Freedom's Slave

by Heather Demetrios

  She threw the bolt into the ground and it stabbed the green line Raif had drawn, scorching the earth so that the line disappeared, the tavrai crying out as they moved back as one.

  “Together, we can defeat Calar and heal our realm,” she said to the jinn assembled as she backed away from the circle. “There is no us or them—just we. This fighting brings us no closer to our freedom. And it ends tonight.”

  Nalia turned her back without another word and rushed to her father’s side, leaving Jaqar panting in the dust. Ajwar Shai’Dzar’s eyes fluttered open. He smiled, weak, and lifted a hand to his daughter’s cheek.

  “My beautiful Empress.”

  He slumped against Touma, unconscious. A jinni in white robes rushed to him with her bag of supplies. Nalia stiffened. Could she trust a tavrai healer to care for a former Shaitan overlord?

  The jinni looked up, her deep blue eyes kind. “I do not take sides in these conflicts. I only fight disease and pain. Your father is safe with me.”

  Strong arms encircled her as Raif helped her to her feet. “Nice trick with the lightning,” he said, brushing his lips against her hair.

  He went in and out of focus. “Nalia?”

  Darkness.

  “You know we have to kill her, right?”

  Shirin turned at the sound of Jaqar’s rough voice. His face was ashen and he rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Nalia had really done a number on him. The fact that he was even walking pointed to the healer’s abilities more than to his strength.

  After seeing what Nalia had done with the lightning, Shirin had turned and run blindly into the forest, only stopping on the banks of a small pond once she was too tired to go on.

  “We?” she said.

  “You want to kill the salfit just as much as I do—don’t pretend otherwise.” Jaqar massaged his cheek, which was already sporting a sizable bruise from where Nalia had punched him.

  “You’re right, I do,” she said. “But she’s apparently all-powerful and Raif has the ring. We’re screwed.”

  Jaqar’s eyes flashed, bright in the moonlight that filtered through the treetops. “So what, after everything that’s happened to us, we’re just going to . . . give in? Shirin, if we let this go on, we might as well return to the plantations and kiss our overlords’ rings.”

  His voice trembled with emotion on that last word, reminding Shirin that behind his tough exterior, Jaqar had endured his fair share of loss, humiliation, and pain. Everything he did was to ensure none of them had to live the life they’d been born into ever again. His posturing was all armor. Now, he’d finally let her see beneath it. They’d come a long way from their frenzied, rough lovemaking in the forest.

  “Jaqar, there’s no way in all hells we’ll be able to kill an Aisouri. She made it through the Eye—lived there for a whole godsdamn year! You saw what she could do . . . that lightning.”

  Jaqar smiled. “You’re absolutely right. We’d be fools to fight her.”

  She threw up her hands. “Then what are we arguing about this for?”

  “I didn’t say we shouldn’t kill her—I said we shouldn’t fight her. You know what I thought was interesting?”

  Shirin said nothing, only raised her eyebrows. There was plenty she’d found interesting.

  “The first thing she did was run straight to Djan’Urbi. The look on her face—tell me she wouldn’t do anything to protect him.”

  “She doesn’t need to protect him. Raif has the ring,” she said.

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “What do you mean? We saw her give it to him—”

  “Do you remember what Raif said at that first council meeting after he came back from Earth?” Jaqar said. “The Aisouri was obligated by a vow to give him the ring, but he’d chosen to have her carry it because it was safest with her.”

  “What’s your point, Jaqar?” Shirin snapped.

  “I think he’ll have the Aisouri keep the ring again. As you said—she’s apparently all-powerful. Why would he keep the ring on him if he doesn’t want to use it?”

  “Well, great, it’ll be even harder to get—” Shirin’s stomach gave a sickening turn. “You want to use Raif as bait.”

  Jaqar nodded. “Give the Aisouri a choice—the ring or his life.”

  “She’ll call our bluff. Keep the ring, kick our asses, and save Raif. We’ll be back at square one—and that’s if she doesn’t kill us.”

  Shirin didn’t have many standards, but this was one of them: you don’t kill the people you love. There was no way, in any universe or situation, in which she would kill Raif.

  Jaqar leaned against a tree, a thoughtful expression on his face. “She doesn’t know you wouldn’t be willing to kill Raif—she doesn’t know the first thing about you. Or me, for that matter. Raif’s shat on everything we believe in, betrayed all the tavrai who’ve pledged their blood to him. That’s as good a reason to kill a jinni as I’ve ever heard.”

  She pushed past him. “This is ridiculous—”

  He grabbed her arm before she could leave, his grip painful. “We need to act soon, Shirin. We have a window of opportunity while they’re still in the camp. We don’t do this now, it’s over.”

  She wished there was another battle to fight right now so she could kill everything in sight.

  “You know I’m right,” he said softly, letting go of her arm. “We have to get that ring. And the Aisouri has to die.”

  If Nalia died after a year of his grieving her, Raif would be dead, too. But what other choice did they have? Nalia was back; there were more Aisouri children popping up than ever before. The caste was rebuilding itself and everything would just go back to how it was.

  Shirin ran a hand through her hair. “Let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that she takes her chances and fights us? Then we’ve gained . . . nothing.”

  “She knows guns are faster than chiaan.”

  Oh.

  “And if Raif has the ring?”

  “We outnumber him, take it, then command the Aisouri to leave the realm—or command her to kill herself. Whatever. Simple as that.”

  Whatever. Like killing Raif’s rohifsa was all in a day’s work.

  Shirin shook her head. “I can’t, Jaqar. This isn’t who we are. We have to find another way—”

  “There is no other way, Shirin!” he shouted, finally losing his temper. “If we don’t kill her and get that ring as far away from her as possible, then the Ghan Aisouri will be in power once again. And, this time, they’ll have a ring that can enslave us all.”

  “Raif would never let that happen,” she said.

  Jaqar gave her a pitying look and her face warmed. “It’s no secret that you want to bed the commander, sister. I, for one, don’t care what you do in your free time, so long as it’s not letting traitors go free.” He sighed. “You disappoint me, Shirin—I thought you had the instincts to lead us. Maybe I was wrong.”

  Shirin shoved Jaqar up against a tree, her lips nearly touching his. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you can use that against me. After what he pulled today, I want to see Raif hang just as much as you do.” She could taste the lie, bitter and numbing. “But we’re not going to do it like this, in secret, like thugs. We’ll have a council meeting and a vote.”

  “A raiga without teeth is no raiga at all,” Jaqar said.

  Shirin pushed off him and crossed to the pond, shaking. She stared at the still water as the rage and love and hurt tumbled through her. She could never kill Raif. And everyone knew it. She was such a godsdamn fool.

  “You can’t save the life of a tyrant just to keep one man’s heart from breaking,” Jaqar said.

  The words burrowed into her, deep. She felt the horrible truth of them in her bones.

  Nalia had to die. And if it killed Raif to see her gone, then so be it. This was war—none of them had expected to live through it, anyway. And this—this would kill Shirin, too. Whatever made Shirin Shirin shattered into a thousand pieces as she made t
he decision to destroy Raif’s life.

  “All right,” she said. “What do you have in mind?”

  36

  RAIF HAD HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO LEAVE NALIA IN THE healer’s ludeen, which was located in the hollow of an improbably large widr tree. He’d posted Thatur, Touma, and a regiment of Brass soldiers outside while he helped to burn the prison battle’s dead. Nalia only learned all this after she awoke from dreamless sleep several hours later, panicked and lost.

  “Raif,” she gasped.

  Nalia looked around for her rohifsa, the white phoenix, anything familiar.

  “He’ll be back soon,” said a quiet voice from a corner of the ludeen. The healer Nalia had briefly spoken to in the clearing smiled, her hands full of fragrant herbs.

  “I’m Aisha,” she said, handing Nalia a warm cup of chal after she sat up.

  She reminded her so much of Phara, Zanari’s sweet healer who’d patched up Nalia more than once. But, instead of being a Shaitan, as most healers were, Aisha had sapphire eyes. A Marid.

  “Thank you,” Nalia said as she accepted the thick clay mug. “I know it must be hard to help someone your people hate.”

  Aisha shrugged. “The tavrai have only ever known sorrow. They were fed it at their mother’s breast. You terrify them—your power, how you’ve changed our commander. They can already feel the shackles returning.”

  “And you?”

  “A Djan loving a Ghan Aisouri gives me hope. And hope is a rare thing these days. We need more of it.”

  Aisha mixed a compound with a mortar and pestle, then crossed the ludeen. “May I?” she said, gesturing to Nalia’s tunic.

  Nalia nodded and Aisha gently lifted the long shirt. The ugly gash across her abdomen was now only a faint red line.

  “Wow,” Nalia said. “Those are some herbs.”

  Aisha smiled. “The Forest of Sighs has many secrets.”

  The healer rubbed a dark-blue paste over the wound and a tingling coolness spread through Nalia. Then she held a small bottle up to Nalia’s lips.

  “Just a healing tonic,” she said at Nalia’s questioning glance. It tasted of rosemary and cloves with a slight medicinal bitterness.

  Nalia lay back against the pillows, almost crying at the feel of a mattress beneath her body and soft sheets against her skin. She sank into its warmth, the first bed she’d lain in for over a year. And light that banished the darkness—candlelight and lanterns filled with wisps of chiaan the color of a calm tropical sea. The healer’s room had been carved out of the velvety wood of a widr and carried the tree’s faint, familiar scent. Nalia breathed deeply. She was home. Alive. It was so unexpected, so wonderful, that she laughed softly, turning her head into the pillow.

  “Maybe I gave you too much of that tonic,” Aisha said.

  Nalia shook her head. “No, no. I just . . . the Eye . . .” She shivered, pulling the blankets closer to her, joy giving way to a deep, aching exhaustion.

  Aisha placed a hand on Nalia’s shoulder. “Rest, Empress. You’ll need your strength.”

  Nalia looked up in surprise. “I thought healers didn’t take sides?”

  Aisha bit back a smile. “I lied.”

  This kindness, the hope that some of Arjinna’s people were willing to change, filled Nalia with an overwhelming gratitude. She blinked back tears, laughing again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s to be expected—you’ve been through a lot.”

  Aisha stood and blew out the candles so that only the lanterns filled with chiaan lit the room. Nalia closed her eyes, a darkness that she could finally welcome.

  Raif returned several hours later, face haggard, smelling of elder-pine smoke from the burnings. Aisha stepped out of the ludeen and Nalia reached out her arms. He fell into them, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

  “I’m sorry I smell like death,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry I smell like the Eye.”

  He laughed softly. “Aren’t we a pair?”

  He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. A familiar jeweled hilt, a blade fashioned from enchanted jade that caught and held the room’s light. Her Aisouri dagger, the only thing left from her childhood.

  Nalia bit her lip as tears threatened. “You found it in the Eye?”

  She imagined him being alone in his room with nothing of hers but that dagger. He nodded and as her tears fell, he held her against him. They rested, wordless, just holding each other, until the healer returned.

  After Aisha examined Nalia once more, she released her into Raif’s care. “Rest and food,” the healer said. Nalia’s wound had already healed. “That’s what she needs now.”

  A hush stole over the camp as snow began to fall, the tiny flakes swirling around them before carpeting the ground. Nalia shivered and Raif pulled her close as he led her deeper into the forest. She gripped his hand, afraid he would disappear again. Eyes, most of them hostile, stared at them from the ludeens they passed on their way to Raif’s home. Raif didn’t seem to notice or care. He looked at her and smiled, boyish and sweet. It was almost impossible for them to hide their eagerness to be alone, to say and do all the things they’d imagined while she’d been trapped in the Eye.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  Behind her, Touma and several members of the Brass Army followed. Nalia didn’t need to ask why such a large guard was necessary. She breathed deeply, relishing the scent of the forest. The sharp sweetness of the pines, the rich, damp earth. The trees seemed to watch them, bearing witness to this miracle—Nalia and Raif, alive, holding hands. It was nearing evening now, but there was no sunset: the moons continued their otherworldly glow. She wouldn’t let herself think of the Godsnight, not now. Just some time, please, she begged the gods. Let me rest. Let me be with him.

  All around her was the rustling of life: birds chirping, animals slinking through the underbrush. In the Eye, the only sound Nalia had ever heard were the cries of hunting ghouls or the sound of her own voice, the phoenix’s song.

  Raif’s tree house was set apart from the others, nestled in the branches of a sturdy widr, fused to the wood as though the ludeen had grown from it. Bottle-glass windows were scattered all over the walls, like the windows of a ship. Impossible to see through, they reflected the warm glow inside, scattering the thin blanket of snow on the ground with the pinks, greens, and blues of the glass. A stream gurgled nearby and the wind sighed through the widr’s silver leaves, which seemed to catch and hold the moonlight so that each leaf shimmered. A spiral staircase curved up from the ground to the rounded doorway, ending in a small porch. It was just as Raif had once described it to her.

  Nalia gripped his arm. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

  “Batai vita sonouq,” Raif said, his eyes never leaving her face. My home is yours.

  The words were a different kind of tonic from the one Aisha had given her, a warmth that stole through her whole body.

  Once inside, away from the eyes of everyone in the camp, Raif picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  “I’m filthy,” she protested.

  “We’ll manifest new sheets,” he said. “I’m sure these aren’t up to your standards, anyway.” He grinned and she thought of the silk sheets she’d manifested in their tent in the Dhoma camp.

  “This feels like the height of luxury to me,” she said.

  Without warning, she burst into fresh tears and Raif held her to him. “It’s over,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

  But it wasn’t. Calar still ruled the realm and the tavrai wanted Nalia to hang. The horrors of the past years were far from over.

  They lay on their sides, gazing at each other for hours. Marveling.

  “I still think I’m going to wake up,” Raif said, gripping her hands as though she would float away. He was wearing the same expression he’d had after she’d nearly drowned in the Pacific, trapped under Haran’s body—love and fear mixed with a fierce resolve.

/>   “Me too,” she whispered.

  Nalia knew she must look a sight, but she hadn’t been prepared for the shock of seeing Raif so transformed. He seemed much older, harder. The beard gave him a ferocious look. But his eyes—they shone with joy, tracing the lines of her face, over and over.

  “How?” he whispered. “How are you here? How are you even alive?”

  She told him as much as she could put into words: the phoenix, the heart plant, the vision at the lote tree, the empresses. He fingered the white feather around her neck.

  “Do you remember the times we were together while you were gone?” he asked. “Malek’s mansion—”

  “The City of Brass,” she finished. “I kept wishing for more.” She brought his fingers up to her lips. “And that last time in the Eye, when the phoenix came . . .”

  Raif leaned his forehead against hers. “I thought you were dead, Nal. I prayed to the gods for a sign and they took me there, to the Eye. I thought they were giving me a chance to save you—” His voice caught and she pulled him against her, murmuring all the things she’d wanted to say for so long.

  “I gave up on you,” he said, his voice anguished.

  “No, you didn’t.” Nalia rested her palms on either side of his face. “I felt you the whole time I was there. You helped me through. You always do.”

  “Gods, I’m such a coward.” He told her of the ghoul he’d almost allowed to kill him, of his choice to step down as leader. “You were up against so much more and you never gave up.”

  “I had you to get home to. Knowing you were out there, fighting . . . how could I stop? If I’d thought you were dead . . . I would have looked for the first ghoul that would eat me, myself.”

  He shook his head. “The gods wouldn’t have let you.”

  The gods. Why did they only intervene at the last moment? She shifted and her eye caught his scimitar propped against the bedside table, within easy reach. Who knew what the tavrai would try to do tonight?

  Raif pressed his lips to her forehead. “I almost lost this chance,” he murmured against her skin. “If it weren’t for Shirin . . .”