“There’s usually a beggar here,” she replied. “I was going to give him some date bread, but I haven’t seen him at all since this morning.”
“That is… quite kind of you. If you like, I’ll gladly escort you through town in search of him. A lady should not wander alone so late at night.”
She considered the offer. “A lady also shouldn’t be alone with a stranger at night.” Not that her father would care if she was harmed, beyond fussing that she’d dared to endanger their family’s reputation—as if he hadn’t done the same with his reckless gambling.
Joaidane grinned. “But we are no longer strangers. I’ve given you my name.”
A small smile crept onto her face. “So you have. It seems fair I give you mine in exchange. You may call me Zarina.”
When Joaidane offered his arm, she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and they set off at a leisurely pace.
“What brings you to Naruk? Are you visiting relatives?”
“I…” His expression became thoughtful, and his brows drew close together. “I’m a traveler. I visit many different places and never remain for long.”
“That sounds rather wonderful, if a bit lonely. You must have seen so many amazing things during your travels.”
“Many things,” he confirmed, “both wonderful and awful. Have you never left Naruk?” He turned his inquisitive gaze on her.
“Only in my dreams or when I read a book. My mother once told me of dunes where crystals grow from the ground like flowers. And she’d read stories to me about distant lands beyond our kingdom where dragons and fairies live.”
“Then she told you about the Jeweled Garden,” he murmured. “It is an exquisite sight to behold on the borders of Liang and Samahara near Ankirith. If not for the Emperor of Liang, I suspect Sultan Kaspar would have long ago harvested every spire down to the last glittering gemstone.”
“I envy you for seeing it with your own eyes.” She sighed wistfully.
“Perhaps one day you will see it for yourself.”
“Oh no, not me. I have the shop to run with my brother and my fa—” Her voice faltered. “With my brother.”
While she cursed her slip of the tongue, Joaidane’s steps stalled, and he raised a brow at her. “Does your father no longer own the business?”
She chose her words with care. “As my father is no longer as capable as he once was, Kazim and I provide help around the shop.”
“You are a good daughter to protect his name and reputation, but you do him no favors, beautiful Zarina. There are some lessons a man must learn on his own. One day, your father will learn his lesson, and there will be nothing either you or Kazim may do to help him.”
Something about his fragile and thin smile drove a nail into her chest. This was a man who knew from experience, who had learned through sorrow and hardship.
The deeper they traveled into the city, away from the residential districts, the more people they passed. Lanterns burned outside late-night delis and cordial houses. She’d never gone inside, told all her life by her father they were no place for a young woman to patronize.
No matter where they wandered, she saw no sign of the old beggar. Had he been jailed after all despite her afternoon efforts and the money she’d spent at the archive? In the months since he’d come into town, the local guards frequently threatened to lock him away for vagrancy, although they never did more than chase him away from the market until Vizier Bijam’s most recent decree. All Forgotten were to be removed from the city, and as a nameless, jobless wanderer, he had nothing of value to the sultanate worth keeping him in Naruk.
Registering the old man to her family name and taking responsibility for his well-being should have shielded him from the new law.
“How did you know I worked with spices?” she asked, the abrupt question startling her companion. He blinked at her.
“I’ve seen you during the day.”
“But I haven’t seen you.”
“I have a talent for going unseen.” He chuckled, and the low, rich sound tickled across her senses, raising the fine hairs on her arms and neck.
“Are you a thief?” she asked.
“Hardly. A most ignoble profession, and not one I claim. But what of you? What is your role in the shop?”
“Mostly, I sort through and grind the spices before making the afternoon deliveries. Kazim, my brother, handles the sales and negotiates with the farmers to purchase our produce.”
Speaking of her family brought to mind the late hour. She lifted her gaze to the moon and took note of its position in the sky.
Dammit. She wasn’t yet ready to end her night or part from her new friend’s side. Overcome with blushing shyness and warmth creeping to her cheeks, she stole another glance at him and marveled over his aristocratic features. Was he a prince—one of Sultan Kaspar’s numerous children by one of his dozen or so wives? Joaidane was a man deserving of artwork styled in his honor and portraits bearing his image.
He was a man she wanted with all her soul to kiss, and she wondered what it would be like to have his intimate touch against her bare skin.
Instead of surrendering to her temptation, cowardice forced her to look away. “I should return home, or Kazim will worry for my safety. He indulges my walks but doesn’t understand them.”
“Why do you wander at night?”
“A story for another time, I think. Here, why don’t you take this?” She pulled the loaf from the basket and offered it to him.
He blinked at her. “You would give this to me? But I’m not the beggar you sought.”
“True, but it would be a shame for it to go to waste, and you’ve been so kind as to escort me. It seems the least I can do to repay you.”
“Thank you.”
As she hurried away to return home before her brother or even her father roused to realize she wasn’t yet in bed, Zarina had her first touch of excitement.
Maybe… maybe their meeting hadn’t been by chance after all. Maybe she was meant for more than the provincial life of a merchant’s daughter and great adventures awaited her beyond Naruk.
But first, she had to discover more about the mysterious traveling stranger and hope to find him again.
Chapter
“Never seen him,” Old Hajira said as she scattered grain over the henpecked ground for her chickens. The plump beauties scurried over the barren ground and shook their enormous, cloudlike tail feathers while pursuing granules of feed.
“Surely you must have noticed. You know everyone in this city and hear all of the best gossip.”
Zarina’s ancient neighbor cackled and grinned wide. “The flattery is wise but unnecessary, Zarina dear. If this man is half as handsome as you say, then I’d know of him. So either your memory is blinded by romantic whimsy or he is a stranger whose path has yet to cross mine.”
“If you hear anything of him, will you tell me?”
“Looking to snare yourself a husband?”
The response left her in an impulsive rush. “No!”
Hajira laughed again and patted her hand. “I’ll keep my ears open. And I’ll ask my daughter.”
No matter where Zarina went or who she asked around her neighborhood, no one else had seen a man fitting Joaidane’s description. When she visited the communal well where the local housewives collected to trade stories, they shook their heads too.
“Hmm… the name is rather familiar, but no, I haven’t seen your handsome young man.” Amira snapped out her wash and hung it over a line she had set up. Zarina had known the woman since birth and trusted her more than anyone in the city—with exception to her brother.
“It’s like he’s a ghost. No one saw him but me.”
“What do you plan to do if you find him?”
“Nothing.” Zarina wrung out a dress for her friend and hung it to dry. “Talk, I suppose. Ask him to share stories of his travels.”
“Always the dreamer. You should go and travel yourself.”
“Yo
u know I can’t, Amira. Someone has to stay here and keep the shop running.”
“Speaking of, you should get down there rather than waste time helping me.”
“I never think of helping you as a waste of time.”
Amira chuckled and shooed her off. “Go on, child. Go help that handsome brother of yours. Though if you ask me, both of you would be better far away from Naruk. My husband tells me Ankirith is ripe for a spice business.”
A wan smile flitted across Zarina’s lips. “Father would never agree to the undertaking of moving our lives across the desert.” After squeezing Amira in a parting hug, Zarina hurried away.
A day in the spice shop was always the same, with little variation beyond the herbal blends being made. While Kazim manned the counter and dealt with the books, Zarina ground peppers, pounded roots into powders, and bundled fragrant herbs to dry. She always knew which blends their customers would order. No one ever wanted anything new.
The family spice shop occupied a lot in a prestigious section of the merchants’ avenue, close to the noble quarter. The spacious front room allowed multiple customers to come inside out of the sun, and high windows ensured they caught the breeze blowing across the city. The back room held all their stock, some in barrels and others in glass jars. Zarina kept the long work counter meticulously clean.
The days their father did come in, few in number as they were, he tended to cause more of a mess than she preferred and blathered on until customers grew irritated with long wait times and left.
He hadn’t shown up that day, which she counted as both a blessing and a curse.
Zarina glanced down the lane through the shop windows and frowned. Business had slowed, the walking path before their storefront almost empty with exception to the occasional shopper.
Kazim mopped his brow with a handkerchief, then glanced outside toward the sun. An unusually hot and unforgiving day sent heat shimmers dancing down the narrow lane between both halves of the space dominating central Naruk’s trading center.
Few merchants could afford to close their doors or pack their stalls due to a little warmth. And with their father’s habits worse than ever, they’d starve otherwise.
“Go home, brother.”
“Someone must remain to serve any customers.”
“Then I’ll tend the shop for the rest of the day.”
“Are you sure you’re up for that?” he asked. “You were gone for a long time last night.”
“How would you know? You were asleep.”
He shrugged. “I awakened when you returned. What were you doing?”
“If you must know, I went to find the old beggar man. He looked as though he could use a full belly when I saw him last.”
He stared at her, brows raised with an incredulous wrinkle between them. “My kindhearted sister, feeding the needy when we ourselves struggle.”
“Do the gods not promise to aid those who help others?” she fired back, raising her chin in challenge. She held her defiant expression until Kazim chuckled and returned to his stool behind the counter.
“I suppose you’re right. Very well, then. If you would prefer to give our scraps to the old lunatic, who am I to deny you?”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. Why should I care that you gave our leftovers to the old beggar? Better for it to feed a hungry man than go to the dogs. I only ask that you be mindful of the guards. Vizier Bijam has made a new law in the name of the sultan, decreeing all Forgotten are to be removed from the city. They’ve never tolerated beggars for long, and it was only a matter of time before it came to this.”
Zarina scraped the edge of her sandal against the ground. “I… About that. I may have done something without consulting you or Father.”
Kazim groaned and dropped both hands to the shop counter. “What craziness did you do this time?”
“I claimed the old man at the archives so he would no longer be a Forgotten. I know Father would never allow us to bring him under our roof, but at the very least, I can provide him our leftover food so he doesn’t starve and die alone. No one deserves that, Kazim.”
As she spoke, the hard edges of her brother’s disapproving expression softened until the corners of his mouth rose in a hinted smile. “You always bring honor to our family, even when I and Father do not.” He resumed shoveling spices into jars and twisting lids onto the glass vessels. “Then I’ll be sure to sort through our unused clothing and take a bundle to him. By now the old man must need fresh linens.”
Somehow, despite having their father for his only male role model, her brother had grown into a wonderful man.
“You’ll clothe him?” she asked.
“Of course. Did you think I would disagree?”
“I thought you might lecture me a little. I know times are rough.”
Kazim leaned forward and reached out, setting his hand on hers. “But for others it is rougher. I’m humbled by your generosity and grace. Not only would this city be a sad place without you here, but I know my life is fuller for having you as a sister. You make me proud, Zarina. If our father were in his right mind, he’d tell you the same.”
And less than a day ago, she’d had fantasies of leaving both Kazim and her father. She’d dreamed of traveling the world and crossing the vast desert to see new kingdoms and adventure to new places only mentioned in her novels.
If I leave, if I somehow left this town behind, what would Kazim do without me?
Her enthusiasm faltered, and with it, all hopes of ever leaving Naruk behind.
* * *
Day after day, Joaidane watched the citizens of Naruk and wondered how long he could remain before they ran him out of town. Over the course of three hundred years, he’d lived in dozens of villages, but none ever allowed him for long. Superstition had placed a centuries-long stigma over the Forgotten, men and women who were among the last of their line, too old to work, but without children or surviving relatives to care for them. Now he’d escaped that miserable title thanks to Zarina.
But how will I ever escape this curse?
It wasn’t enough that Queen Yasmina had bound his powers, but she’d also stolen his face. Chained within the bondage of his gruesome appearance, no one but Zarina would speak to him for longer than a few moments, giving him a wide berth as if afraid his ugliness would be contagious.
Almost certain she wouldn’t return a second night to the village well, he perched on the stone rim and bathed in the restoring light of the full moon. Three days each month, Yasmina allowed him a taste of his gift for personal pleasure, although he’d yet to test it to the limit to discover what she would and would not allow.
Like a blessing given form, Zarina appeared when he’d been ready to give up. The wispy silk of her dress fluttered around her sandaled feet as she crossed beneath a torch. The flickering, orange light cast a radiant glow over her from head to toe.
So long had passed since Joaidane last spoke with anyone in conversation that he hungered for even another minute of her company.
“We meet again.” He pushed away from the fountain and bowed. Zarina offered her hand and, as he had done the night before, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. The electric spark he’d dismissed as static the previous night danced along their fingers when they made contact again.
He hadn’t imagined it after all.
“So we do. Of course, I come here almost every night to fetch water.”
“Without a bucket.”
Zarina’s gaze dropped to her empty hands. She blinked. Joaidane smiled despite himself, unable to help the smug satisfaction that came from thinking she’d rushed out to see him. No one else had paid him any mind.
In over three hundred years of wearing his natural appearance beneath the full moon, no one had ever spoken to him. Queen Yasmina’s final spiteful punishment had been to grant him beauty unseen by all. No matter who he tried to interact with, no one could see, hear, or perceive him. He lived as a ghost.
Until now.
“An understandable mishap. Lucky for you, I so happen to have one.” Joaidane brought his hand from behind his back and held a clay jug that hadn’t been there.
Startled, she jumped back and placed a hand on her heart. “How did you—your hands were empty a moment ago.”
He chuckled. “Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. Regardless, you now have a vessel to carry your water home.”
Joaidane stood by while she gathered water from the well. Each city possessed several in its residential quarters, covered during the day to prevent evaporation and opened whenever it rained to collect fresh water.
“Thank you.”
During the countless human lives he’d crossed, no other had seen him. And yet she had. Somehow, a simple merchant’s daughter—a beautiful merchant’s daughter with a kind soul, a gentle spirit, and the tenacity to remain in a home broken by her father’s greed and alcoholism—had done the impossible.
“Did you ever find your hungry beggar?”
“Will you ever tell me how you conjured a bucket from thin air?”
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“No,” Zarina replied cheerfully. “But as I haven’t found him, I’ll be happy to feed you instead.”
“I’d be hon—”
“If you’ll tell me your secret.”
“—ored.” He stared at her. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’m a merchant’s daughter. Deal making is bred into my blood.”
He couldn’t help but grin, even if she had gained the upper hand. “What if I told you I was a sorcerer? Would you be frightened?”
“No. Intrigued, but not frightened. You’ve given me no reason to fear you, and there are many sorcerers across Samahara. I’ve never met one, but I’ve heard of many. Vizier Bijam is the sultan’s personal sorcerer, isn’t he?”
“Indeed.”
Walking alongside her until they reached her home at the edge of the residential quarter, he waited at the foot of the steps until she emerged from delivering the water inside. Her skirt swished around her bare ankles when she descended the steps. Admiring her from head to toe, he noticed the intricate blossom design painted over the top of her feet. It traveled down to her toes in the purple and pink temporary dye favored by girls who visited the women’s spa. She carried a plate on both of her hands, the ceramic dish covered with a generous serving of fragrant rice, glazed chicken, and vegetables.
Zarina and the Djinn Page 3
