“I’m so tired,” Calar whispered. “So . . . tired. . . .”
The phoenix’s eyes were kind as they gazed into Nalia’s, tangerine wells of peace. These were the eyes that had led her through the long, dark night.
And even death can bring new life, the phoenix sang.
Nalia faced Calar. The Ifrit empress’s eyes were suddenly clear, all trace of madness wiped away. She was so very young. And beautiful. And infinitely sad.
“It ends with us,” Nalia said.
Something like peace settled over Calar. “It ends with us,” she whispered in agreement.
Nalia plunged the dagger into her own heart.
50
“ROHIFSA, PLEASE WAKE UP,” RAIF CRIED.
She was alive—he could see the slight rise and fall of her chest. The shadows had been unable to take her away completely—he’d never seen anyone resist them, but then again, he’d never seen a jinni do half the things Nalia could.
As soon as Calar had fallen to the ground in some kind of trance, Taz had pulled the yaghin out of her hand and said the word in the old tongue that Kes had taught him—“Đæł,” sleep—and the shadows immediately fled into the stone. It now sat on the floor, forgotten.
This was the third time Raif had been forced to plead with Nalia not to leave him. First on a blood-spattered beach on Earth, then in a healer’s tent in the Sahara, and finally, now, before the throne that was rightfully hers.
Her eyes moved frantically beneath her eyelids and every now and then she shuddered or cried out. An ear-splitting scream cut through the air and Raif whipped around. Calar still lay slumped on the other side of the throne, Taz leaning over her, eyes murderous. Like Nalia’s, her eyes were closed, her body still.
“What are they doing to each other?” Raif asked. His helplessness threatened to choke him.
“I don’t know,” Taz said. “But we can’t kill Calar yet—if she has a hold on Nalia’s mind, it could take her, too.”
Raif placed his hands against Nalia’s heart and poured his chiaan into her, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He could only hope that it would let her know he was here, that he was fighting for her. Raif picked up her hand and kissed each finger, rubbing his thumb against the tattoo that wound around her ring finger. He could now admit to himself what he’d known all along: Nalia had insisted on having the wedding as soon as possible for just this reason.
I heard a rumor that if you don’t consummate your marriage, it’s as if you weren’t married at all.
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly she sighed, all the tension draining from her face.
“Nalia!” He screamed her name as he felt her go.
Blood bloomed over her heart, soaking her tunic, sliding to the floor. Her chiaan slipped out of her skin and wound itself around him, an amber-scented caress. It slipped through his fingers and he grabbed Nalia, pulling her onto his lap, his cries a wounded animal’s.
She was gone.
It was like swallowing needles, hearing Raif’s sobs. The young emperor screamed Nalia’s name again and again, holding her to him.
Raif wasn’t going to survive this.
Taz met Touma’s eyes and they both began to weep, unashamed. They’d come so far, gotten so close. Taz could almost hear Raif’s heart break. Thatur roared so loudly the glass burst from the windows all along the eastern wall of the throne room. It was the sound of their hope shattering, of an end to their new beginning.
Taz felt a hand on his arm and he shouted, jumping back.
Calar was awake.
Calar was alive.
Raif went silent. He stared at Calar, murder in his eyes.
Calar laughed when she saw him, not a cruel, maniacal one like Taz would have expected, but that of a small child who was utterly delighted.
“We danced and danced and danced,” she sang. “And the phoenix said . . . the phoenix said . . .” Calar began to sing, her voice raspy and soft. “And even death can bring new life.” She smiled at Raif. “She said it ends with us.” Calar reached out her hand to him. “Take me to her.”
Raif gently lay Nalia’s body down, his eyes never leaving Calar’s. He stood as he unsheathed his scimitar.
“Her crown,” Calar said, sitting up. “And even death can bring new life . . . new life . . . ,” she sang.
Calar reached up and took the Amethyst Crown off her head. She smiled, pure and kind and peaceful, as she held it out to Raif. “Long live the empress.”
A look of unspeakable sadness passed over Raif’s features. The scimitar fell to the floor and he stumbled away, utterly lost. Taz took the crown and stood. He walked toward Raif, slow, gentle steps. Then he knelt beside Nalia’s dead body and rested the crown on her chest. This was how she’d be burned. Raif crumpled to the ground, his sobs echoing throughout the room. Taz bowed to Nalia, then turned to Raif.
“My Emperor,” he said. “What is your will?”
“I can’t,” Raif sobbed. “I’m done, I can’t, I—”
There was a crack and Nalia burst into flames. Taz jumped to his feet, dragging Raif away from the fire. Raif fought him, reaching for Nalia, but Taz and Touma held him back.
Song filled the air, though Taz would never be able to say from where it came. The voice was unspeakably beautiful and its song fell on his ears like soft rain.
Awake, awake, the dawn is yet to come.
The gods do look upon the brave with favor and delight.
And even death can bring new life.
Raif sagged in Taz’s arms, all the fight gone out of him as Nalia’s body disappeared in an inferno of violet, emerald, crimson, sapphire, and golden flames. It was as though she were being consumed by a column of chiaan.
Calar clapped her hands, delighted. “It ends with us, yes, yes!” She turned to Taz suddenly, cocking her head. “I saw you in his mind. I saw you kiss him.”
Taz stared. Kesmir.
“I saw him give you our daughter.” She said these words without malice, feverish. “I burned him I burned him and ate his ashes I ate his ashes and they tasted like sorrow I ate and I ate and I danced and I danced and even death can bring new life and even death can bring new life and even—”
Without warning, Calar sprinted toward the balcony. Taz watched her, too full of despair to bother following. When she reached the railing she turned, fixing him with a radiant smile before throwing herself over, backward, her face to the sky, grinning as she plummeted to the rocks below.
The column of chiaan that had devoured Nalia’s body evaporated, leaving behind a pile of shimmering ash. Raif knelt before it. He’d known this was possible, he knew no days were guaranteed them, and yet he’d allowed himself to believe they would have more time.
Nalia.
Raif could feel himself breaking. Something inside him cracked and he laid his forehead on her ashes, sobbing.
Thatur came to kneel beside him, tears falling down his face, liquid pearls. Their grief was a thick, weighty thing that twisted throughout the room, with Raif at its center, his despair radiating a power all its own.
Calar was dead and Raif didn’t care. He could hardly breathe, the loss of Nalia so all-consuming.
Nalia, his heart cried, over and over. Nalia.
The first rays of dawn sunlight climbed across the lapis lazuli walls of the throne room, banishing the darkness that had lingered over the palace while Calar still lived. The light crept over the floor as the first prayer sounded, a Shaitan pajai calling from the pillar where the lote tree bloomed.
Restless goddess of the skies, send us your spirit on the wind. O Grathali, fill us with the power of your ever-changing, ever-shifting grace.
Raif sat up. Grace—Ashanai: Nalia’s true name. It was as though they were singing just for her.
Raif stared at her ashes. Nalia would want prayers. He had to honor her before he joined her in the godlands. A drifting fleck just above Raif caught his eye. A feather, white as snow. It gently fell, landing on top of Nalia’s a
shes. Sunlight hit the amethyst crown that sat before the pile of ash, throwing violet shards over Raif. Was this her spirit’s way of telling him the white phoenix had finally taken her to the godlands?
Why did she always go where he couldn’t follow?
A breeze blew through the windows then, smelling of the sea and widr trees and vixen roses. And amber, that scent that would always be Nalia to him. It reached the pile of ash and Raif cried out as all that was left of Nalia was caught up in its swirl. The wind pulled the ashes up, a furious whirlwind, like evanescence. It spun around, faster and faster, a silent funereal dervish. Raif slowly rose to his feet. Suddenly he could feel her—he could feel Nalia.
And then the song he’d heard when Nalia’s body burst into flame settled into his heart:
Awake, awake, the dawn is yet to come.
The gods do look upon the brave with favor and delight.
And even death can bring new life.
Then he knew, he knew, he knew—
A glowing white ribbon of light twisted through the ash, mixing with the violet evanescence that tumbled toward him like a wave.
A hand.
The crook of an elbow.
An arched foot.
Lips he’d memorized long ago.
The smoke cleared and Nalia stood before him, clothed in dazzling white, head bowed, eyes on the crown at her feet. She knelt down and picked it up. Finally, her eyes met his, shining and alive, and he could drown in them.
The true empress of Arjinna raised the Amethyst Crown and placed it on her head.
Epilogue
THE PALACE GARDENS ARE FILLED WITH THE SOUND OF merriment. The jinn scattered throughout the opulent grounds wear the traditional harvest-festival animal masks and crowns of flowers. The palace gates are open wide and jinn from all over the land flock to the glimmering lapis lazuli castle high in the only remaining ridge of the Qaf Mountains. Threads of chiaan cut the sky over the palace like fireworks.
In one corner, a band of Djan musicians plays the zhifir, drums, and flute while wizened jinn sing the old serf songs. Though their shackles have long been gone, their songs tell their story, which will be passed down for thousands of summers to come. A story of war, a story of the gods and an empress who refused to die.
In the center of the garden, surrounded by glowing calia nocturne and vixen roses, is the dance floor. A large gryphon and the captain of the guard stand just outside it, neither looking amused, their eyes roving the premises, ever vigilant. In one corner of the dance floor, two Dhoma swirl, their arms wrapped around one another: a Djan with braids that sprout from her head like spring grass and a tall, elegant Shaitan in white healer’s robes. They laugh and kiss as they make up their own dance. A Shaitan pajai and a tiny Ghan Aisouri dance beside them, the little girl holding her papa’s hands, her bare feet on his as he teaches her an ancient series of steps. A few of her Aisouri sisters play in the garden, but only a few. It will take a long time for Aisouri parents to believe the palace is a safe place for their daughters.
Near them, the empress and emperor are serving savri to their guests, and every few minutes he leans close to her and kisses her neck. They wear matching phoenix masks, hers white and his red. He’s been on Earth for several weeks, teaching a team of mages how to do the unbinding spell that will free the jinn on the dark caravan. He came back early because, though they’ve yet to tell anyone, the emperor and empress have a secret nestled beneath the folds of the empress’s flowing gown. And he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this.
“Raif, I won’t be mad,” the empress says as her husband refuses yet another glass of savri. “Go, drink. Dance! I’m perfectly happy.” She nods toward the two Dhoma on the dance floor. “Besides, it looks like Zan and Phara could use a few pointers.”
The emperor shakes his head. “Nope. If you can’t drink, then I can’t drink.”
He smiles and holds out his hand. The musicians have begun a slow tune, a lilting one that reminds them both of the souks of Marrakech and the dunes of the Sahara—and a jinn club beneath a restaurant.
“Dance with me, Nalia.”
He’d said those words to her long ago, back when the empress was a slave, imprisoned by a human who would one day love her enough to die in her place. That was the night the emperor’s heart knew—even if his mind did not—that he loved her.
The empress takes his hand and the jinn around them watch, smiling as the young couple—the first of their kind—take to the floor. The empress shivers as the emperor pulls her closer. She moves her lips close to his ear, drunk on his sandalwood scent, on the chiaan in the tiny life that grows inside her like a flower.
“You are the wish of my heart,” she says.
The emperor brings his lips to hers, ignoring the gryphon, who never approves of such displays of affection. “And you,” he says, “are the wish of mine.”
When the music ends, the empress turns and leans her back against the emperor’s chest and he holds her as she gazes up at the emerald stars, their hands intertwined over the soft swell beneath her gown.
“Nalia-jai, what are the stars?” Bashil is sitting beside her in the garden. It is late at night and they whisper quietly.
“The jinn in the godlands. They come to visit us at night,” she says.
“How can they visit us if they’re dead?”
“Well, no one ever really dies, gharoof.” She runs a hand through his thick hair as she gazes at the constellations above.
“But I’ve seen the dead jinn burn!” he says. “There’s nothing left. How can they watch us from the godlands without eyes?”
She laughs. “You are not your eyes or your ears, your mouth, or even your heart.”
Bashil frowns and drops his chin into his hands. “What am I then?”
“You’re the feeling inside you when you’re happy. And when you love something. You’re the part of you that looks at the stars and wonders what they are.” Nalia pulls him against her. “Nothing can kill that.”
He looks up at her. His eyes are golden and warm, and she wonders what he will look like when he is an old jinni and if he will remember sitting in the palace garden with his big sister, talking about stars.
“So we live forever?” he asks.
She kisses his head. “Forever and ever.”
“Will I be a star too?” he asks.
“Of course, gharoof. You’ll be the brightest one.”
The empress’s eyes scan the sky, searching for the brightest star. It winks back at her, then shoots across the aurora, free to roam where it pleases.
Pronunciation Guide
Jinni: JEE-nee
Jinn: JIN
JINN CASTES
Shaitan: shy-TAN
Djan: JAN
Ifrit: if-REET
Marid: muh-RID
Aisouri: ass-or-EE
JINN GODS AND GODDESSES
Tirgan: TEER-gah-n
Grathali: gruh-THAL-lee
Lathor: luh-THOR
Ravnir: RAV-neer
Mora: MOR-uh
CHARACTERS
Aisha: eye-EE-sha
Anso: AN-so
Bashil: bah-SHEEL
Calar: cuh-LAHR
Dthar: d-THAR
Fazhad: fuh-JAHD
Fjirla: FEER-luh
Halem: hah-LEM
Haran: huh-RAHN
Haraja: hah-RAH-ja
Jaqar: JAH-car
Kesmir: KEZ-meer
Malek: MAL-ick
Morghisi: mor-GEEZ-ee
Nalia: NAH-lee-uh
Noqril: no-KREEL
Phara: FARE-ah
Raif: RAFE
Samar: sah-MAR
Saranya: sah-RAN-yah
Tazlim: TAZ-leem
Thatur: thuh-TOOR
Touma: TOO-mah
Urum: oo-ROOM
Xala: DZ-AHL-la
Yasri: YAZ-ree
Yezhud: YEH-zhood
Yurik: YUR-ick
Zanari: zah-NAHR-ee
&nbs
p; Glossary
WORDS IN KADA
Arjinna (ar-JINN-nuh) The jinn realm.
Ashanai (ASH-uh-nie) Grace.
B’alai Lote (BUH-lai LO-tee) The Great Lote, a magical tree.
B’alai Om (BUH-lai OM) The Great Cauldron, an Arjinnan constellation.
bisahm (bee-ZAH-m) A magical shield used to cover an area in order to prevent jinn from evanesceing into it.
chal (chuh-ALL) Jinn tea.
chiaan (chee-AHN) The magical energy force that all jinn possess.
đæł (D-AH-L) Sleep; old-language word used to trap Calar’s shadow monsters.
Dhoma (DOH-ma) The Forgotten—a desert tribe of jinn on Earth. The jinn are from all different castes and reside in the Sahara.
evanesce / evanescence This is the same word in English, but used differently. When jinn travel by smoke, they evanesce. The smoke itself is called evanescence.
fawzel (faw-ZEL): Jinn who shape-shift, usually from human to bird form.
gaujuri (gow-JER-ee) A hallucinogenic drug used in Arjinna.
gharoof (gah-ROOF) A term of endearment for children. Translates as “little rabbit.”
hahm’alah (HAHM-ah-lah) The magic of true names, whereby jinn can contact one another psychically.
hagiz (huh-GEEZ) A jinni with mixed parentage, biracial.
Ithkar (ITH-car) Ifrit region.
-jai (j-EYE) A term of endearment used among family members; a suffix, as in Nalia-jai.
jolip (JUH-ahl-up) Moss that heals the brokenhearted.
Kada (KAH-dah) The jinn language.
kajar (kuh-DZ-AR) Plantation.
kees (KEYS) Bread dusted with sugar and spices.
keftuhm (KEF-toom) Blood waste. A term referring to male offspring of the Ghan Aisouri.
lasa (LAH-suh) Bird that causes jinn to fall in love when it sings.
ludeen (loo-DEEN) Tavrai home in the Forest of Sighs; jinn tree house.
mundeer (moon-DEER) Soul, in both kada and the old tongue.
niba (NEE-bah) The jinn currency.
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