  “If this is your curse, why did you appear as a handsome man to me?” The realization of his trickery overwhelmed her at once, and she jerked her hand away to stare at him. “Has this been some game to you? Why come here and do this? Why not free me?”

  His bark of harsh, embittered laughter chilled her more than winter’s breath. “It was meant as a reprieve, but I feel like it was more a punishment, allowed my true face only three nights each month, a mere taste of the life I once had as a reminder of all I had lost. But I’ve broken myself now, and this is all I will ever be. Such is the cost of accepting a bargain with the Queen of the Ifrit.”

  Her voice trembled with rage and tears burned in her eyes. “You allowed me to believe you to be two different men. You tricked me and used me like a fool, now you come to play games?”

  “No! I never meant to trick you, but after your kindness—after your warmth and understanding—to such a hideous man, I needed to know you. To speak with you while wearing my face. I could not tell you the truth even if I wanted to. I was afraid to share more of myself.”

  The final vestiges of her anger faded away, tempered by pity and sadness as the overwhelming understanding of what he had suffered crashed over her like ocean waves. “The curse.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do we break it?”

  He blinked at her. “You still care to break it? Even after I was dishonest to you?”

  “Yes. You’re here now to help me. But what I don’t understand is why you took my mother’s things. Why…” She lowered her palm to her lower abdomen and imagined the growing life inside her.

  “I meant what I said about jinn magic coming with a price. When I searched the desert to end my curse, I found Queen Yasmina and made a deal with her.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “For you,” he replied. “When she told me you’d need help, I… I traded her my gifts and my looks. Now my magic will last throughout the month, but I’m no more powerful than an ordinary jinni. And to provide material gifts such as this, I must ask something in return.”

  “And the baby?”

  His expression softened. “I had expected the sultan to keep his word and release you the first night, as well as the second. When they kept you a third, it was all I could think of.”

  “So you are a jinni.”

  “No,” Joaidane said. “My father was a grand ifrit.”

  She took an involuntary step back from him, eyes widening in surprise. “But that makes you…”

  “An ifrit half-breed and the nephew of Queen Yasmina herself. All these years, I’ve never known. Never cared to know his name. I’ve hated him for leaving my mother and scorned her attempts to speak of him.” He chuckled dry and bitter, unlike the warm laughter she’d loved to hear beneath the moonlight. “All this time, I discover I have a family. That I am a prince, and it means nothing.”

  “Vizier Bijam thinks you’re a common jinni bound to my family. Joaidane, he plans to make me marry him so he can control you. If he knew you were an ifrit’s child, he’d—”

  Joaidane snorted. “No one can control me, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I would do anything to protect you and our child.”

  “Then take me away from here!” she cried. “Whisk us all away from this awful place.”

  “I don’t have the power to do that. I’ve been bound, Zarina, and what little magic I have requires great sacrifices to use. Until the true depth of my power is restored, I can’t take a man’s life with my spells, and I can’t spirit you away. All I can do is receive paltry trinkets to make gold and simple luxuries.”

  “Then what can we do?”

  “To end my curse, you must discover my name.”

  “Joaidane. I already know your name.”

  “You know my birth name, but what you don’t know is the name of this form—this face—this curse I bear and have carried for three centuries. You must find the name, Zarina.”

  “How?”

  “Tales were told of my disgrace and passed from generation to generation, but I am no longer a cautionary tale in these southern lands. I am forgotten.”

  “Surely there’s something you can tell me that will help.”

  He pursed his lips and considered the question. “Although my mother and even Yasmina claimed my father loved her very much, I’ve gone my entire life without meeting him. My greatest wish is that our child will never know what I felt and that we will both raise him together. Break my curse, Zarina. I can tell you no more and have said all you need to know.”

  “But I am stuck here. Once Bijam sees all this wealth, he’ll marry me for certain.”

  He took her face between his hands. “Then you must find a way to delay him.”

  The doorknob rattled and keys jangled. Joaidane released her and stepped back.

  Zarina’s gaze darted to the opening door, but when she glanced to her side again, Joaidane was gone. He’d left her alone, but he hadn’t abandoned her.

  When Bijam strode inside, she met his gaze head-on without looking away or bowing. “It’s done.”

  “Wondrous,” Bijam said. He picked up the nearest skein and ran it through his hands. “But where is your jinni, girl? Why do you hide him when I know the truth?”

  “He is shy, Your Excellency, and only appears to me when I am alone.”

  “Well, we shall have to remedy that once we are wed. Come with me.”

  As they left, the two servants flanking him entered the room with wheelbarrows, no doubt to load and remove the precious commodities from within. With no guards in his company to drag Zarina away, she followed Bijam into the eastern wing of the palace where the light, airy colors had been traded for dark velvets and crimson silks.

  “My personal quarters,” he said, beckoning her into a lavish dining room. “No one will disturb us here, and we may speak freely without interruption.”

  When he clapped his hands, a group of male servants entered the room. The first entered bearing a platter covered in roasted meats cooked with savory spices. Behind him, a second man set down a silver plate of seared vegetables, a bowl of aromatic soup, and a basket filled with honey-slathered rolls. The last servant delivered bowls filled to the brim with sugar-coated berries.

  The three never raised their eyes from the floor, and each one backed out of the room bowed over.

  “Eat to your heart’s content.”

  His unexpected civility set her on edge. It’s a trap, Zarina thought, treating him as she would a viper she crossed in the sand: with respect and a healthy dose of caution. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I insist. If you’re worried about poison, my dear, you needn’t be. I can’t marry a dead woman.” He reached across the table, took her goblet, and sipped. He placed it beside her plate. “Does that set you at ease?”

  “I didn’t fear poison, Your Excellency.” Her traitorous belly rumbled noisily, making uncouth and improper sounds in the silent room. Despite the food Joaidane had summoned, her appetite returned with a vengeance, demanding to be sated after the long days of neglect.

  “Then what do you fear?”

  “Your sudden change of heart alarms me. You were cruel and cold to me, and now you’ve gifted me a feast, unlike any meal I’ve ever seen before.”

  Bijam laughed. “You also weren’t my betrothed before. Now eat.”
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br />   As much as she would have loved to resist and decline the meal, her belly ached with the desperate need for nourishment. And now she had a growing child to protect and nurture. With a resigned sigh, she picked up a silver utensil and spooned the first bite into her mouth.

  Flavors of exotic, fine spices exploded against her tongue, sweet cardamom in the creamy soup, fresh cinnamon, a bite of pepper. The bowl’s contents disappeared within minutes, and then she obliterated her weight in steak and vegetables before mopping up the remnants with warm bread.

  She didn’t stop until she saw the bottom of the berry dish.

  Bijam chuckled at her. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? My servants have drawn you a bath, so cleanse yourself. Indulge. Clothes have been sent up to your bedchamber, and I’m certain you’ll find them suitable.”

  Clinging to her dignity despite her overstuffed belly, she stiffened and stared him down. “I won’t wear one of your harem girl scraps.”

  “Of course not. I would never have my wife seen in such things. When you are ready, we’ll summon the priests and arrange for a dawn wedding.”

  Zarina cleared her throat. “I can’t be married at dawn. I need to visit my home.”

  “For what reason?” Bijam asked.

  “To see my family. Your thugs hurt my father and terrorized my brother. If I’m to marry you and share my jinni, I want to know my loved ones are safe. I want the freedom to walk the markets and to purchase my own wedding jewels and silks. I want to make my own dress.”

  She imagined no one before her had ever spoken with so direct and insolent a voice toward the vizier, but once the words began tumbling from her mouth, she couldn’t restrain herself.

  Bijam narrowed his eyes. “You speak boldly for an indebted woman. Mind your tongue or I might change my mind regarding our arrangement.”

  “Perhaps I realize my true value to you,” she shot back. “Kill me if you want, but you’ll never have the power of my jinni under your control. And if you harm me, you’ll only anger him as I’ve promised him a gift in exchange for his aid, and if you deny him, the debt will be yours to repay.”

  He stared at her. “What did you promise him?”

  “A child. My firstborn. Kill me and he will take your son instead,” she bluffed. Could a jinni take an adult child as payment?

  The vizier lurched forward with a hand clenched into a fist. “You foolish little—”

  Satisfied, Zarina smiled. Her question had been answered. “Do it! Hit me if you must, but it won’t change that you have no power over me now. The jinni is mine, not my family’s. I aided him, and now he serves only me.”

  “What’s to stop you from running with your jinni?”

  “You already know the answer to that. A jinni’s magic isn’t limitless. You’ve exhausted him with your demands of golden thread, and I own nothing else of value to bargain, especially nothing that could save my whole family. As much as I loathe him now, he’s still my father… and my brother Kazim is innocent. I won’t leave them to suffer in my place as I make an escape.”

  “Three days,” Bijam bit out. “I will grant you three days to handle your affairs, and then the guards will escort you back. If you try anything, I will have your family beheaded in front of you.”

  Chapter

  Loaned one of the sultan’s fine dunestriders to conduct her business in the town, Zarina galloped down the hill from the palace to Merchant’s Row. Startled faces observed her arrival and shoppers crowding the streets hurried from her path. Upon reaching the spice shop, she scrambled down from the saddle and sprinted to the door. It didn’t budge.

  Without a key to enter, she frowned and tested the door again, expecting her brother to emerge at any moment to greet her. “Kazim, please! Are you in there?”

  No one answered no matter how much she knocked and called. Frustrated, she whirled to return to the docile stallion, only to come face to face with Kokura and her son.

  “Zarina? What are you doing here? Never mind that, how did you escape from the palace?” Once a girl was taken to join the harem, no one saw her again until the sultanate exhausted her worth. To her family, she was dead, a lost child stolen to work the mines or serve in the sultan’s personal pleasure houses. If she did return, the young woman they had known was forever changed. Zarina had heard whispers that some wandered off to die in the deserts, too ashamed to burden their families.

  “I’ve been allowed to come say hello to my brother and father.”

  “Your brother hasn’t opened the shop since you were taken. He’s at home, caring for your father.”

  As usual, her father’s self-interests and greed had cost the family money they couldn’t afford to sacrifice. Within the week, she’d be experiencing the fine dining of the palace chefs in a forced life of luxury, while Kazim hired extra hands to help put bread on the table without her.

  Kazim deserved more.

  “Pijar and I came to make the morning spice deliveries for Kazim.” Kokura tousled the boy’s dark hair.

  “You mean I came to do them,” he grumbled.

  His mother smiled. “Perhaps once I’ve grown tired of creating new labors for you, you’ll appreciate the great blessings our family has received from the gods and understand how difficult life must be for others.”

  “Thank you, Kokura.” Zarina leaned close enough to kiss Pijar’s cheek. He ducked his chin, embarrassed. “And thank you, Pijar, for helping my family when we need it most.”

  A short ride through the city streets led her to the humble quarter where her family had lived since long before her birth. Curious eyes followed her journey down the narrow path and onto the central square, including the haunted eyes of a woman who had recently lost her youngest daughter to the palace harem.

  “Look, Mama, look, they’ve let Zarina return!” a young child called.

  Up ahead, her father’s home loomed before her, dark and foreboding. Looking at the house, she saw how much it had fallen into disrepair, needing paint, fresh clay shingles, and new windows. She left the sultan’s dune horse by the porch and climbed the stairs to test the knob. It opened, revealing the sparse interior of a home once rich in her mother’s collection of silk rugs, ceramics, and sculptures.

  The astringent smell of medicine and herbs welcomed her. She followed their scent to her father’s bedroom to find him lying in bed, swollen legs mottled with purple bruises and bound in splints. Kazim sat beside him on a low stool with a bowl of cool water and a cloth to bathe his forehead. He glanced up when she stepped inside and leaped to his feet.

  Her brother’s tight embrace raised her from the ground. “Zarina? How did you…? I don’t understand. I thought they had taken you forever.”

  “So did I. I convinced Vizier Bijam to let me visit you before the wedding.”

  Kazim released her and leaned back. “Wedding?”

  “I’ll explain all of it later. First, tell me what’s wrong with Father. What did they do to him?”

  “Both of his legs were broken in at least three places. He’s dying,” Kazim said. “And there is nothing I can do.”

  “Dying?” How many times had she told herself she wouldn’t care if he died, that she loathed him and could never forgive him? The threat of his mortality made his mistakes dim in comparison. “What’s wrong with him? What is killing him?”

  “What isn’t killing him?” he asked, chuckling a bitter, dark laugh. He wiped his tears with the back of his wrist. “His body has become dependent on the alcohol, and now without it, he shakes and goes into convulsions. Then there is the blood poisoning. The healers say the broken bones have sent disease into his veins and caused an infection requiring special herbs native to Cairn Ocland. I’ve emptied our coffers and paid an enormous fee to have them sent from Varkas, but there’s no guarantee the bundle will arrive in time. No carrier bird can fly with the speed this requires.”

  Staring down at her father, Zarina’s heart held more pity than anger. No matter the severity of his crimes, s
he never would have wished this fate upon him.

  “What can we do? Is there nothing else?”

  “A cleansing of the soul by the Supreme Healer and a ritual in the grand temple. Needless to say, her fee would bankrupt our coffers, even with the rare stock remaining in the vault. I visited the bank for a loan, but with only the shop to offer as collateral…”

  “Don’t,” Darrius said. “Not for me. Not now.”

  Kazim and Zarina stared at him. “You… don’t want us to save you?” she asked.

  “No. I’m… ready to see her again.”

  “Sometimes, he believes he does see Mother,” Kazim whispered in a low voice. “He speaks to her at night. You arrived during a rare moment of coherence.”

  “Zarina,” her father whispered. “Zarina, I am sorry.”

  “Shush, Father. Don’t speak. You need to rest.”

  A wheezing breath whistled in and out of her father’s chest. He trembled and shook, and his eyes rolled back. Kazim bathed his forehead with water, then drew the covers over the feverish man in the bed. He gestured for Zarina to follow him from the room.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been stuck with this burden,” Zarina said. She sank down on their small couch and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Don’t worry about that. Worry about yourself.” Her brother sat beside her. “Now, how did you escape? I’m happy to have you home, but I was positive none of us would ever see you again.”

  “Vizier Bijam wants to marry me for our family’s jinni.”

  “But we don’t have one. Only a few of the noble bloods have jinn. Doesn’t the sultan have his own?”

  She shook her head. “It escaped their control years ago, apparently. Now they want another. Mine.”

  “But you don’t have one. When he finds out you’ve lied, he’ll kill you, or worse, he’ll put you in the harem—”

  “I do.”

  Kazim’s eyes grew large. “How did you accomplish such a thing?”