Exquisite Captive (48 page)

A memory: Malek’s face above her own, tense and happy and hopeful.
I love you . . . more than anything else in the world.

Nalia forced her voice to remain calm. “And what is it that you seek?”

Dread grew and a knowing formed within her.
Of course,
she thought.

Malek’s eyes closed, then opened again as he fought against the exhaustion the drugged wine was still forcing on him. He smiled, a bitter slash across his face.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I’ve wanted the damned thing for as long as I can remember. My jinni father had told my mother about it, and her me. I’ve searched and searched—archeological records, ancient texts. I’ve visited seers, mages—human and jinn—and now someone was telling me I could
finally
have it.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t want to give you up. I believed if I could just keep you close to me, you’d . . .” He looked down, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I was willing to let it go, because my third wish—my
true
third wish—was that you would someday love me.” His eyes found hers, held them. “I knew it wasn’t a wish you could grant, but I was hoping you might give it to me, anyway. It was all I wanted. All I needed. Of course, I still could have asked you to give me what I was looking for. Grant that third wish. Then I could have it all, right?” He shook his head. “But the seer said it would come between us. So I decided to give it up.”

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when she was so close.

“Malek,
please
don’t—”

“But I’m clearly better at business than matters of the heart.” He stepped away from her. “I want you to take me to Solomon’s sigil. That is my third wish.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Waves of heat rose up from the tarmac and the air shimmered, an iridescent mirage. Nalia stopped her pacing and shaded her eyes against the late-morning sun that glinted off the wings of Malek’s private jet. Planes took off and landed all around her, their lion roars inexplicably calming. She just might make it out of LA before the Ifrit caught up to her.

Nalia’s former master stood beside the Gulfstream, giving last-minute instructions to his harried pilot. Malek had fully recovered from the drugs and was once again impeccable in an expensive suit and a pair of aviators, his hair slicked back. The only evidence of the violence the broken bond had done to his body was an unconscious motion he occasionally made against his heart. Zanari had been inside the plane since they’d arrived at the airport, sitting in a meditative pose as she homed in on the location of the Ifrit troops who’d come through the portal at dawn. Nalia checked her watch. Raif should have been back by now—worry gnawed at her as she thought of him alone in a city crawling with Ifrit. Not only was Raif drained from the unbinding and the hour he’d wasted looking for Zanari on the PCH, he’d also spent half the morning in the Sahara. Since they’d be traveling as humans until Nalia’s trace was lifted, he’d had to evanesce to the cave’s location in order to determine what country it was in, a journey that had required several hours in the desert. After returning to LA, Raif had then insisted on using the time Malek was spending organizing their trip to Morocco to get the word out about Jordif. They couldn’t leave without the other jinn knowing what the owner of Habibi was up to. But there was no punishment that could make up for what Jordif had done to Nalia and so many other jinn: he’d stolen years of her life and that of countless others. Nothing could erase the past.

Nalia hadn’t known what it would be like to have her freedom back, but she hadn’t expected to feel worse. She’d been a free jinni for just over seven hours, yet she felt as bound as ever by her vows and obligations.

“I don’t understand,” Raif had said, when she’d told him what Malek’s third wish was. “How can you honor our vow
and
his wish?”

They hadn’t worded the vow right, she said. All Nalia had promised was to take Raif to the location of the ring, since it was impossible for her to give it to him. It wasn’t hers to give. Had they worded the vow properly—said Raif would be the
only
person she would take to the sigil—Malek would have had no choice but to come up with another wish.

“How was I to know that anyone else was looking for the sigil—and
Malek
, of all people?” she’d said.

Nalia had forgotten about human psychics who’d gotten their powers from jinn, either as wishes or favors. True seers were so few and far between, and yet they were out there. Of
course
Malek was consulting one. Why wouldn’t he? A man of his power and stature would have access to the very best services money could buy.

I should have known.
All those hours he’d spent in his study, researching maps and reading huge tomes written in long-dead languages. How could she have been so blind?

Raif had closed his eyes, then taken her in his arms. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “He’s only a
pardjinn
. I might not be able to hurt him because of that damn amulet, but there’s no way he’ll get that sigil before me.”

But traveling with Malek was already beyond complicated. Nalia had insisted on checking all his luggage and the plane itself for guns, which he, of course, had not been happy about. She’d gotten rid of the weapons he’d stashed, but Nalia didn’t trust her former master not to hurt the Djan’Urbis in some other way. It was hard enough already: Raif and Zanari couldn’t look in Malek’s eyes for fear he would hypersuade them, which made even the simplest communications difficult. Nalia was safe from his summons or commands, of course, but she didn’t have protection against all the psychological and emotional weapons at his disposal. Nalia and Malek had had three years to learn precisely how to push each other’s buttons, and they were both far too good at it. To say they were still adjusting to the new power dynamic in their relationship would be a vast understatement.

But I’m free
, she thought now, watching Malek prepare the plane. Never again would she feel the twitch in her stomach from his summons or fear a bottle around his neck.

Raif stole up behind Nalia and pulled her against him, his palm against her stomach, an arm across her chest.

“Miss me?” he asked.

Relief flooded through her and she set her hands over his. “
Yes
. I was worried.”

Malek glanced at them, attuned as ever to Nalia’s presence. He pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the pilot when she noticed him.

“I took care of it,” Raif murmured. “Jordif can’t hurt you or anyone else again.”

Nalia turned around. “What did you do?”

“Ordered his execution. I have a resistance cell here that will deal with him.” He set his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. “I’m sorry you won’t be there to see it.”

Nalia shook her head. “I’m not. I’ve seen enough death for a lifetime.”

The sigh Nalia had been holding in for hours escaped her. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, and every muscle ached from the unbinding. But that was nothing compared to the overwhelming disappointment of what had happened in the canyon.

“I can’t believe I’m not rid of Malek,” she said. It was bad enough that Raif was going to possess the sigil. She’d learned to trust him and believed he would try to do the right thing by the jinn race. But Malek with the sigil? The end of the worlds.

“You’re rid of him in the way that really matters,” Raif said, his lips against her hair. “He can never hurt you again.”

You don’t know him,
she thought.
Not like I do.

Nalia leaned into his touch. “While you were gone, I figured out why the Ghan Aisouri were never able to create an unbinding spell,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “We didn’t know what slavery felt like, so we didn’t understand the real essence of freedom.” She looked up at Raif and rested her palms against his cheeks. “You
manifested
freedom—and you were able to because you knew what the bind felt like, the unnaturalness of it. I’ve never seen magic so powerful. It wasn’t just about understanding the spell. It was
your
power that did it. Raif, the things you could do . . .”

“But you set yourself free,” he said. “When you were in that bottle, alone, you figured out how to manifest freedom, too.” Raif smiled. “But if you have a few tricks you can show me, I’ll gladly use them.”

“I’ll teach you everything I know, I promise.”

His lips brushed hers. “Ah, but you’ll expect payment—I’m not sure I can afford Ghan Aisouri prices.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” She started to grin, but her face clouded as a long-forgotten memory hit her.

“Nalia-jai, show me how to make a wind dragon!”

“And what will I get in return, gharoof?” Her little rabbit, always scheming.

Bashil runs to her and plants a kiss on Nalia’s cheek. They tumble to the grass, laughing.

“What’s wrong?” Raif asked, his voice soft.

“Just . . . my brother.”

“No news?”

Nalia closed her eyes and shook her head. “Nothing.”

It was the worst part of having the trace. The last she’d seen of Bashil was when he’d been hit on the head by an Ifrit guard. Was he even still alive? The fact that Bashil hadn’t tried to contact her since the night she’d killed Haran had Nalia’s stomach in knots.

“He might just be sick,” Raif said. “You know how hard it is to use true names when your body’s unwell. We’ll be home soon.”

But they wouldn’t. The map in her skin gave Nalia no indication of how long they would have to travel through the Sahara to reach the cave where the sigil was hidden. It could be weeks or months before she stepped on Arjinnan soil—
if
she made it through the cave. Only one jinni had survived the journey through its cavernous depths, and her tales had been full of creatures that made Haran seem tame.

She glanced at the runway. “At the rate things are going, we’ll be lucky to get out of the city before the Ifrit find us.”

Raif held her a little tighter. “After losing my dad and best friend, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you or Zan. You know, my dad dying . . . I think I kind of knew it was going to happen. There was this moment, the night before the second uprising . . . so when it happened, I was ready. In a way. But when Kir died—”

Nalia froze. “Kir?”

Raif nodded. “My best friend. When he died, I couldn’t believe it. It was a routine mission, it should’ve been . . .” Raif cleared his throat. “They took him—the Aisouri. He was strong, but they broke him in the end. We tried to rescue him, but it happened so fast, there wasn’t any time.”

“Mother, please don’t make me do this,” Nalia says. The boy’s head is bobbing against his chest, vomit covering his shirt.

“This is war, Nalia. If we don’t kill him, he’s one more revolutionary who can murder a Ghan Aisouri.” Nalia’s mother pushes her toward him.

“I can’t. He’s so young, Mother, please—”

Mehndal Aisouri slaps her daughter across the face, hard. “Do not disgrace me, child. Kill the bo,y or I swear to gods you’ll wish you had.”

Nalia could make it quick for him. She couldn’t say the same for her mother.

“What’s his name?” Nalia asks. It seems important, not to kill someone without at least knowing their name.

“Kir. Or so he says.”

Nalia stands over him, her hand shaking. “Shalinta, Kir. Shalinta.” Forgive me.

Zanari leaned out of the plane’s door. “Raif.” She motioned for her brother to join her, and he nodded. She looked at Nalia. “Tell Malek the Ifrit are at his house—they have your scent.”

“I’m
right here
,” Malek snapped.

Zanari ignored him—it was her policy, after what he’d done to her. She couldn’t hurt him because of Draega’s Amulet, so she’d discovered new and varied ways of torturing him.

“I’ll save you a seat,” Raif said to Nalia. He looked down, his brow creasing. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine.”

She couldn’t look at him. “I . . . know. I know.”

He squeezed her hand, then jogged toward the plane.

His best friend. Oh, gods, his best friend.

Nalia stood on the runway, alone, that little bit of security and happiness she’d felt vanishing like evanescence.

Malek leaned close to the pilot and gestured to the plane. The pilot followed Raif up the stairs and disappeared inside. Malek took off his sunglasses and caught Nalia’s eye. His lips turned up in a small, knowing smile, and before she could respond, he ducked inside the plane. Moments later, the engines rumbled, and the crew standing beneath the Gulfstream began running around it, taking away wheel guards as the gas truck pulled away.

Nalia rubbed her wrists, the familiar gesture reminding her that the shackles were gone. Raif’s words echoed in her ears:
He can never hurt you again.
All that remained of her slavery were two thin scars. But there was still the half-Ifrit man in the plane who always got what he wanted. And there was this new knowledge, looming over everything.

Kir,
she thought.
Kir, Kir, Kir.

Raif would never forgive her, and yet she
had
to tell him. How could she accept his love when she knew she’d killed his best friend? She couldn’t.

Malek leaned out of the Gulfstream’s door. “Nalia, any day now.”

She glared at him, and he gave her a mock bow as he went back into the plane. Nalia closed her eyes and whispered a brief prayer to the gods, pouring out her fear and gratitude, her hopes and desires, at their feet. She had assassins after her and Bashil seemed farther away than ever. Leilan was dead, Malek was still in her life, and Raif might soon be out of it, once he learned the truth about Nalia’s past.

But at least I’m free.

The last Ghan Aisouri, rightful heir to the Arjinnan throne, crossed the tarmac and set her hand on the tiny stairway’s railing. She took one final breath of the city air, saying a silent good-bye to her life as Malek’s slave and to Leilan, wherever the essence of her friend rested. Then Nalia climbed the stairs in the direction of her future. No matter what happened, she was finally her own mistress.