by Amber Lough
I bowed in return, bending at the waist to hide my blush, and sensed Firuz standing behind me, straight and watchful.
So this is the great Prince Kamal, he said to me. I did not give a reply.
“This is Firuz, my escort,” I said. Kamal’s eyes narrowed a tiny amount. He glanced at the distance between Firuz and me.
Kamal bowed his head at Firuz. “Welcome to Baghdad. I am grateful you’ve come to watch over Najwa, although she will not need it. She has the caliph’s protection.”
Firuz smiled, but it was thin and forced. “I am honored, Prince Kamal.” Thankfully, he had no reason to say more.
“Where are the others?” I asked. “In the House of Wisdom?”
Kamal nodded. “Yes. They have been waiting.”
“Am I late?” I asked while Kamal came to my side. We began walking toward the House of Wisdom, traveling along a hall with walls of enameled plaster arabesques in alternating blue and green.
“Not at all,” he said.
While we walked, Kamal explained why we were meeting. Not everyone from the Court of Honor would be present, he said; there would only be five. Zakariyya Hadrami and Badr al-Din were there to present the concerns of the palace, mainly those of Ibrahim, but Jafar al-Jabr and Ya’Qub Ghamdi were eager to speak with me. The fifth man, Muntasir Arafat, was the palace’s legal expert and did not seem to care if the war continued or not. He, Kamal explained, was the one we needed to speak with the most.
“What about Hadrami and al-Din?” I asked. I kept my voice low and my lips covered with the edge of my veil. “Are they dangerous?”
Kamal shook his head. “Not to you, specifically. But they are not convinced.”
“What is there to convince? We jinn are innocent of the attacks Hashim blamed on us. The war has continued without a need for retaliation. People—on both sides—are dying. For nothing.”
Kamal paused, and I stopped to match him. “You will see what I mean soon enough.” Then, with a quick glance at me, he smiled. “Dressed as you are, you may need to convince them you’re a jinni again.”
Then he pushed open the doors, and the air rushed out at us, cool and soft.
This is the library, I said to Firuz. The House of Wisdom was the largest library in the world. The center was open to the domed ceiling, from which hung all manner of brass celestial models. The two stories of walls were lined with books, scrolls, and maps. I had been here before, when I’d found a Memory Crystal of Melchior’s time in the caliph’s prison, as well as a diary written by Faisal’s brother, who had been the last jinni scholar to study with the humans. The House of Wisdom smelled of paper, stale air, and ink, and fine particles of dust drifted through the golden beams of sunlight that streamed down from the high windows.
I’ve seen libraries before, Firuz said.
Of course you have. I had to stop myself from thinking any more words. Firuz was, after all, in command. He didn’t need to hear me rushing on about how these were all human books, filled with lines and poems and numbers he had never even thought of. He wouldn’t care about the models of the planets and sun, or about the table covered with astrolabes and charts, pointing to all the stars, all the balls of light that put our gems to shame.
But in front of the arches of brass and the enameled globes stood five men in black robes edged with silver. They all had beards ranging from short to long, dark to light gray, but they were not all frowning. Jafar al-Jabr, mathematician and head of the House of Wisdom, smiled and came toward me.
“Welcome, Najwa. I do not believe you’ve seen our library,” he said. I had never told him of the time I’d snuck inside, invisible. “Is it not beautiful? It is twice the size of the one in Rome, they say.” He held up two of his fingers and shook them at me.
“It is much, much larger than the one we have in the Cavern,” I said. It didn’t seem wise to admit I’d taken the diary from the House of Wisdom and given it to the librarian in the Cavern.
“Oh,” he said, eyes shining, “I would love to hear what sort of sciences they are studying in the Cavern.”
“Maybe one day you can come visit, and see it all for yourself,” I said.
His pupils widened. “I hope that soon there will be peace and trust between our races, so that I may do just that. I have always regretted not having gone to see the Cavern before.”
Kamal laughed. “Jafar, you will lose your mind in the Cavern.”
Someone shut the doors behind us, ending our conversation, and I turned to the other men. “Thank you for inviting me to this meeting,” I said, bowing low.
Badr al-Din, whom I recognized from the images I’d collected at the banquet, nodded. “There is much to discuss. We should begin. Come,” he said, and he pointed to a low table nestled in a spray of green and red cushions, set beneath a large screen made of short, angled pieces of wood fastened together in a replicating diamond pattern. The result was a wall of chrysanthemum cutouts through which sunlight and breezes could pass. The light scattered across the tabletop, the cushions, and the floor, outlining the area in color and shadow.
I was taken to my seat, where I placed my hand onto one of the perpendicular shapes of light and let the warmth fade into my skin. The dappled light made the table, and all those sitting around it, half unseen. We were there to speak openly, but none of us were fully there, in the light.
Kamal raised an arm, and a servant appeared from behind a stack of books, carrying a silver tray of tea and cups. After the men each retrieved their cup of tea, I took mine. Years of training to avoid human touch had left me wary of brushing against their fingers. Although I knew no one would dare demand a wish from me at this time and place, I was very aware of their hands. We were close, knees nearly touching, and I was grateful to be farthest from the window. If I needed to get away from the table quickly, nothing was penning me in.
There is no one else here, Firuz said. He had remained standing, settling himself beside a column several feet away. Is this library always this deserted?
I did not like how he could speak so freely into my mind. His words left traces, like fine powder, all over my thoughts.
I don’t know, I answered. Please, let me focus.
Kamal took a sip and held the tiny cup between his fingers, then nodded at the men. “I would like to begin now, Consul al-Rahman,” he said. “While you were away, we held many discussions on the best way to proceed from here, such as how to end the conflict, how to help others see jinn in a more favorable light.”
“Prince Kamal, we believe that the best way is to proclaim to the entire caliphate, through a series of proclamations and notices, that the former vizier Hashim forced the war by murdering both humans and jinn in the attack in Zab. We understand it will take great courage for the caliph to declare the truth, but we believe he is a strong enough leader to do so.” In the back of my mind, I was astounded that I had not only been able to speak in front of these men, but that my words had been so clear.
Zakariyya Hadrami sucked in air through his crooked teeth, and everyone turned to him. He smiled. “Consul al-Rahman, you must also understand that war, especially one that has continued for so long, cannot be stopped cold. It will require tempering many fears.”
“What sorts of fears, other than your worry that the caliphate will revolt?” I asked.
Hadrami frowned. “Well, the people have many. What would be the guarantee that the jinn would not slaughter us in our beds, for instance?”
Firuz snorted behind me, and I knew I had to think quickly. “Councillor Hadrami,” I said, “jinn have never once slaughtered humans in their beds. There is nothing to base this fear on. It is a rumor based on prejudice.”
Badr al-Din leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. “What he means is that we have no proof of your goodwill. What good is the word of a jinni?”
What good is the word of a man? muttered Firuz, and for once, I agreed.
“There won’t ever be proof,” Kamal interjected. “Only trust. And tr
ust is a choice.”
I nodded, forcing myself to keep my eyes on Councillor Hadrami. “Yes. And this is true for us as well. We would be placing ourselves in harm’s way, should we choose to walk amongst humans. Every human in the city knows that if they can touch a jinni, they can command a wish.”
Good. Get them to think we are the weaker race. This will—
Please, Firuz. Every time you do that, I nearly jump.
My apologies. I will tread more softly.
“Should an agreement be reached, there will be a law against jinni enslavement,” Muntasir Arafat said. His voice came suddenly, like a cold wind under the door. Everyone turned to look at him. “I trust there are lawmakers in the Cavern, and there are those that enforce such laws?”
“Yes.” I had to resist the urge to look at Firuz.
“Then what we need are papers for us all to sign, and it will be done. That is, if we choose to find any trust between us,” he said. Instead of leaning forward, as Badr al-Din had done, Muntasir leaned against the wooden window and crossed his arms over his rounded stomach and surveyed us all.
“Is it that easy?” Kamal asked. It had not been a question, and he showed it clearly by setting his cup onto the table a little louder than necessary. “I had been informed earlier that our army could not stand down. Ending the war would, apparently, ‘cause those in command to no longer be necessary,’ and this would cause the city to collapse in on itself.”
Badr al-Din glowered. “That was not what Prince Ibrahim meant. What he said was that there must be reparations. Our army has suffered heavy losses over the years, and if those who lost everything were told that it has all been for nothing, they would riot. The army would dissolve, leaving us open to attack. And not just from the jinn, but from our enemies in the east as well. The Mongols have been waiting for years for their opportunity to advance on us. With the exception of Toqto’a, of course.”
Najwa, the mention of the Mongols has set off a series of thoughts from someone here. I cannot pinpoint whose they are, but he is not afraid. And more, he is thinking of a partnership between jinn and the Mongols.
Do we have anyone working with them?
I do not believe so.
The men were silent now, watching me. “What sort of reparations?” I asked weakly.
Badr al-Din blinked, looking more feline than human. “Coming from the jinn, I would assume they’d be items from the Cavern, such as gold and precious stones. Items of wealth. These would be used to calm the sores.”
I could feel Firuz’s agitation shooting off him like bolts of lightning from a cloud. Why should they receive reparations? We are the ones who have suffered most.
“What of our army?” I asked. “What would the Shaitan receive from the caliphate, to ease their wounds?”
Badr al-Din spat at the floor, then flared his nostrils. “They could have my condolences,” he said. “Because if this war is to end, it will be because we have ground the Shaitan into dust.”
Everything erupted at once. Jafar al-Jabr knocked over his cup of tea, Kamal stood up from the table, two of the other men began shouting at each other, and Badr al-Din sipped his tea, cleared his throat, and stood to face Kamal.
“I understand why you did not want your brother here,” he said, pulling his shoulders back. He stood several inches shorter than Kamal, but he appeared bigger somehow. “If he had heard that, he would have slain your ‘pretty princess’ right there on her cushion.”
I could not move from the table, because the fire in my veins was heating up and I did not want to harm anyone in the room. I heard them arguing, with Kamal’s voice piercing through the angry fog in words like “compromise” and “bias,” but I did not join them. Finally, I looked up and saw that one other person was not joining the fray: Muntasir Arafat. Instead, he sat motionless, watching, and I could not tell whether he was pleased at the words around him or not. I pressed the eye mark between my thumb and forefinger, and captured the image of his face.
Eventually, Badr al-Din marched off, slapping his heels against the marble floor. Zakariyya Hadrami scooped himself off his cushion and followed without giving us a glance. Kamal turned around, nearly bumping into Firuz.
“My apologies,” Kamal said. “To all of you. I had thought they were ready.”
I cleared my throat, but it was too sticky, so I took a sip from my now-cold cup of tea. “Prince Kamal, it seems the army despises the Shaitan. This may be the crux of our problem.”
“Yes. It would seem so.”
“Why?”
Kamal wiped at his forehead. “My brother’s soldiers are the strongest army in the world, but every time they’ve attacked the jinn, they have lost more than they’ve gained. For those that have made fighting their way of life, it stings. And after many years, the sting is difficult to ignore. Ibrahim is not the type to forget.”
“Then what can we do?” I asked.
At last, Muntasir Arafat spoke. “You must get the caliph to agree to the end of fighting. But he too will want something from the jinn. Be it jewels or promises, he will not give peace away for free.”
I looked over to Kamal. “Can we convince him?”
“I don’t know. He is not fully recovered, and Ibrahim has been with him more than I have.”
“Please, Kamal, speak with your father. It’s the only chance we have. Otherwise, Ibrahim will run us all into the ground.”
Arafat is watching you.
Why?
He was lying when he said an agreement from the caliph was all we needed. He’s pleased all of you believed him.
“Councillor Arafat,” I said, turning to the wizened man, “if you provide us with the papers needed, I will get them approved by the Cavern. Please send them through the Lamp.” I stood up slowly, careful to keep myself steady. “Kamal, I think it’s best if I return now.”
The rest of the time in the palace passed quickly. Kamal took us back to the Lamp, and although I wanted desperately to take his hand, I could not look at him. I had not said the right words, and the result was that the meeting had burst open, revealing the hate, the wounds, and the disease of so many years of fighting. I was not sure I could seal the seam. Not with words. Not with my words.
SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED at the last training exercise. I saw it in Melchior’s eyes when he told me to go home and rest. The annoyance, the self-righteousness, and the comments about my human father were gone, and in their place, he had bowed his head. The bow hadn’t been a very deep one, and if you didn’t know Melchior, you might have thought he was only taking a deep breath. But it had been a bow. A nod. At last, I had done something right.
Because of this, I was only mildly surprised when I received a message from Melchior instructing me to meet him and Taja at the Shaitan Command again. He and Taja were waiting for me at the entrance, beside the guard’s table.
“You’ve arrived,” Melchior said. It was less a statement of my presence and more of a greeting. I glanced at the guard, who picked up the disk with my name etched on it and hung it on the wall.
Taja smiled. “From now on, you’re part of the Shaitan. Not a full member, but as a magus, you can go nearly anywhere.”
I glanced at Melchior. “I can come see Yashar whenever I want to?”
“If you can control your mind,” he said dryly.
Melchior and Taja had their disks placed on the wall with the others, and then we all went through the arch and stepped out onto the training grounds of the Shaitan. Before, I had only been looking for Atish and hadn’t had time to look closer, but now I noticed a line of blackened columns at the far end, at which the Shaitan were lining up and throwing fireballs. Loud, explosive sounds reverberated across the open space, and I blinked involuntarily each time one of the balls of fire hit the target.
“You’ll get used to that,” Taja said. She walked between Melchior and me, slow and steady, until a jinni I didn’t recognize stopped throwing fireballs and turned around. He saw us approaching and grinned wi
dely. Taja’s pace quickened, and with a sideways glance at me, she said, “That’s my dyad, Saam.”
I had only seen one Dyad together before: Melchior and Aga. They were older, wiser, and stiff as reeds. Taja and Saam, however, were a force of nature. Saam wrapped his arm around Taja’s shoulders and spun her to face me.
“This is your newest magus, I see,” he said. He wasn’t much taller than Taja, but he was powerfully built, like a stallion that hadn’t yet grown out his legs. “Welcome, Melchior,” he said, bowing his head at the Master of the Corps. “And Zayele.”
“Where is Rashid?” asked Melchior.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to Rashid, who was entering the training grounds from the opposite side with Atish, Samir, and Arzada beside him.
A Dyad wasn’t a romantic arrangement. It wasn’t a marriage. But it could be, and often was. From what I’d heard, sometimes that invisible bond twisted around the pair, like it had with Taja and Saam. A blush spread like a rash over my face, and I couldn’t do anything to hide it.
“Zayele,” Rashid said. His voice was deep and rumbled. “Are you ready to see what we can do?”
Melchior almost sputtered. “Is this what you intended when you said ‘formal introduction to the Dyads’?”
“I don’t have time for anything more than this, unfortunately. I’ve just gotten word from Delia that Ibrahim’s army didn’t stop at Baghdad to join their leader,” Rashid said. “You probably already knew that. Anyway, I have to speak with my lieutenants and see about sending out a patrol. I’d like to know where they’re headed.”
Melchior’s face was poppy red. “It seems I need to speak with Delia. And this young woman’s sister,” he said, gesturing at me. “Zayele, Taja and these Shaitan jackals will tell you what you need to know.” Then he was gone, strutting beside Rashid, who had frowned at us all before leaving.
The moment they were out of earshot, I turned to Atish. “What’s going on?”
“Well, hello, nice to see you here,” he said. When I didn’t smile, he sighed. “I think Melchior’s upset because Rashid knew about something before he did. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, we’re going to watch a Dyad work together.”
