Exquisite Captive (43 page)

The
azfahan
in the palace had been a glimmering waterfall that tumbled over a balcony. The jinni entering through it would come out completely dry on the other side, minus any glamours or magical traces. It was one of the best forms of security the palace had. Nalia used to love walking through it—the sensation was like spinning in a cloud.

Zanari smiled. “Good. So we only have to worry about getting
to
the cave. I suppose we could go in one of those metal birds the humans use.” She shivered. “Anyway, let’s get you in the bath.”

Nalia allowed the other girl to help her take off what little clothing she had and the bandage that covered the scar that ran diagonally from her hip to her belly button. Though the healer could have used magic to make Nalia’s skin smooth, it would have been a dishonor. The jinn believed in keeping one’s scars, so that your body could tell the story of your life. She gently ran her fingers along the raw, red mark. This, she thought, would be quite a story. Haran’s burns, however, had not left a mark, but the skin felt tender.

“The healer used herb poultices that drew out the dark magic in the burns. She said that by the end of today, the pain should be gone.”

“Who healed me?”

“The Shaitan from Habibi who Raif got the sleeping powder from.” Zanari hesitated.

“What?”

“She saw your tattoos, felt your
chiaan
when she was fixing you up. You never opened your eyes, but she knew you were a Ghan Aisouri.”

Nalia swallowed. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Calar’s going to send more assassins here, anyway. We just have to hope I can get my bottle back before they arrive. Did the healer . . . say anything?”

“Raif’s the leader of our people. He told her not to speak and I believe she will honor that. Unless she’s a Loyalist. Many of the Shaitan still are. Then she’ll spread the word.”

“A Loyalist?”

“Those who want a Ghan Aisouri empress on the throne. There have always been rumors that one survived. Stories. Most people don’t believe, but there are a few who have been looking for one such as you. And, of course, whenever a new infant is born, they check the eyes.”

Purple eyes. Maybe her race wasn’t extinct, after all.

“I don’t want to be empress,” Nalia said.

“I don’t want you to be, either. The realm needs to be ruled by free jinn.” She sighed. “But being a leader is not always about what you want. Look at my brother.”

What
did
Raif want? Against all odds, he’d chosen her over the sigil. Nalia knew so little about the jinni whose life had become so tightly threaded with her own.

Zanari held Nalia’s hand as she stepped into the bath. She was surprisingly strong for such a tiny jinni. The water burned in the best kind of way and Nalia cried out as her body eased into the large marble tub. Zanari held Nalia’s hand until the wave of pain subsided, then helped her wipe the battle with Haran off her skin. Dirt and sand and blood turned the water brown. Zanari swirled her finger in the murky mess and the water became fresh and clear again. Nalia’s
chiaan
responded to the water, and she felt some of the pain drift away.

“Must be nice to wash the ghoul off you, eh?” Zanari said.

Nalia nodded. “Gods, the smell . . .”

“If I hadn’t had to burn the body before we left the beach, I never would have believed it. Of course, now it makes total sense why I never saw Haran in my
voiqhif
—he always looked like one of his victims. When Raif said Haran was a ghoul . . .” Her eyes grew wide. “As if things in Arjinna aren’t bad enough.”

“The only question now is: how many ghouls are in the Ifrit army?” Nalia said.

“Honestly? I don’t even want to know.” Zanari held up a bottle of expensive shampoo. “Is this what you use for your hair?”

Nalia nodded. Zanari’s hands were gentle as they worked through the tangles the sea and wind had made. The room became warm, filled with the scent of Nalia’s jasmine soap. It felt unbelievably good to have someone else wash her hair. It had been so long since someone had taken care of her in this way. The opulent bathing rooms of the palace with their perfumed waters and attendants ready to assist her seemed like a million summers ago. Zanari’s face glistened in the steam and Nalia watched her for a moment, this unexpected sister-friend.

“Zanari.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love Raif.”

The words slipped out of Nalia’s mouth and she didn’t even know they were true until she said them. She expected to feel embarrassed, ashamed by this ultimate weakness so scorned by the Ghan Aisouri. But she wasn’t.

“I know,” Zanari said, her voice soft. She poured a last cupful of water over Nalia’s long strands of hair, then stood and walked to the stack of thick towels sitting on a shelf. She grabbed one, hugging it to her chest. “I love him, too. And I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Not on purpose, maybe. But let me ask you this: if everything goes as Raif hopes it will—he saves you from Malek and you get the ring and come back to Arjinna together—then what will you do?”

“I have to get my brother—”

“And after that, if Raif asked you to help the revolution, would you?”

Nalia pulled her knees up to her chest, the bathwater suddenly cold. Being a slave on the dark caravan had certainly helped her to understand the plight of Arjinna’s serfs. And she was more aware than ever of the Ghan Aisouri’s sins. But she was already going against her vow to the gods to help Raif get the sigil—how much more could she do? How much more did she
want
to do?

“Did he say something about it?” she asked.

Zanari gave her a withering look. “Does he need to?”

Nalia flinched. “Someone needs to come back and stop the dark caravan.”

“First, you’re not the only one who wants it to end, you know. I’m sorry you’re on it, but there are plenty of jinn who have been slaves longer than you, who are just as anxious to get off the caravan and punish the people behind it.”

Nalia frowned. “I know. It’s just—”

“And second,” said Zanari, talking over her, “let’s be honest: at the end of the day, you’re a Ghan Aisouri. Are you gonna marry my serf brother? Have his low-caste babies and live in the Forest of Sighs?”

“Gods, Zanari, I don’t know!” Nalia threw her hands up and they smacked the surface of the water, splashing both of them. “I mean, I can’t even imagine being
alive
long enough to think about that stuff. This has all happened so fast—”

Zanari’s eyes were full of compassion. “I
know
—that’s what I’m saying. For some reason, my brother loses all perspective when it comes to you. It’s not like he’s . . . inexperienced when it comes to this sort of thing. Do you know how many jinn fall all over themselves just for a chance to talk to him, eat a meal with him? He’s never given any of them a second glance. Maybe spent time with one or two on a lonely night, but . . .” She sighed. “Just don’t make a fool of him, sister, that’s all I’m asking. When we’re all back in Arjinna and his
tavrai
meet you, I don’t want them to think their leader is a starry-eyed boy in love who’s being played by the enemy.”

“I’m not the enemy!”

“But they don’t know that,” Zanari said quietly.

Nalia grabbed Zanari’s hand. “I love him, Zanari. I really do. I can’t make any promises about the revolution, but I
can
promise I would never make a fool of him.”

Guilt squirmed inside her as she thought about the revolutionary she’d killed, but Nalia pushed it away. She’d never pretended not to be a Ghan Aisouri. Raif had to know she’d done some pretty awful things. It was war; they
all
had.

After a moment, Zanari smiled. “All right, then. I’m glad we got that out in the open. You should probably get some rest before your master’s servants get back.”

She leaned over and put an arm around Nalia to help her stand, then Nalia took the towel and wrapped it around her body. She allowed Zanari to guide her back into the bedroom and help her change into a loose shirt and cotton shorts. She waited while Zanari manifested clean bedding, then sank gratefully onto the mattress.

“I’ll try to put the rest of the house in order, but you did some pretty serious damage with that earthquake of yours,” Zanari said.

“Thanks,” Nalia whispered, already drifting off to sleep.

Just before the world fell away, she felt the bed sag under additional weight and then a thick pair of arms folded around her. She breathed in Raif’s scent, clean as her own, and smiled into their little bubble of warmth. These moments with him were an unexpected gift, and she took each one and tucked it away in her heart, knowing it might be her last.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

NALIA STOOD ON THE TARMAC, WAITING FOR MALEK TO
descend the tiny set of steps leading out of the private jet. The Santa Anas whipped around her body, teasing her, goading her, but she wasn’t going to give in. No magic. Her sundress flew up so that she was a Bollywood Marilyn Monroe; the men working near her stopped to stare in admiration.

Nalia ignored them. Her stomach was in knots and all she could think about, other than getting the bottle, getting her freedom, getting her brother, was the look on Raif’s face when she left for the airport.

“What?” she’d asked him, as he leaned her against the driver’s-side door of Malek’s Aston Martin. Miraculously, the car had been towed after she left it on the freeway the night before. Zanari had manifested the fine, but Nalia had had to pick it up—neither of the Djan’Urbis knew how to drive, and that was something even magic couldn’t help them do.

His face was carved out of stone and he looked at her as though she were standing far away, at the other end of an impossibly large field.

“I don’t want him to touch you,” Raif finally said. “Or look at you. Or even breathe the same air.”

“Me either.”

How had this happened, their sudden need for one another? She tried to remember what it felt like to despise him, but she couldn’t. Somehow, he had become essential, like sunlight and water and sleep without dreams.

Nalia slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. “It’s the only way, Raif.”

“He’ll kiss you.”

“Yes.”

Raif brushed his fingertips over her mouth, his
chiaan
seeping past her teeth, over her tongue, down her throat.

“But he won’t kiss me like this,” she whispered, bringing her lips to his.

Her kiss told him everything she couldn’t say, wouldn’t say. It was
hello
and
good-bye
,
yes
and
I hope so
. It was an apology written as a love letter, sealed with fierce hope.

Then she got in the car. Malek had called her that morning to let her know when his flight was coming in. She’d insisted on meeting him at the airport.

Are you sure you’re up for it,
hayati
?

Malek—I’m a jinni. I’m perfectly fine now. Good as new.

It hadn’t been true, of course. Her body still ached from Haran’s burns and the gunshot wound. But she couldn’t waste time being an invalid. Malek missed her enough to fly across the world at a moment’s notice, just to see her face. If she was ever going to get the bottle from him, it would be tonight.

Now, her heart clenched as Malek stepped out of the plane. He was the opposite of Raif in every possible way. He wore a light gray suit, the jacket slung over his shoulder, white button-down rolled to the elbows. He moved down the stairs with the grace of a jungle cat. He was beautiful. Marble that lived and breathed, eternal, a face for artists.

She felt his gaze, the possessiveness of it. There was no doubt to anyone who might look at them that she was his. Utterly and completely. Without question. Nalia made her lips curl into a smile,
come hither
. Malek handed his jacket and leather briefcase to someone behind him, then descended the small staircase. He didn’t stop when he reached her. His arms lifted Nalia up so that she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist and he held her close to him.

“Hello,” he murmured.

Her body was screaming in pain, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him.

“Hi.”

Malek’s kiss, the heat of it, coursed through her, fire calling fire and she hated herself for wanting more, for kissing him back. It was like being in a vortex, the force of him pulling her away from everything else. His lips crushed hers, claiming Nalia like a prize that he’d fought for.

Finally his kisses slowed and he gently let her down and brought his lips close to her ear.

“I don’t think I can be a gentleman tonight.”

She shivered, even though it had been an unseasonably warm day and the evening was mild. She wanted Raif’s warmth, not this burning, these flames that never ceased.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. Malek slipped an arm around her waist and gestured for his attendant to follow them.

He insisted on taking her to a late dinner. Nalia had to force the expensive steak down her throat even though every few minutes she felt like she was going to vomit. Now and then she would catch Malek watching her, a thoughtful look in his eyes. She wondered what that was about. What had happened in Beirut? Or maybe he was seeing her differently, now that she’d almost died. He might have Draega’s Amulet, but she did not.

The hours ticked by. Drinks on the restaurant’s patio, a leisurely stroll along the beach. She imagined Raif and Zanari, checking their watches, wondering what she was doing, where she was.

But once it was time to return to the mansion, the drive back felt unbearably short. The freeway was empty, a fast-moving river whose current she couldn’t fight against. After all this waiting, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. Part of Nalia wished she’d died on that beach, not listened to Raif’s voice or let him lead her back to life. How could she repay that devotion with what she was about to do with Malek?

Raif will never be able to look at me again.
I’ll
never be able to look at me again.