The Empire of Gold

by S. A. Chakraborty

  Guilt twisted through him. How could Ali do this to the mother who’d fought so hard to save his life? Whose husband had been murdered and whose daughter was surrounded by enemies?

  Then again, how could he not?

  Issa spoke. The scholar had been unusually quiet and deliberative as his mother and Jamshid argued, but Ali recognized his careful cough as the sound of a man with bad news.

  “If Tiamat has demanded it, the prince may need to go. She is not just a marid. She is beyond our comprehension,” Issa explained. “Stories of her predate Suleiman and speak of her as the great ocean itself, an abyss of chaos and creation. She very well could be the mother of the marid, having birthed them millennia ago when the world was still new.”

  “A collection of blasphemous legends,” Hatset scoffed. “Primitive tales from an age of ignorance.”

  “Respectfully, my queen, I would not speak so blithely. It is not blasphemous to say this world is vast, that much of its history remains shrouded. There are things God set beyond our understanding. We don’t have many of her tales, but Tiamat must have inspired a great deal of fear to be remembered and spoken of the way she was, so many centuries after she was active.”

  “Then where has she been?” Hatset challenged. “If she’s so powerful, why does she let Darayavahoush terrorize her people? Why did she let the Nahids take Daevabad and force her children into servitude? Why is she only coming for us now?”

  Issa sounded helpless. “I don’t know, my lady. I don’t think any of us can see into the mind of such a creature. Perhaps she’s been sleeping under the sea, such mortal concerns below her. She may desire the seal, or she may simply want Alizayd and it as curiosities, the way marid were said to consume ships and villages in the era before Suleiman.”

  What did it mean to be consumed as a curiosity? Ali wondered. To give himself to Tiamat? Would she settle for killing him and sating herself on his blood? Or would it be worse—could she trap away his soul, devour it so he would be erased from existence, never to see Paradise or his family again?

  Don’t think like that. You’re a believer in a more merciful God than that. But still, Ali wrapped his arms around his knees, trying not to rock back and forth.

  “We can’t take the chance that she won’t come,” Jamshid said. “You two weren’t there. You didn’t see how powerful these things were. How angry. Suleiman’s eye, Sobek sounded like Anahid had freshly cheated him. He’s spent ten generations plotting his revenge!”

  Ali lifted his gaze, staring at the stormy sky past the open window. His room was higher than Nahri’s. If he were a braver man, perhaps he would have thrown himself through the window and made the choice easier for his loved ones.

  A sharp pain came from his arm, and Ali glanced down to see blood. He’d been digging his nails so deeply into the skin that he’d broken it, drawing four curved furrows.

  “Then I will go.” It was his mother again, her voice decisive. “I’ve got this marid blood in me as well, don’t I? I will go to Tiamat and reason with her.”

  Oh, Amma. Ali wanted to weep for her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But his voice was steady when he spoke—she’d wanted him to be a king, and he could go bravely into this for her.

  “You can’t. You cannot swim and breathe like they do. I can. And I’m the one they want,” Ali said, skirting what he needed to do next. “The marid made clear they can attack while I take refuge in this land.”

  “I need you all to leave.” Nahri’s command rang out, professional and allowing no room for protest. When Hatset drew up tall, looking like she was about to object, Nahri stayed composed. “Your son is still injured, my queen. I understand we have limited time and must make some important decisions, but the rest of you can go argue while I take care of Ali.”

  Gratitude welled in him, followed by a wave of shame. God, the things the monsoon marid had made him say to Nahri, the way he had touched her …

  Looking eager to escape, Issa bolted, but Ali’s mother crossed to where he was sitting on the bed and gave him a hug. “It’s going to be okay, Alu. I promise. We’ll find a way around this.”

  Ali forced himself to look into her eyes. He already knew the only way around this was through it. “Of course, Amma.” He held her close another moment, trying to set in his memory the smell of her perfume and the feel of her in his arms.

  He did not imagine being able to hug his mother again.

  She kissed the top of his head before departing. Jamshid and Nahri were whispering furiously in Divasti.

  “Wajed,” Ali called, beckoning the Qaid over. He switched to Geziriyya—this was not something he wanted anyone else to hear. “I’m going to need a boat. We’ll need to be discreet. If my mother thinks—”

  “I will get you out.” Wajed sounded devastated, but they were soldiers first, and both knew protecting the people of this coast took priority over their own safety. “If this is what you have decided, my prince, it will be done.”

  Ali gripped the other man’s hand. “Thank you, uncle.”

  Jamshid joined them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not personal.”

  “I know it’s not. You don’t need to apologize.”

  The Daeva man looked like he had more to say. “I’ll look in the books for mentions of Tiamat. Maybe there’s something there.”

  Ali could not even feign a hopeful smile. “Maybe.”

  Jamshid and Wajed closed the door behind them, leaving Ali and Nahri alone.

  There was a long moment of silence. The rain had finally abated, the night song of chirping insects and dripping leaves the only sound. Ali wondered if this was the last time he’d hear it.

  Nahri spoke first, her voice quiet. “This reminds me of our second encounter. When I thought you were drowning in the canal, and then you wouldn’t let me look at the books in your bedroom without a chaperone.”

  Ali stared at the floor. That day seemed like a lifetime ago. “I remember being pretty unbearable back then. I’m lucky you didn’t shove me in the canal.”

  “I was tempted.” Nahri sat on the bed beside him. “Please look at me, my friend.”

  He shook his head, fighting tears. “I can’t.”

  “Ali.” Nahri touched his cheek, lifting his chin to face her. Her dark eyes were soft. “What was it you told me on the beach? It’s just you and me right now.”

  Her fingers brushed the line of his beard, and then Ali broke. “I want to climb out of my skin,” he burst out. “I can still feel that thing in my head, in my body. I’m one of them. My very family is the product of some evil marid’s scheme. I have his blood, his magic running through my veins. Power he built stealing brides and devouring children.” He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to throw up. “I … that can’t be what I really am. I’m a believer,” he whispered. “How can I be descended from some demon?”

  “You’re not descended from a demon, Ali, for God’s sake.” Nahri sighed. “I’m not going to justify what Sobek did to my family or his djinn descendants, but neither am I going to pretend he’s the only one who’s wanted vengeance. But you’re not him. You’ve got your mother’s blood, your grandfather’s. You’re descended from those of your ancestors who stood up to Sobek, the ones who chose to save the rest of us and paid the ultimate price.”

  I devoured them. Ali’s stomach turned over. “He killed his own children. How could he do that and then save my life? Show me his magic? God, Nahri, I all but begged him to teach me more. I ached to see the currents again.”

  Nahri shifted beside him, pressing one of his hands between hers. “When I first learned what the Nahids had done to the shafit, I wanted to climb out of my skin. I had imagined them as these noble healers, and learning some were monsters, that they would have killed me as a child—that they had killed children … I told Dara I was glad the djinn invaded. I think I even told him that I was glad the Nahids were dead. But it’s not that simple.” She took his face in her hands again. “You and I are not the worst of ou
r ancestors. They don’t own us. They don’t own our heritage. Manizheh uses Nahid magic to kill; I use it to heal. Just because Sobek has used magic for evil doesn’t mean that’s what it is when you use it.”

  Ali looked into her worried eyes. Nahri was so close that their heads were almost touching, and when he inhaled, he could smell the cedar incense that clung to her skin. “It’s a shame you hate politics,” he murmured. “You’d be a very good queen.”

  “Yes, but then you’d be advocating for people to overthrow me and turn my throne into a table for some sort of godforsaken governing council.” Nahri gave him a broken smile, her gaze glimmering with unshed tears. “I prefer being on the same side.”

  That shattered Ali again. “I wanted to do it with you,” he choked out. “To go back to Daevabad and fix things. The hospital. The government. All our foolish ideas. I wanted a future.”

  Nahri pulled him into her arms, and it was everything Ali could do not to weep. To scream. He didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not now, when his people and family needed him most.

  Nahri released him, wiping her eyes. “Let me heal you. Please. I’ll feel less useless.”

  Ali managed a nod, slipping the sheet he’d wrapped around his shoulders low enough that Nahri could reach his heart.

  But he wasn’t prepared for the press of her fingers. Not now, when his emotions were a mess and the monsoon marid had already called out his feelings for her. Ali shivered, fighting a jump when her hand trembled.

  She cleared her throat. “Drop the seal.”

  Ali obeyed, wincing as the familiar jab of pain came. But relief followed, the throbbing ache in his swollen nose extinguishing. Nahri’s other hand traced the gash the marid had torn in his wrist, the skin healing as her fingers brushed over it. Longing ripped through him, the fiercest he’d ever felt. The skin she’d touched felt scorched. Ali felt scorched.

  Nahri dropped her hand from his heart, the magic falling. But she was still gripping Ali’s wrist, and her cheeks were flushed when she met his gaze.

  “Better?” she whispered, her voice halting.

  Ali closed the space between them and kissed her.

  His lips had no sooner grazed hers—and oh, her mouth was so soft, warm and welcoming and glorious—than his wits returned, and panic crashed over him.

  He jerked back. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t stop.” Nahri slid a hand behind his neck and dragged him back.

  Ali’s apology died on his tongue, and then from his mind altogether as Nahri kissed him deep and slow and with agonizing deliberation. She parted her lips, pulling him closer, and Ali groaned against her mouth, unable to check himself. The noise should have stopped him, shamed him. Reminded him that this was forbidden.

  But Ali’s entire world had just been smashed, he was going to die before the next sunset, and God forgive him, he wanted this.

  Stop, a voice in his head commanded as Nahri slid into his lap. Stop, as Ali finally grew brave enough to touch the black curls that tumbled around her face, to wrap his fingers around one and kiss its softness. This was wrong, it was so wrong.

  Then they were falling onto his bed, overtaken by grief and madness. Nahri straddled his waist, and Ali traced her cheeks, her jaw, pulling her mouth back to his. Her hair was like a dark, fuzzy curtain around them, the press of her soft body and the taste of salt on her lips … he had no idea he could feel like this, no idea anything could feel this good.

  She pulled the blanket away from him completely, and Ali caught his breath at the shock of cool air on his bare skin.

  Nahri instantly broke away, meeting his gaze. She was breathing fast, uncertainty and desire warring in her dark eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

  There was only one answer he could give. She was Muntadhir’s wife. My brother’s wife.

  Ali stared back at her. “No.”

  The look on her face—Ali shook. Nahri pinned him to the bed, her fingers sliding through his own, and then she continued, following the pattern of his scars and exploring the rise of his chest. Her touch was feather-light, and yet it burned him, setting his body ablaze with each caress, each press of her mouth to his bare shoulder, his collar, his stomach. Ali wasn’t as bold, not daring to touch her anywhere beneath her dress. But Nahri sighed as he held her close, kissing her wrists, her ear, the hollow of her throat. He had no idea what he was doing, but the sound of her pleasure drove him on.

  Once. God, please let me have this just once. Ali had obeyed the rules his entire life, surely, he could have this moment, one moment with the woman he loved before he destroyed everything between them.

  Then you’ll destroy her. Because even dizzy with desire, Ali knew all too well what was to come.

  “Nahri.” He gasped her name as she tightened her legs around his waist, the rock of her hips sending him into a frenzy. Ali was not going to be able to stop himself if they went much further. “Wait. I can’t … I can’t do this to you.”

  She stroked his beard, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You can. Really, I promise.”

  “I can’t.”

  Nahri must have heard the change in his voice. She drew back, guarded. “Why?”

  Because we’re not married. Because you’re my brother’s wife. Reasons that were so much simpler than the one tearing through his heart. Reasons that yesterday would have been enough to make what they were doing unthinkable and now seemed almost petty in comparison.

  “Because I need you to cut the seal out of my heart.”

  Nahri recoiled, staring at him with wild eyes. “What?”

  Clever Nahri, always two steps ahead of him: how did she not see what seemed so horribly obvious? “I can’t go to Tiamat with Suleiman’s seal in my heart,” Ali explained, feeling sick. “We can’t let the marid have it. You heard what Sobek said. That’s been their goal all along—to seize the seal and steal our magic. To see Daevabad itself sink beneath the lake. You need to take the seal from me. Tonight.”

  Nahri was already shaking her head. “I can’t. I won’t. It will kill you.”

  “Then you can dump my body on a boat and float it out into her ocean. They’re the ones who like to bend the rules,” he said, unable to check the bitterness in his voice. “Let them have a taste of their own medicine.”

  Nahri was staring at him with a look of utter hurt, the black hair he’d mussed hanging in waves around her shoulders. “How can you ask me that? Now?” she added, angry heat building in her voice as she gestured to their still very inappropriate positions. She shoved away from him, shooting up from the bed and leaving cold the space her body had occupied. “Creator, it’s like you’re in a competition with yourself over picking the worst time to say something.”

  Ali pushed up, reaching for her hands. Any reserve of self-denial he’d built up had been ripped away with their first kiss; he didn’t want to ever stop touching her.

  “Because I don’t know what else to do! I don’t want to die, Nahri, I don’t,” he confessed in a rush, cradling her hands in his. “I want to live and go back to Daevabad. But I’ll be damned if some marid uses me to take the rest of you down. At least with you”—Ali swallowed, his mouth going dry—“there’s a chance I might survive. I saw the way you operated on that boy.”

  “He wasn’t you!” Nahri yanked her hands from his. “I’m not a surgeon, Ali, I’m a Nahid. I cut into people only when I have magic to heal them!”

  Forgive me, please forgive me. “Then I’m going to ask Jamshid.” Nahri spun on him and Ali pressed on. “I’ll tell him everything about the seal. You know he’ll do it. But he’s probably not experienced enough to keep me alive.”

  Nahri glared at him, looking freshly betrayed. “Would you do it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Could you do it to me if the situation were reversed? Or did your father read you correctly that night?” Nahri lifted her chin. “Look me in the eye, Alizayd, and tell me the truth. You promised no more lie
s. If saving Daevabad had meant likely killing me, would you have done it? Could you take a blade to my heart and hope for the best?”

  Ali stared back at her, shame slicing through him.

  But he had promised not to lie. “No.”

  “Then how can you ask it of me?”

  “Because you’re better than me,” he said. “Because if you wanted it, you would be a good queen. Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re clever.” Ali inhaled. “And because if you can look at this and see another way, I’ll trust you, I will. But if not, then, Nahri, I need you to be the Banu Nahida. Because in a couple of hours, Daevabad’s mortal enemy is going to have me, and Anahid’s ring can’t be in my heart when she does.”

  Nahri stared at him, a dozen emotions passing across her face. Her black eyes glimmered, wet with the tears she so rarely let fall.

  Ali wanted to throw himself at her feet. To beg her to save him and beg for forgiveness. To tell her he loved her and tell her to run back to Cairo and be free of yet another responsibility.

  And then the emotions left her face, one by one, like a series of candles flickering out, leaving nothing to read, nothing to seize. The face of the woman who had stared down his father and deceived her mother. The Banu Nahida he’d watched pray at the seaside and pick herself up once more.

  “I will need to get my tools.” Her voice had chilled. “And go speak to Jamshid—I’ll need his assistance.” Nahri stepped away, her entire demeanor changed, and Ali felt a wall crash down between them. “Prepare yourself.”

  33

  NAHRI

  Nahri tapped on the sketch before her. “Go through it again.”

  Across from her, Jamshid was ashen. He’d been getting paler since Nahri ordered him to her room, briskly told him the whole truth of Suleiman’s seal, and then unrolled Yaqub’s tools, announcing he was about to take part in some unplanned chest surgery.

  “Again?” he repeated faintly. “We’ve talked it out ten times.”