Freedom's Slave

by Heather Demetrios

  Calar gazed at him, her eyes growing heavy. “You and Ri are the one good thing,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. “The one. Good. Thing.”

  Kes waited until Calar’s breaths became deep and even, then slipped out of her room.

  Kes looked over his shoulder before ducking into a small shop, the door beneath a swinging elaborate sign that read The Dragon’s Lair, and then smaller, beneath it: We Grant on Demand. Small advertisements for granted items hovered in the window: animals, fine jewelry, items from Earth, foods fit for an empress. Under each was its value in nibas or “even trade wishes.” There had been several of these shops in Arjinna, but this was the only legal one currently in operation. Ever since Calar had banned manifestation for all castes but licensed Ifrit, such establishments were few and far between in The Vein. And even if she hadn’t instituted the ban, only the most educated jinn knew how to manifest items beyond the very basic necessities for living. A jinni couldn’t manifest something he’d never seen before, so the former serfs of Arjinna, now free of their masters, remained as destitute as ever.

  A small bell hovering in midair above the door jangled as Kes entered the shop.

  “Bartering today?” said the boy at the counter without looking up. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Kes and he scrambled to stand. “Sir General. Jahal’alund.”

  “Jahal’alund, Quan,” he said, holding back a laugh at the greeting. For nearly two years the boy had been calling him that, unable to choose which word to refer to him by.

  “Your friends are in the granting room,” Quan said, gesturing to a door down a short hallway to his right. “Would you like some chal?”

  “Yes, thank you,” he said. “No sugar.”

  A hot cup of tea, something that scalded a little—that was just what he needed.

  Quan smiled. “I know.”

  Kes reached out and ruffled his hair and the boy beamed, pleased at the attention. He was an orphan Kes had taken under his wing after the boy’s parents died in a skirmish with the tavrai. He knew of no one more loyal to him than this child and trusted Quan with both his life and one of his biggest secrets—the meetings that happened in the shop’s discreet back room with high-ranking members of the Ifrit military.

  He started to walk past the boy but stopped when he noticed a gun tucked away on a small shelf beneath the counter. “Where did that come from?” he asked.

  “A jinni bartered it for a new house,” he said. “My master said that was a good deal for us. A very good deal.”

  “He’s right,” Kes said. “These are extremely hard to come by.” He frowned. “Did the jinni who bartered say where he got the gun from?”

  “I overheard a little. There’s a jinni in the Vein,” he said. “He gave guns to many jinn.”

  “What did this jinni with the guns expect in return?” Kes asked.

  “Nothing,” Quan said.

  Somebody was arming civilians—the tavrai, of course. And he had a pretty good idea who was helping them.

  “Who’s giving the guns away?” Kes asked.

  “There are some rumors, but . . .” Quan grew uncomfortable. “I do not wish to say. If my master knew I was speaking about his business—”

  Kes placed his hand over his heart. “I swear on my life I will not harm this jinni or let anyone know where I got this information,” he said. “And you know I keep my vows.”

  The worry on Quan’s face swept away. “Yes, Sir General, I know.”

  Kes could still remember this scrap of a boy huddled outside a burning house, cheeks stained with tears. He’d lost his whole family in one night. I’ll take care of you for as long as I live, he’d promised the boy. As soon as it was safe, he planned to move Quan to the palace. Yasri could use an older brother.

  “His name is Yurik,” Quan whispered, even though they were the only ones in the front portion of the shop.

  “Yes, I know him. He’s a good jinni. If anything ever happens to me, you go to him. Tell him I sent you.”

  The boy smiled. “He gave me candy.”

  “Did he now?” Kes reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-niba piece. “I suppose you could use some more?”

  Quan nodded, grinning. “Oh, yes, Sir General.”

  Kes had long suspected Yurik of involvement with the tavrai, but he’d never had proof. When he was ready, he’d bring Yurik into his circle of conspirators—the jinni would be someone who could procure arms, help with logistics. But would the enigmatic owner of the realm’s most popular tavern be willing to work with the Ifrit on that level? Yurik appeared to take no sides in the ongoing civil war—his tavern was frequented by jinn of all castes. And yet now Kes knew he was an agent for the tavrai. Despite that, he’d helped Kes hide Aisouri children. An interesting character, Yurik.

  “Make sure you bring enough tea for everyone,” Kes said, patting Quan’s shoulder as he moved down the hallway.

  The circular meeting room behind the shop was lit by torches placed in elaborate wall sconces. An enchanted trough of lava bubbled in the corner, there for Quan’s master to replenish his chiaan after granting. The jinni sitting in the granter’s thronelike armchair stood as Kes entered. It wasn’t Quan’s employer, Ahmi Ifri’Or, but one of Kes’s most trusted soldiers, here for the first time.

  “General,” the jinni said with a slight bow. Halem was one of his best captains, but Kes had long suspected the jinni’s dissatisfaction with the way Calar was running the realm. It was why Kes was here tonight, risking his life to recruit him for the Ifrit revolt. Leaning against a wall were the twins—Xala and Urum. The mage and Fazhad had yet to arrive.

  “Thank you for coming,” Kes said, nodding first to Halem and then the twins.

  “We told him nothing,” Xala said.

  “Though we were tempted,” Urum added.

  “I admit, the mystery is intriguing,” Halem said. “I, of course, serve at the pleasure of the empress.”

  Xala and Urum exchanged a glance.

  “How are your troops?” Kes asked. The door opened and Fazhad slipped in, nodding her greetings.

  Halem ran a hand over his unshaven face. “I’m sure you can imagine the rumors about this army that came out of the Eye.”

  Kes nodded. “Empress Calar’s recent work with the Ash Crones will likely dispel some of that fear.”

  He hated the shadows, but there was no doubt they would ensure Ifrit victories. No one in the realm had the power to defeat such evil. How do you kill an enemy that can’t bleed?

  Halem crossed his arms, worry flashing in his crimson eyes. “I welcome the empress’s assistance, of course, but . . .” He hesitated, and it was this hesitation Kes had witnessed so often in his captain that gave him the confidence to set up this meeting in the first place.

  “But . . . you’re concerned about the effects her plans might have on our people?” Kes said.

  “I would never . . .” Halem coughed slightly and tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He cast a nervous glance at Xala and Urum. “What I mean to say is—”

  Kes moved closer. “Halem. You can speak freely here. You’ve been called to this meeting because we believe that you can assist us in our efforts to heal Arjinna.” He felt Xala and Urum shift closer, their bodies unconsciously taking on defensive positions, ready to attack if Halem showed any sign of being loyal to Calar. “I no longer believe that Calar should be empress of our realm,” Kes said. “I’m hoping you feel the same way.”

  Halem stared, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. It would be comical, if such a conversation wouldn’t lead to the firing squad.

  “Sir, you speak . . . you speak treason,” Halem stammered.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Thus far, Kes had found that being direct was the best approach. If a jinni did not have an itch for rebellion or was content to suffer under Calar, he could always say he’d been trying to entrap them, a clandestine effort to root out the disloyal from his ranks. So far, though, Kes’s hunches had
proven to be correct.

  “There’s a small group of us,” Kes continued, motioning to Xala, Urum, and Fazhad. “We’re planning to overthrow her. But right now, our numbers are too small and I fear Calar will find out before we have a chance to take her down.”

  There was a soft knock on the door and Kes held up a hand. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Sir General,” Quan said. “And the old Shaitan.”

  That would be Ajwar Shai’Dzar, Nalia’s father and Kes’s closest Shaitan contact. They hadn’t seen each other since their encounter at the palace, but Thatur passed messages back and forth between them.

  “All right,” Kes said, his heart rate slowing. He hated putting Quan in this danger. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to the boy because of him.

  Quan came in with a tea tray, followed by Ajwar. He glided in, silent, and went to stand beside Fazhad while Quan set the tray on the stone table in the center of the room. The boy bowed, then retreated, closing the door behind him.

  Halem stared at Ajwar. “You,” he breathed. “You’re supposed to be dead. I heard Calar issue the order myself.”

  “The gods protect those who serve the realm’s true empress,” Ajwar said.

  He had that soft, lilting tone of scholars accustomed to few words and hours of silent contemplation. Now, in the room’s light, Kes could see the Shaitan more clearly. Three years ago, he’d been a handsome jinni, dressed in the finest sawalas, lover of a Ghan Aisouri, father to another. All that had changed under Calar. Now he was gaunt, his hair long and gray, and he had a hunted look, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes shifting continually. But that was nothing compared to the burns that disfigured his face.

  Kes turned to Halem, who was now watching him closely. “Tell me your thoughts, Captain.”

  “You could be trying to test my loyalty,” Halem said. “Although, I must admit, that is unlike you.”

  Kes had worked hard to prove to his jinn that he was more than Calar’s rohifsa. The success of the coup was, in large part, due to Kes’s efforts as commander of Calar’s forces. Since then, the Ifrit Army had entrusted their lives to him without question.

  “It would be a poor way to repay you for your blood pledge,” Kes agreed.

  He watched Halem’s face, keeping his own neutral, impassive. Had he made a mistake in thinking this jinni would fight with him? The other jinn in the room watched in silence, their bodies tense. He could feel their hope, their fear. And Kes knew if he was wrong about this jinni, he’d have to kill him.

  “I lost my sister in the purges last month,” Halem said softly.

  Now it was Kes’s turn to be surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me she was arrested? I would have spoken to Calar for you—”

  “By the time I found out, it was too late. She was already gone.” Halem shook his head, his lips turned down. “Besides, would that have made a difference?”

  Calar had rarely shown mercy, but Kes had usually been able to convince her to accept a less violent path. Not anymore. His influence with her was waning—and it seemed his soldiers knew it.

  “Perhaps not,” Kes said. “What was she executed for?”

  “An informant claimed she was secretly working for the resistance,” he said. From Halem’s tone, it was clear he didn’t believe this to be true. He ground his teeth, holding back a rage that Kes knew well. “Is killing Calar part of your plan?” Halem asked, his voice hard.

  “Yes,” Kes said.

  His accomplices looked at Kes in surprise. He hadn’t had a chance to fill them in on his change of heart after seeing what her shadows did in that Marid village.

  “Then count me in.”

  Kes felt the tension drain out of him. “Good. We need you.”

  Halem addressed the room. “What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll hopefully be working with the tavrai to coordinate our attack,” Kes said. “We still need more Ifrit to come over to our side—a lot more. I’m training to protect my mind against Calar’s power. As soon as I’m certain she can’t get in, we’ll set everything in motion. If I try too soon, I’ll have ruined our entire operation. This . . . may take a long time. But we have to do it right. I won’t try to assassinate her until my teacher believes I’m ready.” Thatur had been sure to let Kes know in their last training session that he was far from ready. “Right now, we’re just trying to get recruits, do reconnaissance.”

  “Why not just kill her now?” Halem said. “Forgive me for my bluntness, sir, but . . . don’t you share a bed? Why not just smother her in the night?”

  This time Ajwar spoke, his soft voice barely discernible. “Calar is incredibly powerful, as you know. There can be no room for error. If Kesmir’s thoughts of killing her are too strong, it could wake her and her mind could incinerate him instantly unless he knows how to block her attacks. Once he can properly protect his mind, then we have a greater chance at being successful. Not only that, it does us no good to assassinate her without a clear plan for what comes after. All we’d be doing is creating another civil war.”

  That was Kes’s greatest concern. Right now, the war had two fronts: the Ifrit and the tavrai. Kes’s resistance within the Ifrit ranks was adding a third front. But once Calar was gone, what would happen? If there was no plan, there would still be three fronts to the war, and little gained. Utter chaos.

  Halem leaned forward, his eyes bright. “But Calar would be dead, no? Surely any future that doesn’t contain her is preferable to the lives we lead now.”

  “My concern is for our people,” Kes said. “If we don’t do this right, hundreds—maybe thousands more—will be killed. I don’t want to give Calar the chance to crush us before we’ve even started.”

  “She won’t,” Xala said with conviction.

  “Not if we can help it,” Urum added.

  A low laugh escaped Halem’s lips.

  “You all right there, Captain?” Fazhad said. She glanced at Kes and raised her eyebrows.

  Halem looked up, and the weight Kes had seen around Halem’s eyes and mouth disappeared. “Forgive me, but . . . we’re going to kill the jinni who murdered my sister,” he said. “My wildest dream is about to come true.”

  18

  RAIF STUMBLED INTO HIS LUDEEN AT DUSK AND FELL into bed. He didn’t take off his clothes, even though he’d spent the past day in them, burning the dead and fighting a battle before that. He smelled of ashes, blood, and sweat. He smelled of failure.

  There’d been hours chopping wood, stacking it, standing beside each pyre, blaming himself for every loss. He’d allowed Calar to lure him into her trap because he’d needed to stop thinking of Nalia, because he wanted to prove to the tavrai that he was still himself, despite loving an Aisouri. All he’d wanted to do was kill as many of Calar’s jinn as he could, and he’d jumped into the fray, heedless of the cost.

  And so, as usual, he’d learned the truth the hard way. Raif wouldn’t be able to fight this war and honorably lead the tavrai if even a small part of him believed Nalia was still alive out there, waiting for him to rescue her. Seeing the eyes of that dead Ghan Aisouri child had decimated him. He’d gotten so used to Nalia’s eyes looking at him with love or fury or defiance. Her eyes were epic, crushing. He saw them every time he closed his own. And now. Now all he could see was that dead child, and he wondered if this was what Nalia’s eyes looked like, wherever she was.

  Stop it, he told himself.

  There was work to do, decisions to be made. If there were more Aisouri children out there, he had to find them, hide them—for Nalia. It was what she would have wanted. Taz had told him about the Ifrit who wanted to be their spy and that there were more Aisouri—if Calar’s skag general could be believed. Lot of good it would do them, since the bastard didn’t know how to fight Calar’s shadow army. Funny how he waited to offer his assistance until after those monsters massacred our jinn, he’d said to Taz, before turning away. You can tell that jinni to go fuck himself.

  Taz had gently clapped him on
the back before going to throw more bodies onto the flames. I’ll let you sleep on it, brother.

  Now Raif lay on his back, too worn out to fall asleep. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Taz; much as Raif hated Kesmir, he admired a jinni who placed the lives of innocent jinn above his own soldiers. One who wasn’t afraid to execute those soldiers when they did despicable things. And he couldn’t forget how Kesmir had all but tried to hand him Calar on the battlefield. Unless he’d just wanted it to appear that way? It had all happened so fast, Raif didn’t know what to think. And then there’d been Samar, dying midair. He was one of the few jinn who had come to really know Nalia, to have spent more than a few fleeting days with her in the Eye. Now it was just Raif, Zanari, and Noqril who knew the real Nalia—not the demigoddess Taz and Touma and all the rest made her out to be. They knew the girl who laughed in delight when she saw something beautiful, the one who collapsed from grief, too broken to be a daughter of the gods. Her gentle counsel, the fierceness with which she protected the people she loved. And then there were all those things only Raif knew. Memories of her sighs and her taste and the feel of her body beneath his own were stored up inside him like precious jewels in a locked box.

  What would Nalia have done?

  He’d caught himself asking this question, over and over. Before he met her, Raif had rarely second-guessed his decisions. Now it was all he did. He tried to imagine her, sitting on the edge of the bed or pacing the room, arguing with him.

  People change, she might say. Kesmir’s our only chance at getting close to Calar. An alliance with him would only make us stronger.

  No, Nalia wouldn’t say that. Kesmir Ifri’Lhas was Calar’s lover, her right hand. Other than the Ifrit empress, he’d be the first on her list to die. But was that true? Nalia didn’t like killing—look at the kindness she’d shown Malek. And if anyone had deserved to die by Nalia’s hand, it was that pardjinn who’d stolen three years of her life. That slaver had tortured her every day of her years in captivity and she’d grieved him, even burned his body so that he wouldn’t have to wander the shadowlands as she now did. His rohifsa’s greatest weakness—and greatest strength—had always been her ability to show mercy.