The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  Nahri had no sooner peeked inside the bag than she tried to give it back. “I can’t take these instruments, Yaqub! They belong to your family.”

  Yaqub held up his hands. “I’d rather they be with someone who can put them to use.” He smiled at her. “Nahri, child, I don’t know where you came from. I don’t know where you’re going. But I saw what you did for that boy. You’re a healer by any name.”

  Ali watched Nahri bite her lower lip, looking like she wanted to object. But then she threw her arms around Yaqub in a tight hug. “God be with you, my friend. I left something for you as well. Back in the shop. In the box where you keep sweets.”

  Yaqub looked puzzled. “What?”

  Nahri wiped her eyes. “A token of my affection.” She pushed him away. “Now go. Don’t be wasting a business day on me.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Yaqub called after her. Ali didn’t miss the sorrow in his voice. “Please.”

  We could have a life here together, a good one. Ali swallowed the lump in his throat as Nahri brushed past him. “What did you leave him?”

  Nahri shoved Muntadhir’s khanjar into his hands. They’d used several of the gemstones to buy the boat, and now only one—a tiny ruby—remained. “He helped us, so I helped him. I don’t like being in debt.”

  Ali ran his thumb over the hilt. “Not everything has to be a transaction, Nahri.”

  “It should be. It’s easier.” She pulled herself aboard, ignoring his hand.

  Knowing how Nahri felt about the audacity of having, let alone sharing, emotions, Ali held his tongue, pushing the boat into the river as mud sucked at his feet. He climbed aboard, using a pole and then the oars to make their way deeper into the water.

  “So what now?” Nahri prodded. “Because forgive me … but we seem to be going in the opposite direction of what you wanted.”

  “Would you give me a minute?” Ali closed his eyes, trying to call to the water sloshing against the boat. It resisted, shying away from the edge of his magic.

  Annoyed, he leaned over the side and slipped his hand beneath the surface, letting the current stream through his fingers. He could almost taste it, the scent of brine and mud on his tongue. Come on, he urged, envisioning the river pushing against the boat.

  “Your expression is not bolstering my confidence.”

  Ali scowled. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Of course you do. You have an intimate understanding of the resting habits of sails.” He opened his eyes to see her idly lounging against a cushion, one of the stolen sweets already at hand. “You’ve really got to find a way not to look like a startled pigeon every time you lie.”

  “I do not look like a startled—”

  The boat surged forward, the marid magic hungrily lapping at the annoyance in his chest.

  Nahri flashed him a triumphant, lovely grin. “Someone once told me a little emotion helps.”

  A lash of pain went straight through Ali’s heart. He gasped, nearly losing his grip on the magic.

  Nahri was instantly at his side. “What’s wrong?”

  Ali pressed a hand against his chest, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t think the ring likes me doing marid magic.”

  “We’re relying on marid magic to get us to Ta Ntry.”

  He waved her off, dodging back before she could touch him. “I know. And I’m fine; the pain is already gone.” It wasn’t entirely, but Ali wasn’t risking anything that would have Nahri insisting they stay in Cairo longer.

  “If you say so.” She didn’t sound convinced, but at least the boat was going fast. Perhaps a little too fast, the water racing with his heart. “No, this doesn’t look suspicious at all.”

  “We’ll be using the sail as well, so it doesn’t just look like we’re zooming upriver with nothing powering us.” Or rather, they’d be trying to use the sail—Ali hadn’t told Nahri that the total of his sailing experience was a couple of weeks with the Royal Guard and a few hours spying on Nile boatmen.

  He was, however, not unaware of her watching him struggle. Finally, after driving them into sandbanks twice, Ali was able to tack the sail into the wind properly, and they started moving south even faster. Had he been alone, he might have wept with gratitude. Instead, out of breath, his body aching in all sorts of new ways, he let himself collapse, lying prone on the flat deck.

  “Things seem to be going well,” Nahri said drily.

  “I think,” Ali panted, kneading his chest as his heart sparked in pain. “I may have underestimated how difficult this would be.”

  “I’m glad you’re learning that lesson early in our quest.” A cup pressed against his lips. “Drink.”

  Still dizzy, Ali obeyed, pushing himself up to sit beside her. Now that it was settled and packed with supplies, he realized just how small the boat was, and a new kind of anxiety swept through him. He hadn’t thought through the logistics of spending every moment—day and night—at Nahri’s side. Ali wasn’t even sure there was enough room for them both to lie flat to sleep.

  “At least eat something, doctor’s orders.” She opened the tin of stolen pastries and handed one to him. “Trust me, the illicitness makes them taste sweeter.”

  Nahri’s fingers brushed his at the exact moment she said it, and though Ali knew there was no way she meant it like that, a bolt of nervous energy barreled through his body. “Oh,” he managed. “Does it?”

  Nahri winked and sat back to open Yaqub’s bag. She sighed in open pleasure and then began laying out the medical instruments like they were prized jewels.

  Spotting the trephine drill and still feeling queasy, Ali looked away as he ate, gazing at the river. They continued in silence for a bit longer, and a rare peace settled over him. The sensation that he had a vise in his chest aside, this was a pleasant way to travel. The gentle rocking of the boat, the spread of the glistening water, and the warm breeze … it was almost hypnotic. He finished his pastry—and Nahri was right, it was pretty good—and then bent low, trailing a hand through the river again.

  Ease swept over him so fast Ali exhaled aloud, the pain in his heart lessening as if a cool compress had been laid upon it. Water rippled up his wrist, tracing the path of his scars, as his reflection came to him in shimmering undulations. It was probably a trick of the light, but his eyes looked strange, not his usual warm gray, but rather deep, fathomless pools of obsidian even darker than Nahri’s.

  It would feel so good to swim. The prospect of submerging, of the world going quiet and still as the Nile closed over his head, suddenly felt irresistible. Tendrils of water wrapped around his arm, gripping tight, and mildly—as though half awake—Ali realized he had not summoned them.

  “I think that’s where we woke up.”

  Ali started, pulled from his daze. The water fled from his fingers. “What?”

  Nahri pointed. On the distant shore, a cracked minaret stood among tangled greenery, the crumbling remains of what might have been a small village becoming clearer as they drew near. “Do you remember anything of it?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  Nahri’s gaze was locked on the village. “Can we get closer?”

  Ali nodded, moving to adjust the rudder and steering them toward the flooded shore. “Do you think this was it?”

  “Yes.” She shivered. “It’s strange, but the place felt so familiar. The path to the river, the lay of some of the ruins …”

  “And this is the village you’ve been having nightmares about?”

  “I think so, not that I can recall anything when I wake up.” She let out a frustrated sound, putting down the scalpel she’d been admiring. “It’s like something won’t let me remember, like the dream is yanked away the moment I open my eyes.”

  “Like how you also don’t remember anything of your childhood before Cairo?”

  Nahri looked uncertain. “A bit like that, yes.”

  “This village isn’t far from the city, and there were scorch marks inside the minaret. Do you think—”
<
br />   “That I was there when it was destroyed?” Nahri was trembling. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”

  “It could be important.”

  “Ali, it’s only been two weeks since I watched my mother’s poison tear through the palace. I’m not ready to uncover some new horror from my childhood. Not yet.”

  He swallowed back his questions. “All right.” He turned around, adjusting the rudder again.

  “But I did see a shedu.”

  Ali jolted the rudder, nearly steering them off course. “You saw a what?”

  “A shedu. Just before you passed out. There was a sandstorm, and then this creature … It looked at me, looked … through me like it was unimpressed, and then vanished. It all happened so fast that I’m not sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”

  Ali wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t think the shedu still existed. Honestly, I thought they might have just been a legend in the first place.”

  “That’s what I used to think about djinn.”

  It’s what I used to think about marid. Ali wasn’t sure he was ready to see any more legends come to life, at least not without being better prepared. “I hope the library at Shefala is as grand as my mother always claimed. I suspect you and I have a lot to read up on.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know for certain. I’d think you’d be begging your mother for tales of some massive library.”

  Regret peppered him. “I wasn’t always open to tales of Ta Ntry as a child,” Ali confessed. “Once I was sent to the Citadel, I found I fit in better with the other Geziris if I ignored my Ayaanle side. It also made things easier with my father.” He ran his hands over his knees. “Not that it matters. He died thinking me a traitor anyway.”

  “You did the right thing.” Nahri’s voice was unexpectedly fierce. “Your father needed to be stopped.”

  “I know.” And he did—his father’s last act would have slaughtered hundreds of innocent shafit if Ali hadn’t taken the Citadel. But that didn’t erase his sorrow. There would be no explanations, no apologies, no chance to make things right. Ghassan was dead, and he’d left Daevabad in no less a brutal fashion than he had ruled it. All Ali could do now was pray the Almighty had more mercy on his father than Ghassan had shown his subjects. At least with Muntadhir, he had the slight solace of knowing his brother died a hero, of having a moment to say good-bye.

  We’re okay, akhi. We’re okay. Ali steeled himself for the grief, for the clawed beast that erupted from his chest when he thought of Muntadhir, but it didn’t feel as vicious as it usually did. Ali was no longer uselessly wringing his hands in Cairo; he’d taken a small step on his path to avenge his brother and save their people, and even his broken heart seemed to recognize it.

  He turned back around. Nahri was no longer looking at him; instead she was leaning against a cushion, her attention focused on cleaning and admiring her new medical tools, a far happier expression on her face. She’d removed her scarf, and her hair fell to her waist in a thick halo of black curls.

  The sight stole his breath. Forget the royal finery she’d worn as Daevabad’s next queen. Sailing down the Nile in a dull second-hand dress with the Egyptian sun shining on her face, deadly medical tools in her hands, Nahri was radiant. What Ali would do to sink his fingers into her hair, to pull her close …

  Shame on you. She makes herself comfortable and you betray her trust by ogling her? Ali dropped his gaze, heat creeping up his neck. His friend—his brother’s widow, no less—and here he was, fantasizing about her.

  A bead of water blossomed on his forehead as if to mock his control. Ali could lower his gaze all he liked—he had plenty of experience doing that.

  But he had absolutely no experience doing battle with the barbed, bladed, and wildly irresponsible notions in his heart that seemed to be gaining strength with each additional day he spent in Nahri’s company. Ali had never felt this way about someone before—he wasn’t even sure what he felt. This … this tangle of tenderness and longing, of sheer terror and unexpected light, the certainty that he could have blissfully spent the rest of his life with her hand brushing his wrist as they perused books and argued about food in a Cairo ruin, the sensation like he’d been shoved off a cliff each time she grinned … Ali didn’t know how to fight that.

  He didn’t know if he wanted to.

  You are becoming the lovesick fool you always denied being. And Ali didn’t have time for that. They had a very long journey on a very small boat to navigate—and then a war to fight.

  “Is the pastry not agreeing with you?”

  Ali jumped back to attention. “What?”

  “You look like you’re about to throw up.” Nahri frowned, setting aside the instruments. “I knew you shouldn’t be using all this weird water magic. Let me examine you.”

  Yes! Part of him cheered, thrilled at the prospect of her hands on his body. “No,” Ali said just as swiftly, cursing the entire concept of love. “I was just thinking … you wanted to know about the marid,” he blurted out. “About all the secrets I was keeping from you.”

  Surprised pleasure lit Nahri’s expression. “I assumed I’d have to pry them from you.”

  Oh, God, even for Ali this was a new low in putting his foot in his mouth. “I agreed there would be no more secrets,” he said faintly.

  “Well, then.” Nahri straightened, packing up the instruments and turning to face him with a feline grace. Like a lion might calmly assess a trapped antelope. “Let’s get started with ‘the marid didn’t do anything to me, Nahri,’” she said, doing a poor impersonation of his voice. “‘I just conjure waterfalls in the library and send boats shooting up the Nile for no reason.’”

  Right to it. Ali tried to refocus. “The marid did something to me.”

  “Yes, I think that’s been established. What did they do to you?”

  “I’m honestly not certain,” he admitted. “But what I do know is that after they possessed me on the lake, it was as if I had the same affinity with water as I do with fire. I could sense it, summon it, control it. In Am Gezira, it was a blessing: I was able to find springs and cisterns, to draw them up through the sand and turn Bir Nabat green. But when I returned to Daevabad …” Ali shivered. “The magic was too much. It was getting stronger, harder to conceal and control. I was hearing voices in my head, seeing things in my dreams—I was terrified that I was going to get caught.”

  “Caught?”

  “You know what people say about the marid. They’re demons, tricksters. My mother says they lure djinn in Ta Ntry to the water to drown them and drain their blood. Issa was ready to throw me before the ulema and denounce me as a heretic just for asking questions.”

  “People are often afraid of what they don’t understand.” Fortunately, Nahri looked neither repulsed nor afraid—merely thoughtful, as though she was puzzling all this out. “Did the marid who possessed you say anything? Explain why they were giving you such power?”

  Ali thought back to that awful night. To the way the marid had seized upon everything—everyone—precious in Ali’s memories and then tortured him, making him watch the most brutal of deaths. The way it had grabbed him with tentacles and teeth and shaken him like a dog to drag him from death’s embrace.

  His mouth went dry. Ironic. “No,” he whispered, realizing it for the first time. “I don’t think they meant to give me these powers. Quite frankly, I don’t think they gave much thought at all to me. I think they saw a tool they could use to suit their purposes and changed me into what they needed.” Hatset’s stories of the demons who stalked Ntaran waterways and Ghassan’s recollection of the effort it took to recover Ali after the possession came back to him. “And I don’t know that I was meant to survive it.”

  Silence fell between them, and when Nahri finally spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically subdued. “I’m sorry, Ali. I know a lot happened between us that night, a lot I’m still angry about. But I also know you wouldn’t have gone into the water if it weren�
��t for him.” She didn’t have to say Darayavahoush’s name—the two of them danced around the topic of the Afshin like he was a pot of Rumi fire. “And for that I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be,” he muttered. “I don’t think either of us wanted things to go the way they did.”

  She met his gaze again, and Ali felt something soften between them, a jumble of unspoken resentments and shattered hopes. They’d both had their lives ruined and shoved off course. But they were still here.

  It was unfortunate, then, that Ali had far worse secrets to reveal. “I did learn something after the possession,” he continued. “Something I think you should know that might help us piece together the marid’s role in all this.”

  “What?”

  By the Most High, how should he say this? Ali adjusted the rudder, fighting for time. The secret he’d kept from his mother, the one that risked undermining his people’s own understanding of their history and his family’s reign.

  But there was no moving forward without addressing what had gone so terribly wrong in the past.

  “When I first woke up after the marid possessed me, I was with my father.” Ali’s heart twisted with the memory, for it had been one of the few times in his life Ghassan had been a father first, fiercely protective and unusually gentle as he assured Ali that everything would be okay. “He was the one to suggest that the marid had possessed me. I didn’t believe him. I said the marid were gone, that they hadn’t been seen for thousands of years. He told me that I was wrong. That the marid had been seen—they’d been seen at the side of Zaydi al Qahtani’s Ayaanle ally during the invasion of Daevabad.”

  Nahri blinked. “Zaydi al Qahtani worked with the marid? Are you sure? Because I’ve never heard of anything like that, and let me tell you, you have no idea how much Daeva history I’ve had crammed down my throat in the past few years.”

  Ali forgot sometimes that for all Nahri’s cleverness, she was still fairly new to their world. “It wouldn’t be in any Daeva history books, Nahri. No matter how much our tribes bicker and war, we’re supposed to be fire-bloods first. To betray that, to use the marid against each other, that would be a scandal. One my ancestors wouldn’t risk. Zaydi al Qahtani broke the order that had ruled our world for centuries. It would have to look as … clean, as noble as possible.”