Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  “We did.” I cocked my head, peering at him.

  “When I felt you wish for a way to get Raheemah to the healer . . .”

  I was perplexed. I had done no such thing. “I did?”

  He nodded. “I guided the suitor’s choice to Sabra, hoping it would afford you the opportunity to leave. I also hoped I would have the chance to see you while you were out.” His lip quirked, a poorly hidden glint of pride in his scheming.

  I sighed. “Why don’t you have him propose to Sabra while you’re at it? Then I can be done with her meddling and free to leave the tent again.”

  His voice had a hard edge. “I have some conscience. I can’t interfere in one’s future like that anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “I’ve done it in the past. I regret it.”

  “I wasn’t serious anyway.” We both knew it was a lie. Suddenly remembering Rafal’s claim, I began fussing with the buttons on his tunic. “Did you know the Altamaruq seek a jinni?”

  “I have heard.”

  “Aren’t you worried? They’re killing soldiers, they tried to kill my father . . . and now the prison.”

  Saalim frowned at the mention of the prison.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “They attacked the palace again that night. The prison was a distraction, to pull as many of the King’s men to stop the fire, to be away from the palace.”

  I gasped. “What?” I grabbed his shirt in my fists.

  “They did not get far.”

  My voice trembled. “How do they know about you? What would happen if they took you?”

  “I do not know what they know or how they know it. You don’t need to worry about me, Emel. If there is a threat to the King, it is my duty to remove it as swiftly as possible to save him. And none can get me unless they first get him.”

  “But you aren’t with him now. You weren’t there when Matin attacked,” I said in a rush, suddenly fearful that something would happen while he was gone. That the vessel would be stolen before Saalim would have time to return and stop it. If he was taken . . .

  “No, I was not there when Matin attacked.” He looked away. “Your father learned from that mistake. He could have lost his life, he could have lost me.” He added softly, “You wouldn’t have lost Aashiq.”

  “It is okay,” I said almost believing it. “I am okay.”

  “Things have changed since Matin. Your father keeps me out of my vessel nearly always—either guarding him or acting as his slave. If something happens to him, if he needs me, I can be there faster than a soldier can move.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “I am not.” He said it confidently.

  “But what can you do for the Altamaruq? How could you restore the desert? How would it be different?”

  He grumbled. “Please, I do not want to talk of your father’s troubles when I have you in my arms.” He brushed his lips against my cheek, caressing the valley between my neck and shoulders lightly with his thumb.

  The mood had changed considerably. I leaned into him again. “I am grateful you allowed me to help Emah. That you came to see me.” I felt him relax against me.

  “I must confess, it was partly selfish. Seeing you earlier was not enough for me.”

  “Were you there today?” I was suddenly anxious. I did not want him to see me as an ahira, fluttering my eyes at another man who touched my hips and waist.

  “I was. It took all my power to not watch you every moment.” He twisted his finger through a long strand of my hair. “This afternoon, I masqueraded as a dutiful slave.” His expression was one of mock excitement until he saw my uneasiness. He looked puzzled, then understanding came. “Ah. Emel, I have known you as an ahira for many years. You don’t need to worry. I know you have a duty to your father.”

  “It’s different now.”

  “Are you worried about me?” He smiled, pleased.

  I shrugged, embarrassed.

  “You owe me nothing, except maybe one more thing . . .” He bent down and kissed me again. His fingers trailed through my hair, down my back and waist. We held each other for a few moments more. My head pressed to his chest, his cheek resting atop my hair. There was farewell in our embrace, not knowing when we would see each other again.

  “You must return to your sister. She is almost done,” Saalim said as he pulled away. He quickly draped the scarf around my head and face. I adjusted it, righting what his inexperienced hands failed to do.

  “I hope I see you again soon.”

  “I will try to make it so. And if I can’t, if it’s some time before we see each other again, know that I am near and that I think only of you.”

  I rested my hand against his heart. “I think the same.”

  “I know,” he murmured and kissed my lips, sending warmth like hot oil down my spine.

  He pressed me through the parting in the tent so I was back in the deserted shop looking toward the bazaar thoroughfare. I found my way back to the oracle’s tent and was just settling into the sand when Raheemah emerged.

  “Sister!” Raheemah called. I could see from her eyes that there was a wide smile on her face.

  “I will meet someone soon, and we will fall in love!” Raheemah crooned. “And she wanted me to tell you something, too.” She held her finger up and closed her eyes, as though trying to get it just right. “She said to beware of the man in gold, for he will steal your heart.”

  I laughed to myself and wondered just how much the jinni had magicked the oracle’s words. “Oh, did she?”

  “Do you think the man in gold is the same man the healer mentioned?” Raheemah asked seriously as we strode away.

  I faltered. Was he?

  Raheemah prattled on about the specifics of the prophecy as we wound our way back to our home. My sweet half-sister, to whom life had been so cruel—dreams of love and a hopeful future bursting out of her into the night sky. Though it filled me with gladness to be able to give her that gift, there was also a deep ache knowing that tomorrow, she would again be an ahira of the King, a pawn in his insatiable game of power. And so would I.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Curled on my mat, eyes closed, I thought of Saalim—his lips on mine, his beard against my cheek, his fingers on the small of my back.

  A bright wash of sunlight flashed onto my face. “A muhami tonight!” the attendant trilled excitedly before disappearing again.

  I groaned.

  “Practicing for the bed already?” Tavi teased.

  I sat up. “Eiqab knows I need no practice.”

  She fetched our abayas. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

  Raheemah smirked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said narrowing my eyes at Raheemah. She and I had grown even closer since the healer. The first day after the tonic, she had been so ill, I had worried that we’d made a mistake. She clutched her stomach while cramps raked her from the inside. She bled and bled and ate nearly nothing. I almost wished for her recovery, but selfishness kept me silent. I didn’t know where a wish would send her. After two terrifying days, she began to mend. She smiled more, ate more, drank more. And now, she was nearly herself again. Whatever the healer had given her worked like magic.

  Tavi began counting my misdeeds off on her fingers. “You barely try with the suitors. You’re restless. You smile more.”

  Raheemah agreed, and I turned to her. “Don’t you encourage Tavi’s ridiculous presumptions.”

  Raheemah used every moment we were alone to whisper about the bazaar, the oracle, Firoz. She’d smile so widely, describing the things she’d seen and the people she’d spoken with. She asked me frequently about Firoz. I insisted he was no lover of mine, only a friend.

  “Let it be known,” Tavi continued, “if something is up and I find out you’ve kept it secret, I am disowning you as a sister.”

  I tied my veil. “Well, when I’ve finished digging my tunnel to the oasis, you’re not coming with me.” I smoothed down my mat ensuring
the bag of salt, my map, and the healer’s potion were not visible should anyone come in while we were gone.

  Raheemah watched me intently, the desire obvious in her gaze. Like a drop of honey on the tongue, the small taste of freedom was not enough. I knew she wanted to see more of the settlement she’d lived in her entire life without knowing. But I think she also needed a reminder that the world she had glimpsed was not a dream. I understood. Living a life confined to the palace, it was hard to believe anything else was real.

  “When you’ve finished the tunnel, I’m coming with you whether you like it or not,” Tavi said.

  “Me, too,” Raheemah added.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.

  As we made our way to our father and suitor, my only consolation for the afternoon was the hope that I might glimpse Saalim.

  Despite the winter chill outside, it was warm inside the tent. The suitor was a young nobleman who stood awkwardly beside my father. The man glanced at us as we walked in, smiled uncomfortably, then looked down at the carpets.

  I wandered to the margins of the room and sat with another ahira upon a cushion. We babbled about trivial things—tapestries and blankets and the challenges of specific patterns of the rugs—as we waited for the afternoon to end. Raheemah quickly captured the attention of the suitor. He approached her cautiously, another man drawn to virginal youth. Or really, just youth.

  Protectiveness distracted me, and I no longer could speak with my sister. She turned to watch, too. The man greeted Raheemah. He seemed scared to touch her, but Raheemah adeptly met his reluctance with warmth. She leaned toward him, smiling widely, though I could see it was forced. Who was this man? How would he treat my young sister? When he took her hand and led her to a place where they could talk privately, I looked away. There was nothing I could do. She was an ahira, this was her fate.

  I peered around the room, from guard to guard, slave to slave. No one gave any indication they were who I sought. Disappointed, I abandoned my search and listened instead to the prattle of my sisters around me.

  Thirsty, I began to rise in search of tea or wine when a slave appeared at my side.

  “Wine for the princess?” he asked quietly, kneeling beside me and holding a silver goblet before him.

  My sisters looked up in surprise at the boldness of the slave. Rarely did slaves speak directly to ahiran during a courting, and almost never did they offer us food or drink. It was the behavior of new slaves who did not realize our role in the court was nearly the same as theirs.

  Looking down at the slave’s proffered glass, I glimpsed a familiar, golden cuff emerging from the end of his white sleeve. Only now, the cuff did not melt into his skin. It ended at this wrist with no twining gold on his skin. His skin was the color of mine, and his face was that of a stranger’s. Only the magicked cuffs marked him as the jinni. As Saalim.

  Fluttering erupted in my stomach, but I held fast my features to hide my burgeoning smile. I glanced beyond the slave to my father who sat in intense conversation with the suitor. The muhami sat rigidly upon a chaise lounge, Raheemah still at his side. My father did not notice me nor the slave.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, and when I reached out for the glass, I trailed my fingers quickly up from the smooth metal at his wrist to the back of his hands down his fingers before finally taking the wine from him. He flashed his golden eyes to mine, and his lips curled in a roguish smile, thrilling at the barefaced flirting.

  Saalim stood and walked away. As I watched him go, I noticed Nassar. He stood across the room, in a corner, observing the courting as he always did. Except now, he was turned toward me, his glance darting from the slave to me and back again. He had seen everything.

  Tensing, I watched him trying to fit the pieces together, fearing the punishment I would face were Nassar to tell my father what he had seen. Oddly, the vizier did not appear angry so much as curious. What was he scheming? What did he plan to tell my father? He looked back to Saalim leaving the tent, then followed him out.

  Fighting the urge to get up and run after Saalim to warn him of Nassar, I sat and clenched my fists. I had to remind myself there was no way Nassar, weak and spineless, could harm a conduit of Masira.

  The afternoon came to a close when the suitor announced his intention to court Raheemah that evening. She blushed and looked at the ground, but I could see a hesitant smile on her face. Imagining my sister at the mercy of an uncaring man, I wanted to run and yank Raheemah from his side. I wanted to drag her away from the cage of our father’s palace.

  As we headed home, I trailed Tavi, who spoke excitedly to Raheemah beside her. A guard followed us some ways behind, distracted as he fiddled with his scimitar. It was quiet in the palace, many of the servants home for midday meals.

  My mind churned with thoughts of how I could prevent my sister’s courtship, thinking of ways I could craft a wish that even Masira could not alter. How could I wish that she marry a kind man instead? One who would let her traipse through village streets and pet neighing horses and taste glistening fruit. Someone who would take her to oracles and let her gaze at herself in bejeweled mirrors at the bazaar.

  Staring at the ground, a familiar smell met my nose: jasmine, dust, and . . . I looked up. Everything around me was unmoving. Time had stilled. Grinning, I began to look for Saalim, but it was his words that reached me first.

  “He is a good man,” he whispered into my ear as he reached his arms around me, pressing his chest to my back. We stood in the middle of the street, frozen sisters in front, an unmoving sun above.

  “Do not worry.” He kissed my temple. “He will not hurt your sister. Let them be wed. She is unlikely to find someone kinder.”

  I sifted through my thoughts of the suitor again, allowing myself to see what earlier I had willfully ignored: how he smiled respectfully toward all of us. The way he hesitated around the ahiran, fidgeting with his hands as if unsure where to place them, because he was uncomfortable placing them on us. How he politely asked our names, complimented our hair or scarves or jewels without touching them.

  “Did you arrange it?” I said breathing in the scent of him.

  “No. He chose Raheemah himself. I was absent for most of the courting, at least until a certain someone longed for a drink.” I heard his smile. “I was patrolling the village.”

  “I looked for you.”

  “I know, I felt it.”

  I warmed and leaned into him, thinking of how much I liked this man.

  “Nassar,” I said, remembering and turning to him. “He followed you out—”

  “He followed me, yes. He told me I was not to be speaking to the ahiran.”

  “Is it safe? That you have done this?” I said, looking at the still village around us. I looked for the trailing guard, but he must not yet have turned the corner.

  “If the timing is just right, if no one is looking, I believe I can alter time without consequence.” Saalim had stopped the world at the perfect moment. No one would notice the rift he caused. He continued. “I don’t want to wait to see you, I don’t want to wait for Sabra to look away. I want to see you more. If that means I must steal time from the gods, then I will. If you’ll allow it, that is.”

  My pulse quickened. “It’s what I want, too.”

  Saalim pulled the scarf from my face and kissed my lips. We lingered together, feeling brazen out in the open, whispering into each other’s ears, sharing chaste kisses.

  “The next time you are alone, the next time no one is watching, think of me. I will come. Please.” There was a deep longing in his eyes. He looked so sincere, filled with so much yearning, that I wanted to grab his hand and run off with him at that moment. Let time stay still forever. Instead, I took his hand, pressed it between my own, and promised I would.

  Despite Raheemah’s concern that the nobleman did not want to bed her after spending two nights together, “Talking and . . . and . . . asking me questions!” she lamented after the first night, worried she had do
ne everything all wrong, he asked for the King’s permission to wed Raheemah. I cried tears both happy and sad as Raheemah shared the bittersweet news. The sisters laughed joyously and shared advice generously—how to converse with him, how to entertain him, how to laugh and smile and flutter her eyes as wives ought to. Each sounding more authoritative than the next on a subject of which they knew nothing.

  I sat back, watching the exchanges affectionately, when one of my sisters walked in. Her face was pale, eyes wet. She clasped at her abaya, her gaze darting around anxiously.

  “What happened?” I asked, rising up. Everyone was silent, the sudden tension snapping through the room.

  “Six more deaths.” Her voice was tight. “Three attendants, three villagers. They were drinking together in a small restaurant last night. Sometime later, they grew sick. They died this morning. Even the healer couldn’t save them.”

  We huddled close as my sister spoke.

  “What do they think happened?” One asked.

  “Poison. They think it came into the village from the Altamaruq,” she spat the words. “My brother said the King ordered that all the wine from traders be dumped.”

  “Which attendants?” I asked.

  My sister hesitated some time, her eyes glistening before she named them all. Each spoken like a devotion. I closed my eyes, hating myself for my joy that Hadiyah and Adilah were not listed among them.

  “If they are searching for a jinni,” I said, “why would they kill innocent women?”

  My sisters spun, and even Sabra, I noticed, looked at me aghast.

  “Emel!” Raheemah exclaimed, appalled.

  “Eiqab protect us,” another murmured.

  “They’re searching for a jinni?” Pinar said, and the sisters shushed her too.

  I resisted the self-reproach that wanted to smash a hand to my face. “That’s just what I heard. Of course, I’m sure they don’t even exist.”

  It was too late. The mood in the room changed. Half of my sisters mumbled about needing to pray at the rama, while the others talked louder and more excitedly about the possibility of a jinni. What if it were true? What if one existed?