Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) (32 page)

“MALEK!”

Nalia's voice slapped at the air, the only sound in the vast cavern. The others seemed to be holding their breath, Raif included. After what felt like minutes, there was an almost indiscernible thud far below them. Raif thought he'd imagined it until a bright, golden light filled the room, soaking into the amethyst walls. Eight bridges appeared from the tunnel entrances surrounding the cavern.

The Blood Passage had been paid.

Nalia covered her mouth and sank to her knees. The hands holding Raif let go and he rushed to her. She fell against him and together they watched as the bridges of light became more solid. The sigil was so close and Malek was gone—the ring was as good as his. Raif held Nalia to him, dazed.
Long live the empress.
Had he really said that? The certainty he'd felt just before he'd planned
to die echoed in him now:
Nalia
as the leader of Arjinna's revolution, by divine right.
This changes everything,
he thought.

“I suggest we get the sigil before these bridges disappear,” Noqril said, looming over them.

Raif helped Nalia stand and they walked to the nearest pathway to the sigil. The bridges seemed to be made of sunlight. He could see dust motes moving through them.

Nalia stared at the darkness pooling below. Something like grief had settled in her eyes. “Why did he do it? He was so close . . .”

It had been difficult for Raif to watch them together. There was no doubt Nalia had felt something for her master. And yet, jealousy seemed petty.

“He loved you,” Raif said. “In a fucked-up kind of way, but still. How could he not?”

Nalia reached for his hand. “I don't want you to think—”

“Shhhh,” he said. “It's over. We're together. That's all that matters.” He lifted her hand and kissed the crescent scar on her wrist, the mirror image of the one on his own wrist. He stared at it for a long moment, remembering everything that had brought them here.

“Raif?” she said softly. “What's wrong?”

His mind was racing, jumping from one thought to the next, the revelation he'd had moments ago trumping his desire for the sigil: the
tavrai
would execute him, his mother would disown him, he was a disgrace to his father's memory. And, oh gods, Zanari. Would she stand by him if he bent the knee and called Nalia his empress?

“Nothing,” he said. He squeezed her hand.

“Malek owed you big time, Nalia,” Zanari said as she joined them, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I won't speak ill of the dead, but there's a lot more I could say.”

Nalia nodded. “We better get what we came for and get out. It's time to go home.”

Their journey wouldn't be over until they were standing on Arjinnan soil.
First the ring, then home.
They were so close.

“Agreed,” Phara said, as she looked over the ledge. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to get out of here.”

Raif felt Zanari stiffen slightly beside him and he wondered what his sister and her lover had decided to do once they'd left the cave. He promised himself he'd talk to her about it later.

“Doesn't seem very reliable,” Raif said, staring at the bridge. “I'm assuming evanescing won't work. Or manifesting our own bridge. That'd be too easy.”

“I'm afraid to try,” Nalia said. “Gods know what protections Antharoe put in place.”

Raif tugged on Nalia's hand. “Ready?”

“Maybe we shouldn't cross together. Let me go first, just in case—”

“Together,” he said firmly.

Raif placed one foot on the bridge. He'd half expected his boot to slip through, but the bridge was solid, however ethereal it appeared to be. They made their way across slowly, with Raif in the lead. He was careful not to look down, all too aware of the dark beneath them and the terrible price that had been paid.

“We're going to have some pretty great stories to tell our grandkids someday,” he said, forcing his voice to be light.

“Pretty confident I can put up with you for that long?”

“Oh yeah.”

Nalia laughed and some of the tension spilled away. His heartbeat quickened as they neared the freestanding rock. For a moment, Raif wanted to turn back. The sigil would change Arjinna—but would it be for better or worse?

You've come this far, brother,
he said to himself.

Nalia stopped. “Raif.”

He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

“What would happen if we didn't take it?”

The sigil was only a few feet away. He couldn't see it clearly yet, but the carved white marble of the altar shone as though it had just been crafted by a master.

“It would be the end. The Ifrit would have Arjinna. Maybe forever.”

“What if I killed Calar? Could you win then—without the ring?”

This time he turned all the way around. “Nalia—”

“Whether or not we get this ring, I'm killing her. What she did to Bashil—” Her voice shook and the pain in her echoed in him. “This ring scares me, Raif. It's an evil thing. I just . . .”

Raif crossed his arms, thinking. He couldn't believe he was second-guessing this, but the terror in Nalia's eyes and the confusion he felt over what had happened inside him on the ledge gave him pause. A Ghan Aisouri who could swallow lightning and become lava was a considerable weapon to have at his disposal. At
their
disposal. He caught sight of Samar, waiting at the end of the bridge.

“Even if I changed my mind,” he said, “we made a promise to the Dhoma.”

Nalia's face fell. “What if we freed the jinn from their bottles now and—”

“What's going on?” Samar called.

Raif waved a hand. “We're fine. Almost there!” He looked back at Nalia.
“Rohifsa—”

“I know, I know. Let's get this over with.”

He took her hand. Her
chiaan
felt jittery. It was so unlike Nalia to be afraid.

Moments later, they were stepping onto the rock. The others cheered, but Raif barely heard them. In the center of the altar, atop a mother-of-pearl mosaic of an eight-pointed star, sat Solomon's sigil.

Raif sucked in his breath. “I can't believe it's actually here. Part of me thought it wouldn't be.”

The gold on the side of the ring was worked in intricate detail and in its center was a large oval stone, a pale canary diamond. In the center of the diamond was an eight-pointed star that glimmered with its own light. He could feel the power emanating from it. The ring was heavy looking, masculine. Meant for a king to wear.

“We're going to win this war, Nalia,” he breathed.

Nalia clutched his arm. “Raif. Look at me.”

She was shaking, her eyes full of terror. He'd never seen her so afraid, not even when she thought she was going to die.

“Promise me you'll never wear the ring,” she begged. “No matter what. Promise me.”

Raif hesitated. He wasn't one for making promises he had no intention of keeping. He was still trying to figure out what his role in everything was. He needed time and they didn't have that right now.

“Raif.”

He placed his hands on either side of her face. “Nalia, I swear to all the gods, I swear on my love for you, I swear on
everything:
I will not put this ring on—unless there is no other option.” She paled and he drew closer. “I know that's not what you want to hear. Do you trust me?”

Nalia rested her hands on his chest. “You—yes. The ring . . .” She shook her head. “No.”

Raif pressed his lips against her forehead. “Well, I'll take what I can get.” He moved closer to the altar. “Before I pick it up, do these words say I'll be killed on the spot if I touch the ring?”

He pointed to the ancient Kada scrawled all over the altar's marble. Nalia shook her head. “No. Just old
sadrs
praising the gods and warning of the sigil's power. Go ahead.”

Raif reached out, fingers trembling, and took the ring from where it had sat for three thousand years. The stone glowed and a beam of golden light shot out of the diamond as a rumble filled the cavern. The ring dimmed as the sound in the cavern grew louder and Raif went still, half expecting the rock they stood on to topple over. He blinked as a blinding shaft of light streamed down from above. Raif shaded his eyes as he gazed upward. There was now an opening in the cavern's roof through which sunlight—
real sunlight
—poured into the chamber. After being underground so long, it was almost painful to look at.

The others cried out, joyful, but Nalia was silent, her head tilted back and eyes closed. Silent tears dripped down her cheeks. Raif took a leather string from his pocket and slipped the ring onto it, then stepped behind Nalia.

“It's safest with you,” he said as he placed the makeshift necklace around her neck. If anyone could protect the ring, it was Nalia. She shivered as the metal touched her skin. Raif tied the knot twice, then pressed his lips against her neck.

She turned around. “We've come a long way from fighting in Malek's garage,” she said.

He laughed. “Yes we have.”

His arm began to burn and he cursed, looking down at his skin. Nalia sucked in her breath at the same time, a small gasp of pain.

“Our tattoos,” she said. Nalia held up her arm. The eight-pointed star had disappeared, leaving behind a faint scar of its outline. So had his.

“When is your ancestor gonna be done fucking with us?” he muttered.

“Raif!” He turned at the sound of Zanari's panicked voice.

“Apparently never,” Nalia said.

The bridge they'd crossed was disappearing. Raif turned in a circle, desperately hoping the other bridges had remained solid, but they, too, were nothing more than swiftly disappearing lines of light above the chasm.

“If Antharoe weren't already dead,” Nalia said, “I could kill her right about now.”

THEY WERE STRANDED.

Nalia sat on the floor, leaning against the altar that had held Solomon's sigil. The ring felt heavy around her neck. She was sorely tempted to throw it into the chasm.

“Try to get some sleep, Nal,” Raif said. “I seriously doubt Haraja can get us here and there's nothing more we can do tonight.”

He was right. They'd spent hours attempting to figure out how to get back to the others. Evanescing across the chasm had been the obvious choice, but when Nalia tried, her smoke stayed by her feet and her body remained solid. The only way out was up, but evanescing through the hole at the top of the cavern was also impossible. As was manifesting anything. For the first time in the cave, they couldn't manifest food, water—anything they
needed to stay alive or escape. They could still access their
chiaan
,
but there wasn't much good it did them, other than provide a light source. Nalia wasn't surprised. The whole cave had been protected by magic so sophisticated, she couldn't begin to imagine how it worked. Antharoe had left them an exit, but no way to reach it. Her very last effort to keep the ring hidden. Not for the first time, Nalia wondered why Antharoe hadn't simply destroyed the sigil. She clearly didn't want anyone to have the godsdamned thing.

Home seemed farther away than ever.

Nalia's voice was hoarse from shouting across the chasm and her bones weary from the volcano and those endless minutes staring into the darkness below, waiting to die. But her heart wouldn't let her sleep.

“Raif,” she began.

“Yeah?”

“I have to say the prayers for him.”

There was a long silence, and the confusion and grief and shame she felt inside her seemed to jolt the air.

“Malek doesn't deserve them,” he said quietly. “And, besides, they'll do his soul no good, not without a burning.”

For so long Nalia had wanted Malek to die a painful death. Now she hoped it had been fast and that his last memory was of the kiss she had let him take before he jumped.

Her hand strayed to the lapis lazuli necklace around her neck, that little bit of home Malek had given her, and she let herself mourn him.

Because nobody else would. Because, gods help her, she
did
mourn him. It didn't make sense. Things like this rarely did.

“I have to, Raif.”

When he looked at her, his eyes were kind and seemed to understand, at least a little. He kissed the palm of her hand, relenting.

Nalia stood and crossed to the other side of the altar, the only private part of the rock they were marooned on. She placed her palms on the earth and whispered the prayer of the dead. The words were too familiar. Gods, she'd said them so many times in the past few weeks. The past few
years.

Then she accessed the lightning inside her. Before, she'd had to find a fire source to ignite her Ifrit power. Not so anymore. Fire tore through Nalia's fingers and she cast it down into the pit. It roared and blazed, a dragon free of its restraints. Solomon's rock became an island in a sea of flames. She heard the jinn across the chasm scream and Raif call out to them, but she ignored it all. She prayed to Ravnir, god of fire, that he would take this dead half-child of his to the godlands so that Malek could see his brother and find the peace that had eluded him on Earth. He didn't deserve it, Raif was right. But Nalia wanted Malek to have it, anyway. She wasn't really sure why.

When the flames died down, she returned to Raif's side.

“How can you forgive him?”

Nalia took his hand. “I don't think I have, not completely anyway. I'm not really sure what forgiveness feels like. But he died for me.” Her throat tightened and she scooted down so that her head rested on Raif's lap.

He wrapped his arms around her and as she drifted off to
sleep, Nalia realized that this was her first night as a truly free jinni.

She was no longer on the dark caravan.

The dream began as it always did, right in the middle of hell.

Ghan Aisouri blood is everywhere. Thick pools of it soak into Nalia's clothes, coat her lips, drip into her ears. Her blood, their blood.

But tonight something is different. Instead of lying beneath a pile of her sisters, Nalia stands against the wall. This is not real, not what happened, and she knows this, knows she is dreaming.

There are no Ifrit soldiers in the cellar with them. No Haran. Bullet holes are torn into the wall all around her. She doesn't feel any pain. Why can't she feel any pain?

The empress lies at her feet. Her eyes are closed. Her chest is crimson and wet. And still. The light from the torches on the walls licks the glimmering stones on the Amethyst Crown. It has fallen off the empress's head. Nalia picks it up. It's warm.

“Put it on.”

Nalia jumps, her spirit nearly flying from her skin. She knows this voice. She looks down.

The empress's eyes are open, violet and searing, and yet her chest does not move with breath and her skin is pale and lifeless.

“Put it on, Nalia Aisouri'Taifyeh. It is yours.”

“No,” Nalia whispers. “You're the empress. Not me. Please, not me.”

“
Wadj kef
, child. You do not have a choice.” Obey the blood. “
Hala l'aeik.
” It is the will of the gods.

Nalia raises the crown above her head as she stares at the bodies of the Ghan Aisouri.

“I can't,” she says.

She feels a rush of
chiaan
and her hands press down and she cries out as her body, as her very soul, feels the weight of a kingdom.

The Ghan Aisouri who was once the ruler of Nalia's race sighs. As her eyes close, she whispers, “Long live the empress.”