Exquisite Captive (21 page)

Nalia nodded, but she’d never be able to absolve herself that easily. Zanari didn’t know what she’d done to the revolutionary boy. Or that her sympathy for an Ifrit prisoner had caused the coup.

She took another sip of her tea. “How exactly does your gift work?”

“Well, it’s not always accurate—we serfs don’t get much training in anything magic related, you know. And I had to keep my powers a secret from the Ghan—well, from your people. And now from the Ifrit. Basically, my
voiqhif
allows me to learn more about people or places through sensory images that come to me in flashes. It’s sort of like when you see a phoenix fly over a clear lake. You can see the image, but it’s indistinct, blurry. More like a memory than anything else. I try to interpret what I see, and sometimes it’s of use.”

“Is that how you’re trying to find Haran?”

Zanari nodded. “I tie my desire to find him to the earth and bind my intention to
chiaan.
Then I wait and see what floats up to me. Earth is so big, though. It takes a long time to find him. Sometimes I can’t, other times, it’s just a flash. Earlier tonight I saw stone faces. Moonlight. It wasn’t much to go on, I’m afraid.”

“What did you see when you searched for me?” Nalia asked.

“First, your face. Then different things about this city—the Hollywood sign, the trees the humans call
palms
. Luckily we have a few runners in the resistance—jinn who go back and forth between Earth and Arjinna, helping refugees escape. We told them what I’d seen—not about you, of course—and they said this was the city to go to. I went to Habibi and asked around. Then I was able to get more specific in my search for you, and I found your master’s house.”

“What about mind reading?” Nalia asked quietly. She’d spent so much time since the coup working on shielding her mind that she was fairly certain Zanari wouldn’t be able to see inside it. Still, she had to be on her guard.

Zanari shook her head. “No, my
voiqhif
doesn’t work that way. Gods, that would be a curse, a power like that.” She pointed to Nalia’s pendant. “That’s really pretty. Did you bring it from Arjinna?”

Blood crept into Nalia’s face and she clutched at the necklace. “My master gave it to me. It reminds me of home, so that’s why I—”

“It’s okay. It’s beautiful.” She reached out her hand. “May I?”

Nalia hesitated. “No offense, but I can’t let a psychic touch something belonging to me.”

Zanari laughed. “You’re a smart jinni. But I don’t read objects.”

“I’d hate to learn the hard way that you’re lying. You’re nice, Zanari, but I’m a Ghan Aisouri and you’re a Djan’Urbi. Oil and water.”

“You know, that’s exactly what my brother would say.” She smiled. “But I’m warning you, sister, I prove him wrong all the time.”

There was a slight cough behind her and when Nalia turned around, Raif was standing in the doorway, his hands on his waist. His eyes fell on her necklace, and Nalia covered it with her hand, instinctively. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“Ready?” he asked.

Raif wore the thick cotton laborer’s pants and matching tunic of the Djan serfs. The fabric was olive green, plain but for the
widr
tree emblazoned over his heart—the symbol of the god Tirgan and the Djan. The familiarity of the clothing, the
Arjinnaness
of it, sent a wave of longing crashing over Nalia so that, for a moment, she just stared at him. She wanted to run her hands over the cloth and see if she could smell the sharp scent of the Forest of Sighs on it. Now the home of the resistance, it was said that the ghosts of the first jinn still spoke in the forest’s shadowy depths to tell the story of how they were made by the gods from smokeless fire at the beginning of time, when the land’s moons, the Three Widows, were still drinking their mother’s milk.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Nalia finally said. She turned to Zanari and managed a small smile. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Anytime.”

Nalia followed Raif out the door, down the hallway, and up a flight of metal stairs. She wished she could trust Zanari. Had they met under different circumstances, they might have even been friends.

“By the way,” Raif said, “Zanari doesn’t prove me wrong
all
the time.” He grinned. The smile changed his whole face—Nalia felt like she was getting a glimpse of who Raif was when he didn’t have to be the stone-cold revolutionary his
tavrai
wanted. “Just most of the time.”

“Good to know.”

Raif pushed open another door, and she followed him onto the roof. The sky had turned a soft lavender to welcome the approaching dawn, but it was still dark enough to see the city’s lights.

Nalia shook her head and laughed softly to herself. She had been awake for twenty-four hours—the beach, the Silent Movie Theatre, Habibi, and now Jordif’s loft. Who knew what today would bring?

“Did I miss something?” Raif asked.

“No. It’s just been a really long day.” She turned to him. “So, why couldn’t we talk downstairs?”

“Jordif is home and I’d prefer it if nobody but you, me, and Zanari knew about the sigil.”

“So now’s the time when you tell me how you found out about it.”

Raif walked over to the edge of the building and looked out at the dusky hills to the north. The curve of their silhouettes looked like the backs of slumbering giants. Faint patches of peach dusted the sky, harbingers of dawn.

Raif looked back at her. “I’d heard the stories as a kid, of course. But a few years ago—just before the coup—one of my informants said a Ghan Aisouri had told him about the sigil, how the Aisouri were its protectorates.”

Nalia shook her head. “I can’t imagine one of us would ever tell anyone, much less a—”

She stopped herself, wincing, and Raif gave her a cold glance.

“Much less a serf?” he asked quietly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . It’s just that the penalty for telling anyone is death.” She frowned. “
Was
death.”

“My informant was this Aisouri’s lover. For years. She bore his child. Trusted him. He played his part well, but he was in the palace during the coup and . . .” Raif held up his hands. “You can guess the rest. But I’m telling you the truth.”

What did it matter how Raif knew? She was lucky he did—otherwise, he would have left her here to be murdered by Haran. And yet the part of the story that interested Nalia the most wasn’t something Raif had answers for. Who had been this Aisouri? Was her lover just a companion, like Nalia’s father had been for her mother, or had this mystery Aisouri actually
loved
her serf? She must have if she’d told him the realm’s greatest secret.
And, gods, he betrayed her.
For most of her childhood, Nalia had hoped there could be a way for her to remain true to herself and still be a Ghan Aisouri. But her mother hadn’t thought so.
Maybe she was right. Look what love has cost us. Now peasants know about the ring, and my love for Bashil is why they’re going to have it. Fire and blood, can it get any worse?

“If I do this,” Nalia said, “I need some guarantees.”

“Like?”

“Well, what’s to stop you from trying to harm me once you get the sigil?”

“That’d be pretty hard, considering you’re four times more powerful than me.”

“That’s the whole point of the sigil—whoever wears it can control
all
jinn, remember?”

“I told you, I’m not going to wear it.”

“So you say,” Nalia said. She crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “I don’t think you’re above killing me in my sleep.”

“I don’t think
you’re
above killing me in
my
sleep.”

Nalia sighed.
This could go on all night.
She’d already decided that her brother was more important than the consequences. She just had to make sure she lived long enough to rescue him.

“If you give me my freedom, I’ll get you to the sigil. But I need to know you’re not going to stab me in the back once I’ve fulfilled my obligation to you. I have . . . things I need to do when I get home.”

Raif smiled. “Don’t trust me?”

“No,” Nalia said, her voice flat. “I don’t. The only way we can guarantee that we’re protected from one another is if one of us wishes it.”

“You want to bind yourself to me in a promise?” He looked at her, incredulous. “After three years of slavery?”

“And you to me,” she reminded him. “The manifestation of the promise would work both ways. We can’t deceive or kill one another—until we get to Arjinna. Then, all bets are off.”

Once she was only one evanescence away from her brother, Nalia would kill anyone that got in her way. And with her shackles off, Raif didn’t stand a chance.

Raif snorted. “So, I walk through the portal and you kill me and take off with the sigil? I don’t think so.”

“Well then, what do you propose?”

Raif laced his fingers behind his head and gazed up at the fading stars. “How about we promise not to kill each other—on Earth or Arjinna—and you promise never to take the sigil from me.”

Godsdammit.
She should have risked him killing her in her sleep.

“And you can never control me or anyone under my protection with the ring. Ever.”

Raif gave her a brisk nod. “Agreed.”

“I guess that settles it,” she said. “Of the two of us, I’m the only one who can perform this manifestation, so you make the wish.”

Magic of this power was a closely guarded secret, and knowledge of it was forbidden to serfs. Only the Ghan Aisouri and the Shaitan had been allowed to learn it.

“You love this, don’t you?” Raif sneered. “Lording your power over me, like your kind has for centuries.”

“Raif. I’m just stating the obvious, okay? I’m sorry serf magic was restricted. That wasn’t my choice! But I don’t think we can go through with any of this if we don’t know the other jinni is going to hold up their end of the bargain.”

The magic Nalia wanted to perform depended on complete consent of both parties. Thus, the jinni manifesting the promise could only do so if the jinni entering into the promise wished for it. These manifestations were particularly difficult because it went beyond knowing the essence of a thing—a car, a house, a tree. It meant understanding the essence of jinn nature, of what a vow meant.

“Fine.” Raif stepped closer to her and Nalia forced herself to hold his unflinching gaze. “I wish you to take me to the location of Solomon’s sigil as soon as I have freed you from your enslavement to Malek Alzahabi.” He chose each word carefully, knowing that Nalia would only be under an obligation to grant exactly what he wished for. “I wish that we will never kill one another—no matter how godsdamn annoying you get—”

Nalia snorted.

“—and I wish that you will never take the sigil away from me. I also wish that I will never be able to control you with the sigil.”

“Or anyone under my protection,” she reminded him.

“Or anyone under your protection.”

“Would you like fries with that?” she said.

“Huh?”

“Human thing. Never mind.”

Nalia held out her hands and Raif hesitated for just a moment before placing his palms against her own. She bit her lip as his
chiaan
nudged her skin. She’d spent so much of this night touching Raif Djan’Urbi, and now she was about to bind herself to him. What was she thinking?

“I’m not helping you with your revolution,” she said. “Once you have the sigil, we go our separate ways.”

“Agreed.”

Nalia closed her eyes and let his
chiaan
flow into her. It was at once familiar and frightening, like she was losing bits of herself. She had to grit her teeth to keep from pulling her hand away.

She let the words of his wish sink into her consciousness, knitting together the twin strands of hope and anxiety she and Raif shared. In order to manifest the wish, she had to reach the essence of what it was.
Trust.

The granting felt like falling a great distance and being caught just before she plummeted to the ground. It was a promise greater than any she had conceived of, and it took every ounce of her energy to hold his wish together and marry it to her own. She whispered the ancient binding words and then opened her eyes as the magic took hold. Gold and emerald rivers of light swirled around their hands, a surprising warmth that rushed through her in a bright, shimmering wave. She could feel Raif’s
chiaan
mixing with her own, and her heart lifted. For the smallest sliver of time, she forgot every single worry she had and let the magic take her. The world fell away. She felt Raif’s hand tighten on her own, strong and safe, and she knew he wouldn’t let go. The stars above them seemed to fall like sparkling rain, and she saw, in the folds of the magic, the sigil ring itself, glowing on an altar in the middle of a rocky fortress.

Finally, the
chiaan
faded, leaving a small crescent scar on the insides of their wrists. If placed side by side, they would form the perfect circle of the sigil ring.

Nalia was the first to let go. Cold air rushed against her palms and she shivered, stepping away. That wasn’t how the binding was supposed to be. It should have been excruciating as all bindings were, but it had been . . . wonderful.

“I better get back,” she said. She could hear the slight tremor in her voice, and her face flushed.

Raif stared at her for a moment, then blinked as though he were waking from a dream.

“Right.” He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Come straight here when you have the bottle.”

She nodded as golden smoke began to swirl around her.

“Nalia.”

“Yes?”

“Can you glamour that?” He pointed to her birthmark.

“Why? Does it offend you?” Her eyes glinted, and she thought of every disappointed glance Malek had given the mark on her face. Nalia had always relished those looks; the mark had felt like a piece of armor to protect her from his advances. She wanted her master to see a flaw when he looked at her. But it bothered her that when Raif looked at her, he didn’t see a face blessed by the gods: he saw a blemish that marred an otherwise perfect canvas.

Raif looked taken aback. “What? No. It’s just . . . identifying. It could be used as a way for Haran to find you.”