“How are the Dhoma?” Nalia asked.
Zanari tilted her hand back and forth: so-so. “Phara’s got her work cut out for her. The prisoners who came in from Ithkar were in pretty bad shape. It’s been tough without Samar, too.”
Nalia nodded. Raif had told her about his death—one more person she cared about who Calar had taken.
“It must be nice, though,” Nalia said with a small smile, “being with Phara.”
Zanari sighed, content. “You two know how that is.”
Raif nodded, pulling Nalia a little closer.
“I still can’t believe it, sister,” Zanari said. “The Eye, the phoenix. All of it. Amazing. This one”—she pointed to Raif—“was in bad shape. I mean, bad—”
Raif smacked her arm. “She gets it.”
“Thanks for taking care of him,” Nalia said. She lifted Raif’s hand and pressed her lips to it before taking another long swig of savri.
Someday she and Raif would have the time to really talk about the year apart, but for now, Nalia was just trying to enjoy every second that he was beside her.
“He’s kind of high maintenance,” Zanari said with a wink. “Good luck with that, sister.”
Raif laughed. “I wish I could say you were lying.”
“Does it feel weird being back?” Nalia asked.
“Technically I’ve only been gone a little over a day,” she said. “But I’m definitely Dhoma now. It’s kind of nice, not having to take sides.”
“If the gods would let me have it any other way,” Nalia said, “I might be right there with you.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Zanari said. “You two—you love this land. You wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. It would kill you.”
Nalia heard the truth in that and Raif nodded. “Now we just need to get rid of Calar,” she said.
“No big deal, right?” Zanari said.
Raif snorted. “Right. No big deal.”
Zanari pointed to the ring on Nalia’s finger. “So . . . when are we going to talk about that?”
Nalia sighed. “Gods.”
“Not gonna lie, I got the scare of my life when I stepped through the portal and felt these suddenly slide around my wrists,” she said, holding up her hands, now shackled. “And seeing those moons. That scared the shit out of me, too.”
“Why didn’t you run back through the portal?” Raif asked.
“The Godsnight stuff—I just decided to hope my luck held out. There was no way I wasn’t going to see Nalia. Yurik was in the tunnel and he explained about the ring—word gets around fast, by the way—and I figured Nalia wouldn’t be such a terrible mistress. . . .”
“I don’t know,” Raif said, lightly bumping his shoulder against Nalia’s. “She’s awfully demanding. . . .”
Nalia tried to smile. “I know you guys are trying to make me feel better. But . . . other than Raif dying, this is my worst nightmare.”
Zanari patted her knee. “You lived through the Eye. As the humans say, this too shall pass.”
“One day back on Earth and she’s already speaking human,” Raif said.
Though their banter was comforting and Nalia appreciated the effort they were making, she couldn’t feel anything but hopelessly depressed that Solomon’s sigil had fused itself to her skin, a parasite.
They were quiet for a bit then, each lost in their own thoughts. Zanari manifested another bottle of savri and passed it to her brother.
“I’m sorry,” Nalia said, her voice soft, “about your mother.”
“She’ll change her mind,” Zanari said, slinging an arm around Nalia’s shoulder. “I got my temper from her. Remember how stubborn I was about being mad at you in the cave?”
Nalia nodded. Zanari had been furious with Nalia, and for good reason: Nalia had killed Raif’s best friend. Though Nalia had been forced to do it, the act was unforgivable. And yet both Djan’Urbis had managed to forgive her. If the tavrai had ever found out, though . . .
“She’s trying to do right by our father, and I get that,” Zanari continued. “I just hope she realizes the mistake she made sooner rather than later.”
Raif took a large swig of the spiced wine. “There’s something else you should know, Zan. Something Yurik probably didn’t know or he would have told you.” His voice trembled slightly. “Kesmir didn’t make it.”
Zanari stared. “He . . . oh, gods.” Her head fell into her hands. “I hate this war.”
“Wait,” Nalia said, gripping Raif’s hand. “Taz’s rohifsa—are you certain? Thatur thought maybe Calar had thrown him in the dungeon. . . .”
Raif shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in agitation, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“I wish you could have known him, Nal,” he said. “Kes was . . . well . . . gods, I don’t even know where to start.”
They told her, each jumping in when the other trailed off. It was one of the most heartbreaking stories Nalia had ever heard.
“Gods,” she said, when they were finished. “And Taz—he was willing to help us fight today. If I’d known . . .”
Raif placed his hand over hers, warm and reassuring. “It’s what he needed. When I thought I’d lost you, I could only function when there was a fight to be had. You did him a service.” He looked at their intertwined hands. “Kesmir had . . . a daughter,” Raif said. “With Calar. He named Taz her guardian.”
“Holy shit,” Zanari said.
Raif smiled a little. “That was my reaction too.”
Nalia shook her head. It seemed as though Arjinna was a land of orphans. “How old is she?”
“Three summers,” he said.
“Is she still at the palace?” Nalia asked.
“She doesn’t know . . . all of it?” Thatur’s voice was a low rumble as he made his way to them from where he and Touma had been sorting out last-minute details with Nalia’s guard.
Nalia looked from Raif to Thatur. “All of it?”
“I think we need to let Taz explain the rest,” Raif said. “It’s his story to tell.” He gestured toward the healer’s ludeen and Nalia followed, uneasy.
Aisha opened the door to them, smiling at Nalia. “You look well, My Empress.”
Raif raised his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t take sides?”
She and Nalia exchanged a smile. “Things change,” Aisha said. She took Nalia’s elbow and led her into the room. “I assume you have need of a healer in Ithkar?” she asked.
Nalia nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Aisha gestured to several leather bags. “I’m happy to serve, if you’ll have me.”
Nalia bowed, palms pressed against her heart. “It would be . . . wonderful. Aisha, thank you so much.” She turned to Raif. “See? All is not lost.”
“Thank you,” he said to Aisha. “You have no idea how much that means to us.”
“Where’s Shirin?” Raif asked, looking around the room.
“She said she’d be more comfortable in her ludeen,” Aisha said. “One of the other healers is with her.”
He sighed. “I guess I won’t be able to see her before we go.”
Aisha nodded. “That might be for the best. She’s . . . very upset right now.”
“If you need to go to her . . . ,” Nalia said.
Raif shook his head. “I know Shirin. She’ll want some space right now.”
The jinni had held a gun to Raif’s head just hours before, and yet, somehow, Nalia’s heart hurt for her. She knew how devastating loving someone that much could be. How it could make you do crazy things.
Nalia crossed the room to where Taz lay on a bed, his head turned toward them. His face was drawn, eyes deeply sad. A small child sat on the end of the bed, smoothing the hair of a doll. Nalia crouched down beside the bed and took Taz’s hand into her own.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, careful not to speak too loudly in front of the child.
“They told you about Kesmir?” he said. She nodded.
“They told you everythi
ng?” Taz’s eyes went to Raif’s. He shook his head.
“You saved me this happiness,” Taz said to him. “I’m grateful.”
“We could all use something to smile about tonight, brother.” Raif said.
“You and your secrets, all of you,” Nalia said. “What is it?”
“Yasri?” Taz called to the little jinni. He held out his hand and she moved closer, taking it.
Calar’s daughter, she reminded herself. Crimson eyes, the same high cheekbones and white hair. She’s just a child, Nalia thought.
“I want you to meet my friend,” Taz said. “Her name is Nalia.”
“Hello,” Nalia said.
Yasri stared at Nalia’s eyes, transfixed. “Pretty eyes,” she said, tilting her head. “Purple.”
Taz laughed softly. “Yes, that’s right.”
The room seemed full of electricity, expectation. Nalia had no idea what was going on.
“Aisha,” Taz called. “Could you . . .”
The healer came over and reached out her hands. “Yasri, can I see your pretty fingers?” Someone had painted her nails a light pink.
Yasri put her hands in Aisha’s and giggled as the healer’s blue chiaan swirled over their hands. Nalia smiled. The sight of a child did her good. And if she was Kesmir’s daughter as much as Calar’s, there was no doubt she’d turn out fine, especially with Taz as her papa now.
And then—
Nalia gasped, staring at the child’s eyes. It was like looking into a mirror: purple as her own, but a darker shade, like the yasri flowers in the mountains.
Tears slid down Nalia’s cheeks as she reached out a trembling hand and gently stroked Yasri’s cheek.
“You,” Nalia whispered, “are so beautiful.”
Yasri reached out a hand and wiped the tears off Nalia’s cheeks. “Don’t cry, Nah-la.” She reached out her arms and Nalia picked her up and twirled her around, their laughter bouncing off the walls until every face in the room except for Yasri’s was bathed in tears.
Nalia turned to Raif and the smile she gave him was full of joy and sorrow and a wonder she had never known.
He grinned, not even bothering to wipe away his tears. “See why we wanted to surprise you?”
She nodded. A Ghan Aisouri. A Ghan Aisouri. Just when she was getting ready to hate the gods, they pulled something like this.
The door opened and Thatur ducked in, barely fitting through the slim doorway.
“Bird!” Yasri cried.
Nalia laughed at the expression on Thatur’s face.
“He doesn’t like that,” she whispered to Yasri. “But if he makes you mad—and he will, all the time—you go ahead and say it.”
“Nalia-jai, don’t put any ideas in the child’s head,” Thatur grumbled.
She laughed. “I hope you enjoyed your freedom, Yasri—now you’ll have to deal with him every day for the rest of your life.” She gave Thatur a wink.
“I think you’ll agree that your training paid off,” he huffed.
Nalia smiled. “It did indeed.”
“Yasri doesn’t know yet,” Taz said quietly from the bed. “I thought maybe you could be the one to show her.”
Nalia turned to him, still holding Yasri. “Are you sure?”
“It would honor her—and Kes,” he said.
“It honors me, too,” she whispered.
Taz gave a slight bow of his head. “My Empress.”
Nalia took Yasri to an oval mirror ringed in sea glass that hung from the wall. “Yasri, look.” Nalia pointed to the mirror.
The little jinni’s eyes slid to the glass, her dark purple beside Nalia’s bright amethyst. Calar’s daughter gasped, clapping her hands in delight.
“Purple!” she cried, pointing at the mirror. She giggled and her small, chubby fingers reached for her reflection.
Nalia kissed her head. “We’re not alone anymore, little one,” she said.
“Nal,” Raif said, his voice soft. She turned. “You’re not the only ones.”
40
NALIA HAD NEVER IMAGINED SHE’D REIGN OVER A KINGDOM of ash and fire.
Nor that she would come to love its savage, unapologetic beauty. Ithkar’s air was thick with volcanic smoke, pouring into her lungs, seeping into her skin. By all accounts, she should hate it just as much as everyone else in her court and army. But the region was a wonder of undiscovered gems. In the week since setting up her kingdom-in-exile, Nalia had taken to traipsing across Ithkar’s vast mist- and steam-shrouded plains, solitary treks that helped her make sense of all that had happened to her: the Eye, reuniting with Raif, the ring, setting up a kingdom. It had been a long, devastating year, and even the joy of falling asleep beside Raif and waking up to him every morning was not enough to dispel her unease, to lessen the weight of this ravaged land.
The lava lakes, the power of the volcanoes, the rare tree or lotus—all of these things reignited her wonder, helped Nalia forget, if only for a moment, the sigil that refused to come off her finger. It alienated her, this ring of power. It set her apart in ways she abhorred. She could see the fear in the eyes of the jinn who served her, the way their shoulders hunched forward waiting for a command. The shackles they’d fought so hard to lose fused to their wrists. She herself hadn’t given them a reason to feel this way, but of course they did—she would have, too. It would be like Malek returning from the dead and putting her back in the bottle.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
So she walked and walked, or rode Thatur, skimming the clouds high above Ithkar, up where the air was fresh and sweet. The view of the volcanoes from above and the constant moonlight made the lava even more electric, set against that dark backdrop. And though the moons seemed to bleed, she loved them, too. Something about this dark, fearsome land called to her. She was, after all, part Ifrit—the fire of Ithkar ran through her veins. Though she explored as much of the barren territory as she could, Nalia steered clear of the Ash Crones. They were a fight for another day, an ancient evil who would take much more of her time than Nalia currently had to uproot from their cave deep in Ithkar. She could only fight so many wars. For now, Nalia had to focus on her people, on her training. She would have to face Calar, and soon. The Ifrit empress knew of the ring by now—she would be wearing her own set of shackles—yet she didn’t show the slightest inclination toward abdicating the Aisouri throne. She hadn’t used her shadows, though—for one reason and one reason only: Yasri. Nalia would never harm a child—but Calar didn’t need to know that.
It seemed they were at an impasse: Calar would not leave, and Nalia refused to wrest her crown from Calar’s head through the use of a human master’s ring. It was hard to explain to her soldiers—even to Raif—why she would not command Calar to step down or to give Nalia control of the shadows. It wasn’t just her visions from the lote tree that convinced Nalia such a path could only lead the realm into even more despair. She was quick to admit that the visions played no small part in her governing, but that her main reason was that she needed to win the hearts of her people.
“If I use the ring to dethrone Calar, what have I shown of myself, how have I earned the right to lead?” she’d said to Raif and the others who counseled her just this morning. Taz, Touma, Thatur, and Aisha sat at a large table set low to the ground, sitting the Ifrit way on thick cushions atop woven rugs. Zanari would have agreed with her, but she was already back with the Dhoma.
Nalia begged them to understand. “Every jinni in the realm will see yet another Ghan Aisouri whose power keeps her above the fray. They need to see me defeat Calar because I am better than her, because I refuse to resort to evil means to get what I want. I want to fight her on my own terms, risking my very life for this land. Anything else would be a sham and I would not be worthy of the Amethyst Crown.”
As the others left the room, Raif had gently drawn her to him. “No one thinks you’re afraid to fight her, rohifsa. Using the ring would save countless lives—I tell you that as a commander in t
his army of yours. You know I stand by whatever you choose—but are you willing to take the risk that there will be unnecessary dead?”
“I am. Is that wrong?” She’d looked at him with pleading eyes. Both of them so, so tired.
He shook his head. “No. I had to make the same kinds of choices too, with the tavrai. It’s never easy. I just . . . wish you wouldn’t go up against her again. I’m tired of seeing you almost-dying.”
Later that afternoon, a lone Ifrit messenger presented himself at one of the Brass Army checkpoints high in the Qaf Mountains. After thoroughly interrogating him and inspecting the parchment on which a message was written to Nalia in a scrawling hand, he was finally brought to the Cauldron’s throne room.
The soldier, little more than a boy, handed the parchment to Nalia with a shaking hand. When Nalia opened it, a small smile flitted across her face:
I want my daughter.
Nalia manifested a pen and inkwell, then wrote in her elegant cursive:
I want my throne.
“Take it back and give it to the jinni who calls herself an empress,” Nalia said. She manifested bread, cheese, and a bottle of savri and handed it to the messenger. “For your trouble,” she added.
The Ifrit’s eyes widened and he took the parcel, then bowed. “Many thanks, My Empress,” he said.
At Nalia’s obvious surprise, he bowed once more. “You have friends in the palace” was all he said before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Taz said.
He and Raif had just come from a meeting with their commanders, Taz reporting to Nalia while Raif traveled to the camps below the Cauldron to help train the soldiers.
“It was,” she said, thoughtful. Maybe there were more jinn on her side than she thought.
“What are you thinking?” Taz asked.
Nalia leaned back against the uncomfortable throne made of slippery onyx. “Calar keeps her shadows at bay for fear they’ll hurt Yasri. We need to attack before she becomes impatient. Before she stops caring if Yasri gets hurt.”
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