Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  “Omar . . .”

  “Yes. No matter how much I wanted to, I would not change his mind. It had to be your choice. It was not my choice to make. I had already gone too far.”

  My face filled with heated shame as I thought of my obstinacy that night. What a fool I had been.

  “Emel, you asked why I don’t leave your father. It is not your father I cannot leave. It is you.” He shifted himself so that his knees touched mine, and our eyes met. His golden irises were molten, gleaming yellow in the fire. He tentatively reached for my hands. I did not pull away. “Why still time and live a different life, if it means I must leave you behind? A frozen ahira in a court of pleasure. It is cruel, and I cannot, will not, abandon you unless you ask it of me.

  “After Matin’s attack, when you released me from my vessel, I knew something had changed. When I entered your world, it felt different. Whomever had released me was not your father.

  “When I saw that it was you, it felt as though Masira herself had wound the threads of fate in my favor. I had been fascinated by you for years, and then you were standing before me with blood on your face and hands. I wanted to hold you then and there, make sure you were okay. I wanted to confess to you everything, to kiss your hands, your face—erase the blood, the hurt. To touch you, to embrace you. I wanted to do what I had seen the suitors do. But you were so scared, so unsure. A dove apart from its sky. I worried I would scare you away. So I did what I could to ease your fear and impress you. I wanted you to see how I could help you, for you to keep me near.” He squeezed my hands in his when he said this as if he was still scared I would run.

  “And when you asked me to bring Aashiq back . . . Your first wish and I couldn’t fulfill it.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I hated that I was powerless to help you, but even more, I hated myself that I didn’t want to bring him back. I didn’t want you to love anyone else.” He stopped and looked at the fire.

  “It’s okay,” I said shakily. “Go on.”

  “Once you released me, I had this connection to you. Suddenly, there was something between us, and I relished it. I felt your love for your sisters, your mother, your brothers, for Firoz. Even Aashiq. You had so much to give in a world that preyed upon you insatiably. I envied all that received your attention.

  “And then the afternoon of the courting with Qadir, I felt you desiring my presence. I went wild with anticipation. I wanted to give you whatever it was you needed and more. When you wished for me to prove my intentions—not for freedom, for wealth, for power—I was even more captivated. You reminded me so much of your father, only your heart was so good.

  “Prove my intentions? How could you not see I was desperate to give you everything? I was so eager to help you, to be someone to make you happy. I told you that you could wish for whatever it was you wanted, and then you wished again . . . to not return home. I was ashamed. In my eagerness, I had not explained well. I had failed you, and you were manipulated by Masira.” He raised his hands to his face, anguished by the memory. “You were so forgiving when I saw you in the prison. It was then, Emel, that I realized why I had been mesmerized by you for so long.”

  I stared at him, entranced by his tale, my anger long replaced by the careful warmth of his words.

  “Emel, it was because I loved you.” He paused, then said it again as though he still couldn’t believe it. “I loved you. And I still do. Every day I love you more. Not as a desert ruler loves his wife. Not as a greedy man loves his sparkling diamond. I love you as a musician loves his hands, as a nomad loves his feet. I cannot describe how it is that I love you, but I can say that I would be lost without you.”

  Heat spread from my chest to my toes as I watched him in the firelight.

  “I love you like I have loved nothing before. It is like nothing I felt as a human, like nothing I have ever felt in my lifetime as a jinni. When I realized it so many moons ago, it drove me mad. To fall in love with a woman who pleases other men, who must make them believe she loves them. It was the choice of a fool, but I did not care. At least I would be a happy fool. I did not know then how you felt about me, did not care. Did not even begin to hope that . . .” He paused before continuing.

  “Every so often, I felt your mind reaching for me, small tugs throughout the day, and it gave me hope. And then, when you kissed me that morning, I was tormented with longing. I could not bear to watch the suitors touch you, to look at you. I wanted you for myself, wanted to protect you from everything, to kill them all. I wanted to crush your father with only my hands.” He exhaled, frustrated. “But I am limited in my power, and in my discontent, I became a monster. Someone that I never wished for you to see.

  “So, I will apologize once more and beg for your forgiveness again. I have interfered in your life in ways you have not asked. I wish I could say that I regret my actions, but it would be a lie, because I am here with you now. I only regret that I treated you abhorrently.” Saalim lowered his gaze to my hands.

  There was a long pause while I considered my words. My eyes wet and brimming.

  But before I could speak, his voice, hoarse and deep, rumbled around me. “Though I am a jinni who fulfills desires, I am first a man. Like all, I am selfish, and I have shamelessly allowed myself to fulfill my own wish. Being with you is my greatest want. I ache with hunger, Emel. I yearn for you.”

  A tear slid down my cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The words left Saalim’s lips and drifted into the night, mingling with the crashing of the ocean, the roaring of the fire, the pounding of my heart against my chest, the rush of blood in my ears.

  Saalim had shown his hand—he was as exposed and vulnerable as I had ever seen him. I knew if I wanted to leave in that moment, he would take me home. If I never wanted to see him again, he would honor it. He was at my mercy—not because he was a jinni and I the woman who released him from his vessel but because he was a man in love and I the recipient of his devotion.

  But I would not run, because at his confession, a liquid heat pooled deep in my gut, warm and smooth. It was addicting, and I wanted more.

  Pulling together all of my memories, I tried to make sense of everything. I could see it now, how he behaved around me—tentatively, trying so hard not to scare me away. I thought of how I mirrored his hesitance, thinking I would do the same. How I thought of him and longed for him—wanting him near not because of the comforts he shared but because I wanted him. When I saw him in the prison and he told me of Masira’s caprice—when a wish for freedom became something that scared me more than it enchanted me—I still wanted him. Not for his magic, because I was not my father.

  Though it shamed me to admit, if I were to never see him again, I would feel an aching hollowness perhaps even deeper than the loss of my mother. It would be unlike anything I had felt before. Sitting with him, I was safe and I was sure. I trusted him like I trusted none else. Even more than I trusted Firoz. He was my equal, my perfect half. I was not alone when I was with him. My dreams of seeing the desert were heightened, were made better. Because now, I wanted to see it all with him.

  I wanted this life more because of Saalim. The desert was an amazing thing, but it was nothing compared to the people that were in it. Nothing, compared to Saalim. So if for now we could only be slaves, we were at least in love. It was an acceptance both terrifying and exciting, and I craved it.

  Without a word, I rose to my knees. I dropped the blanket from my shoulders and let my scarf and cloak fall to the ground. I pressed my hands to his face and neck, tracing my thumbs over his jaw, fingers tangling in his hair. I brought my lips to his and kissed him softly. His hands found my waist, and the warmth of his touch made me shiver. Our mouths parted. He tasted of the desert, of the sea.

  I moved to his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. He stilled—the new intimacy giving him pause—but I did not stop. I circled my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, and we continued to press our mouths to each other, desperate to convey the feel
ings that words inadequately expressed.

  Saalim removed the flower from my hair, setting it atop the twisted fabric on the sand. His hands slid up my thighs slowly, questioningly. I pulled back from him and reached for the hem of my abaya. Together we removed it so I was only in my dress.

  Holding me to him, Saalim reached for the blanket. With easy movements, he flung it open so it laid flat on the ground. He lay me gently atop the soft sea of sapphire, his eyes sweeping over me slowly, examining the fustan bunched up at my thighs, watching my chest heave.

  “I like blue on you,” he murmured as he crawled over me, placing his hands beside my head. “But perhaps not as much as I like gold.” He smirked and I reached up and pulled him to me, our mouths meeting urgently.

  He groaned, lying atop me. The heat of him enveloped me such that the cool ocean air became a welcome respite.

  “Emel,” he whispered my name between frenzied kisses. My heart fluttered every time. As he melted into me, I felt his longing, hot and unyielding and true.

  Never had I felt more desired as I did in that moment. The object of someone’s lust, not because I was a means to an end but because I was a half to make another whole. I trembled under the heat of his passion, of the immensity of his love, and I pushed my hips into his, desiring, for the first time in my life, to fit to another in the way only lovers could.

  Saalim pulled away from me at the movement, his eyes glazed with need. He stared at me, savoring me.

  I sat up, pushing him away slowly. Kneeling, I pulled the dress over my head. I had never been nude in front of a man whose opinion I cared for, and that vulnerability carried an emotion I had never felt: uncertainty. Was I enough? Would he like what he saw? I thought of the scars across my back, shame stoking the insecurity.

  Saalim’s breath caught as his eyes took in every peak and valley of my body, everything he had never seen but had for so long wanted to glimpse, to touch.

  “Sons,” he whispered before he pushed me back down onto the blanket and explored my body with his mouth. His hands following, fingers trailing down my chest, along my breasts, my waist, and down to my thighs. His fingers circled and touched and teased, exploring my body until finally, they dipped between my legs and found that there, too, they were welcome.

  He touched me reverentially. An unfamiliar, pleasurable ache blossomed in the deepest part of me at his movement, his gentleness, the devotion he conveyed in his every touch. An unfeigned moan left my lips as his mouth and fingers moved over me. He drew himself above me and kissed my lips. I raised my head to meet his, reaching my arms to his neck, but he pulled his mouth away. He pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, my neck.

  It was like the final night of the Haf Shata, where his every kiss erased what another had done: every stroke, caress, and pass of his lips seemed to erase the cloudy, degrading memories of the nights I spent with other men. Each careful veneration by Saalim revealed to me what it was to be respected, desired, loved. The heat of the fire from Saalim’s touch brought me to a precipice to which I had never journeyed. I stood upon it, overwhelmed by an exhilarating fear as I was filled with desire to fling myself off.

  I writhed beneath him. His movements echoed my urgency, and at his quickened, roughened touch, I felt inundated with a freedom that provided all the push I needed. Hurling myself from the cliff face, I cried out in agonized pleasure. My body quivered, and I pulled Saalim to me with a fervor I did not understand, shuddering against him as though he was the only solid thing in my liquid surroundings.

  “Saalim,” I breathed and pressed my mouth to his hot neck, breathing all of him in, all that surrounded us. He held me firmly until my quivering ceased.

  When I had stilled, he pulled back to look at me. I smiled at him, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and reached down to his waistband. “Let’s make this fair,” I said and carefully began untying the blue from his hips.

  He leaned onto his heels, effortlessly unwrapped the sash, and stepped out of his pants. My gaze wandered over him as he stood above me, his skin luminous over his carved body, the sharp angles of his face. He was entirely naked, the golden cuffs at his wrists the only thing embellishing him. He appeared unlike any man I had ever seen, nearly glowing in the firelight. His eyes, full of lust and affection, held mine as they devoured me.

  I crawled to where he stood and pressed my hands to his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath my palms. He closed his eyes at my touch, and I explored him with my mouth and my fingers as he had done to me. When my fingers trailed away, teasing, he opened his eyes and looked down at me.

  “Please,” he exhaled.

  I pulled at the backs of his knees until he kneeled before me. I reached up and pressed my mouth to his, the new intimacy of our naked bodies pressed against each other creating the delicious tension in my body again.

  We fell upon the blanket, legs and arms entwined, mouths locked, hearts pounding frantically against each other’s chests, and finally, when our desire to be close had crested, Saalim seated himself into me, filling an emptiness I had not realized was there. We moved together in a perfect rhythm, as though the motions we had practiced in our previous lives, in other beds, had been in preparation for each other.

  I found myself at the summit again, only this time, Saalim stood beside me. We thrusted and pulled and kissed and moaned and breathed into each other intimately as only those who have caressed and explored and exalted each other will. We stood atop the peak, the ocean wind swirling wildly around us, and together, we jumped into the abyss, clinging to each other as we shuddered with fear, with ecstasy, with love.

  A gentle light pressed itself against my eyes closed tight in sleep. It pressed and pressed until finally, I stirred. For the briefest of moments I felt nauseated, thinking myself waking in the bed of a suitor. Feeling the heat of the muhami at my back.

  But then, the memories of the night rushed back, and I smiled with relief and pressed my back lovingly into the man who cradled me.

  We were sleeping upon the blanket, and another that Saalim must have created in the night rested atop us. Our clothes still sat in twisted piles on the sand. The ivory flower that was laid atop my robes appeared as alive as it had the night before, though now tightly closed. Saalim felt me wake and pulled me to him; his arm wrapped around my waist, his metal cuff warm against my skin. He leaned up onto his elbow and gently kissed the hollow between my neck and shoulder across which a purple scar stretched.

  “Good morning, Emel,” he said, his beard tickled my ear.

  “Hmm . . .” I sighed happily. “Good morning. Did you sleep?”

  “No, I do not sleep,” he said contentedly. “I was blissfully aware of every moment that I held you.”

  I smiled and turned to him, burying my face in his neck. I felt the day brightening, the gray light trickling in and illuminating the red sand. The waves still broke upon the shore over and over again.

  “Is time frozen still?”

  “Mmhmm.” His chest rumbled against mine.

  “The sea . . .”

  “It speaks because I like its voice. I could never stand being where there is water without waves.”

  “Like the oasis and the wind through the trees,” I said. “Can we just stay here forever?”

  “Yes, forever.” He kissed my neck and back.

  I shut my eyes tightly, thinking how much I wanted it to be so, how happy I could be.

  “Let’s go outside,” Saalim said after a while. “You have to see the ocean in the morning.”

  Slowly, I sat up and looked out from the dome, seeing only the steep, sandy slope we had walked down the evening before. Saalim stood, and offered his hand to me to do the same. He led me outside, and the wind blasted us both. I curled my arms into my chest, teeth chattering. “It’s so cold.”

  He laughed, unbothered by the chill despite his nudity, and hurried back into the dome to fetch me the blanket. Wrapping it around my shoulders, we stepped around
our shelter. I saw the true immensity of the ocean for the first time.

  The sky was a graying purple as the sun washed away the night. Birds the color of the moon and wings the color of ink soared above us, cawing out into the early morning. Beneath the lavender sky, the ocean churned a deep slate, reaching for the red, sandy shore. The waves rose and fell and crashed onto themselves, into each other. Soft green and white foam floated away from the wreckage.

  I stared across the sweeping ends of the ocean where it met the sky, unbelieving that it was as large as Rafal had claimed. I watched the waves, enthralled by their rise and fall. The night prior, the ocean’s voice scared me. That morning, I appreciated its song.

  “Does it ever stop?” I pointed to the heaving sea.

  Saalim smiled. “The waves? No. They are the heartbeat of the ocean. They are what give it life.”

  “Can I touch it?”

  “Of course.” He nodded, but quickly added, his face growing serious, “Be careful. They are powerful and can pull you in.”

  I walked away from him, taking small, cautious steps toward the water lapping at the sand. Pulling the blanket more tightly around me, I walked from him. Turning back to him, I saw he stood a man anew as he watched me. His shoulders were relaxed, his chest pressed forward. I wondered if he felt as I did—satisfied with his life, proud of his love, grateful for his fortune. A smile stretched wide across his face, and I replied with the same.

  I turned back toward the sea, letting my toes sink into the cold, wet sand. I waited for a remnant of a wave to reach me. When the smallest trickle of ocean water pushed at my toes, I squealed. “It’s cold!”