“Let’s get in,” Saalim said suddenly.
“What?”
“I feel how much you desire it.” He smirked, his anguish leaving him the longer we stood in the oasis. “I remember the day I brought you here, you wanted to jump right in. Imagine how hard a time I had then, trying not to imagine you without clothes in the water.”
“You’re trying to distract me,” I said, turning to him.
“Is it working?”
I smiled, and his grew wider. “Yes. I’ve always wondered what it is like. But if I get in,” I slipped off my shoes, “promise me you will answer one more question.”
“The last one ever?” He said, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he looked to regret them, realizing that it very well might be.
I dipped my toes into the water. I rapidly pulled them out as I shivered. “It’s as cold as the sea.” I placed a foot in again, stepping further into the pool, and hesitated when the water came to my calves, soaking the hem of my pants. My teeth chattered.
He moved beside me and swiftly unwrapped the sash from his waist and let his pants fall from his hips. The light of the setting sun hit him square in the chest, casting his long shadow onto the rocks, between the trees, and out onto the desert behind him.
I marveled at him in the light. I noted every detail, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the veins on his hands, the length of his fingers. They were not mine to see forever, so I would remember them now.
He stepped past me and into the water without flinching. He sat down, the water coming up to his chest, bright against his skin. So opaque was the azurite water, I could not see his long body beneath its surface.
“Come in,” he said to me, his eyes flashing to mine. “It’ll get warmer.” He raised his hand to me, the water dripping from his fingers.
I laced my fingers in his and stepped into the water, its coldness causing me to tremble. My bottoms were soaked up to my hips. As I stepped nearer to Saalim, I felt the water warm.
“How?” I asked, edging closer.
“Magic.” The corners of his mouth turned up with amusement.
Bending my knees, I was submerged in the shallow pool. The water was pleasant surrounding him, and I wondered how much of the warmth was magic and how much was from the heat that seeped from his body. When I was within reach, he unfastened my top and peeled my bottoms from my legs. He took the soaked garments and tossed them behind him. The fabric dried in midair and fell into a quiet heap atop the sand.
The water rose to my chest. My long hair stuck to my skin and coalesced into inky, wet tendrils within the blue pool. The sun’s light hit me fully now, and Saalim gazed at me slowly. I wondered if he was noting every detail as I had done to him. His eyes wandered over my hair, my face, my neck, and shoulders. His gaze fell down to my breastbone and he seemed to stare just a little too long, his eyebrows gathering, his lips pursed.
“What is it?”
He shook his head and pulled me to him. “It’s nothing.”
That was a lie. “There is still something I do not understand,” I said. “You told me that you had not wanted me to know the tale of Madinat Almulihi, because you did not want to burden me with it. What did you mean? I want you to be free regardless of whether or not your freedom returns Madinat Almulihi. It changed nothing for me, only allowed me to understand better who you are.”
“I thought it obvious,” he said, looking puzzled. “The mark, of course.”
“My scars?” I tilted my head and reached my fingers back to touch the raised skin.
“No, not your scars. Your mark.” He stared at me, and when he saw that I did not understand, he asked, “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” I grew anxious. “What are you talking about?”
He reached his fingers toward my chest, pushing my hair away and gently touching the place above my heart.
“Right here,” he said slowly, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. “You almost glow. I thought you knew—that the healer told you?”
“What?” I looked down.
I could see now, in the direct light of the sun, that there was a radiance to my skin, resembling Saalim’s skin in that area alone. A golden sheen invisible out of the sun’s direct light. I brought my hand up and rubbed at it, noting the subtle increase in the temperature of my skin. I checked my fingers to see if it came off. There was nothing on my fingertips.
The healer? He had told me nothing.
But then I thought back to that evening, and I realized he had told me. He had pointed to my chest and said I was marked. Then, this love is like a draught of poison . . . Do not hesitate to drink.
The pieces were all there, but I could not place them. Could not yet understand.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You are marked by the magic of jinn. By my magic. I first noticed it at the Haf Shata party, but I did not realize what it was then. How it is here, on you, I will never understand. I didn’t do that. I would never . . . It is like a part of me was pressed here.” He was perplexed as he stared, tracing the area with his fingers over and over. It was like he, too, was trying to remove it.
I remembered the morning in the prison when I clutched the small pile of golden dust that had been left behind on my mat. How I pressed it to my chest in desperate longing for his return. Embarrassment flooded me at the memory. Saalim saw the change in my face and reached his hand to my chin, pulling it up so I looked at him.
“When?” he asked.
I explained. I told him how I had felt so confused yet excited by him. How never, before that morning, had I felt fluttering moths in my stomach that the stories describe of women falling in love. Even Aashiq, though I had indulged in dreams of a future shared with him, did not cause a stirring in me like Saalim.
He listened, taking my hands into his as he did, then his face crumpled, and he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me. He clung to me tightly, desperately, like he was scared I was going to fly away.
He said, “Not long ago, I began hearing rumors from the mouths of cavalier guards and servants. Those that serve your father but consider themselves part of the Dalmur. I heard them say that the healer had found the marked one. A woman of the palace would be the one who would right the desert. The healer had told the woman, they said, so she knew. So they had to sit back and wait.”
“But that was so long ago. Why did they attack at the Haf Shata party?”
“After the men were killed, I presume the healer told all of the Dalmur about you. They did not want more senseless deaths.”
“And now, they wait for me because,” I waded through a haze of disbelief and uncertainty, “I . . . I carry your mark.”
“Do you see why I am upset? Do you see why I did not want you to know my part of the story?”
I shook my head, pulling away from him.
“All of my life, I have wanted freedom from Masira, from my blind cage. But then I found you, and for once, Emel, I have not thought of it. I have thought of nothing but you. I want nothing more than to be around you, with you. I want nothing less than I want to be free right now.
“I did not understand it before, but when I realized what this was . . . I understood it all, though I wished so desperately for another explanation.” He touched my chest. “Your father says you are marked and that is why you do not belong amongst the ahiran. He does not recognize how right he is. Yes, you are scarred.” His fingers trailed along the ridges on my back. “But that does not matter. You are marked by the jinn.” His fingers pressed mine against my chest. “That can only be sanctioned by Masira. You do not belong amongst the ahiran, Emel, because you belong to something higher. When you chose me, Masira chose you.” His eyes were lit with fear, and he looked down to the surface of the water. “And I hate it, because she has taken your decision from you.”
When you desire it least. Watch for the one who carries your mark.
All of the pieces slammed into me, together at last.
>
So I had to free him.
Was I the only one who could? Or was it that there would never be a time again when everything came together as the enchantress described? Perhaps anyone could free him, but only I could resurrect a city, uncover a gentler desert.
How had everything converged at once? Was it that Masira arranged it all? Or was it coincidence and all of these things could have happened at any time? Matin and his soldiers had known my father had Saalim. After so many years in the Salt King’s possession, the jinni was no longer a secret. I wondered how they finally learned. What drove them to come? When had my mother learned about Saalim’s existence? I remembered the occasions where she asked me if I was in love, if I was seeing someone. Did she suspect that I was seeing Saalim? She must have. She gave me her necklace with the mark of Saalim’s home, what all of the Dalmur had, surely hoping that if they carried the mark and found the jinni, they could bring about the change. She must have hoped I would piece it all together. She thought if I held the mark, I could free the jinni to bring about the resurrection of Madinat Almulihi. Maybe she even dreamed I would live there one day.
Mama, if only you knew.
I touched my fingers to my chest where a golden warmth was imprinted on my skin. I was suddenly scared as I understood what I must do.
Saalim interrupted my thoughts. “Emel, I love you. And not because you are marked. I would carve that magic from your chest myself if it meant I could have you forever. I don’t care about that. I don’t care what Zahar said.
“You are the wind through the leaves, the feathers of an eagle’s wings, the current of the ocean, the smell of the desert during rain. You give me life, Emel, so how could I live without you? Please, don’t think of my freedom. It is not what I want.” In his pleading, I could see that he was desperate, he was terrified.
I said, “You ask too much. To not think of you, to not think of the people who weep with hope that something will change, to ignore the people who will die when my father fails to open the salt trade again. How can I ignore that? How can I choose—”
“Please,” he said earnestly as he kissed my face and neck and fingers and hands. His mouth, his touch conveying what he did not say aloud. “You can’t stay in this life, Emel. You can’t go with Ibrahim.”
“I have an impossible choice,” I said. “It is so easy for you to ask me to spare myself, damn the desert to Eiqab’s sun, leave you imprisoned for eternity. But Saalim, the weight of that decision will be on my shoulders for the rest of my life.”
Quietly, he said, “I made the choice for my people and home, Emel, and the heaviness of that decision stays with me. I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Don’t leave yourself behind for the sake of everyone else. No, you will not carry the same guilt, but you will be miserable in different ways. Choosing yourself can feel wrong. But often, it is the most important thing you can do.”
Did Saalim wish he had fought the soldiers? Chosen to face his death in futile defense of his home?
I saw as his eyes met mine how much he meant what he said, heard the pain in his voice. With Saalim, I was loved, I was safe. I thought of what and who I was before him—a small, sad woman. I had not known how much fuller life could be when shared with someone who loved me and whom I loved back. How could I wish for my freedom? How could I wish for his? How would I choose?
Considering how I might craft my wish, the structure of my words and the intention of my heart, I thought of what I could say and feel that would bring about what I wanted. Freedom for us both. I had to believe that we could have a life together, an unbound future. I had to believe like the Dalmur believed.
My breath caught in my throat.
He said a future together was impossible, but I did not have to allow that to be true. Why couldn’t I fight like the Dalmur? Why couldn’t I fight with them?
“Saalim,” I said, breathless. “I love you.”
I placed my hand on his cheek softly. Though I am sure he had felt it in my longing for him, I wanted him to hear it from my lips. Before I made my decision.
As the sunlight reflecting from the water touched his face, I saw that in his smile, there was sadness. The unforgettable impossibility of our love always circling like a vulture.
“You can love a jinni, a man owned by another?”
“I can love you. Even if Masira has given us only this moment, I love you for it all.”
And I will find you, Saalim. I will find you no matter what happens to us. I will fight for us, come what may.
He reached his hands around my neck and pulled me to him, pressing his mouth roughly against mine. Unrestrained need broke from him as he held me firmly against his chest. I crawled atop his lap as he leaned back against the sandy bank of the pool. His eager fingers travelled over my shoulders and arms then moved down over my body into the depths of the water. My hands followed in kind, tracing greedily over his jaw, neck, and chest. Feeling him, cherishing him. Echoing his hands beneath the surface of the pool.
My hands found him waiting for me, so I rose to meet him, my chest briefly rising above the water. His gaze traveled across my skin, the golden flare above my heart. He cried out into the sky—a sound of agony and ecstasy and despair. Had the world been awake, had it not been stilled for us alone, all would have heard his call.
I felt the desperation in how Saalim held me, moved against me, kissed me, breathed into me, pressing his cheek to my chest as I moved atop him. I felt the fear in him. A fear that mirrored mine. The fear of goodbye. As if he knew he was seeing me, touching me, and loving me for the last time. I cradled his head and neck in my hands, trailed my kisses across his lips and face.
I love you for now, I love you forever.
Our limbs tangled together as we loved in the small pool, our worship turning a quiet pond into a crashing ocean.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We rose from the pool. The softest cotton appeared in his hands, and he gently pressed it against my wet skin, kissing the dryness it left behind. We dressed together, as partners do. I let him hold me in his warm arms, inhaling the scent of Madinat Almulihi that rolled off of him. When he kissed me, I relished the taste of him, the feel of his lips on mine. I closed my eyes, committing everything to memory.
Then, I asked him to take me home.
The sun returned to the top of the sky. I was back to the moment when Saalim had taken me from the palace. Back to when my father had declared I was to spend the rest of my life as Omar’s toy.
We were in front of my home. The guards who stood beside the tent entrance were unmoving, unseeing, unhearing, unaware of the world around them.
“Saalim,” I said, voice tight with resolve, “keep time still. I have something I must do.”
“What do you plan?” He grew more concerned with each request and my sudden change in mood. I did not explain. Even though Saalim was only bound to protect his master from harm, I could not risk that Masira would sense my intention to interfere with the King and disrupt the magic.
“Just give me time,” I said, my tone sharper than I had intended.
“Of course,” he replied, bowing his head slightly, looking askance at me.
I walked down lanes and through the rings of tents full of stilled people. I walked slowly, but purposefully, each step requiring an enormous effort, each breath requiring control. If I lost focus, if I lost my restraint, I knew I would turn back. The fear of my choice would consume me.
He asked me to tell him where I was going, what I was doing.
I did not, could not, respond.
When I arrived at the first towering, ivory tent, I stepped past the frozen guards into a long room that was clearly used as my father’s keep. There were unmoving slaves hovering over gleaming scimitars, polishing thick daggers, sharpening blades. I had never been in this part of the palace before, but my determination prevented me from lingering, from inspecting the unfamiliar surroundings.
Saalim trailed me as I navigated through the palace
until I found myself in the throne room. How different—how small and flimsy—it was from the room Saalim described in the palace of Almulihi. A guard sat upon the ground, his head hanging low, chin resting on his chest, deep in sleep. Piles of loose salt and stacks of salt bricks were scattered around the room. So much salt, all in my father’s uncaring hands. It added to my resolve. I would fix this.
I glanced at Saalim, remembering when I had first released him from his vessel. How scared I was then, how different I was now. How little I had understood, how little I had to hope for.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Do you remember when I released you?” I spoke quietly, foolishly not wanting to disturb the statuesque sleeper at the edge of the room.
“Yes,” he replied, stepping toward me and taking my hand in his. “I could not believe my fortune.”
I looked into his eyes. Concern darkened his gaze. He smiled softly, a coaxing gesture and silent request. It was so vulnerable. A deep ache bloomed in my chest when I looked at him, the pain nearly swallowing me whole. I broke my gaze as a sobbing gasp escaped my throat. I turned from him and walked through to the next room.
“Emel!” Saalim cried, hearing me weep.
It is what must be done. It is what I must do.
I shook my head. Tears spilled down my face. My throat ached with the effort of curbing my cries.
I moved forward. If I hesitated for one moment, I would turn back and beg him to take me back to the blue pool so we could string a hammock and dance under the shadows of leaves until the day I died.
Finally, I found my father’s sleeping quarters. Steadying myself, I focused on my intention as though Masira was listening. I pose no threat to my father, I have no need to harm him. I repeated it over and over to myself, feeling it in my bones.
Nervously, I peered in. If I overstepped, if I crossed the boundary that Saalim must maintain, the magic would be disrupted. The world would move forward once again, and my father would find me in his room.
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