Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) (28 page)

Noqril manifested a
zhifir
,
a traditional jinn instrument that sounded like a cross between a violin and sitar. The sound it made as he played was rich and mournful, a beautiful rush of sound that Raif never would have thought the vexing Ifrit capable of.

The song was familiar, an ancient melody known to all jinn. It was home wrapped in weeping notes. Each time Noqril swept the bow across the strings, the responding note seemed to draw
deep from the well of longing within Raif. He had been gone too long from Arjinna. He wanted a glimpse of the dawn sun glinting off the snow-capped tops of the Qaf Mountains and to bathe in the moonlight of the Three Widows. Yet without Nalia, it'd be meaningless. Without the ring, it'd be impossible.

Samar turned to Raif. “Why do you fight, Raif Djan'Urbi?”

The question caught him off guard. He should have an answer—a good one. The right one. But nothing came to his lips.

“I don't know anymore,” he said, surprised.

Nalia stood and moved away from the fire, slipping into one of the long tunnel passages. Raif's eyes followed her.

“That,” Samar said, pointing to Nalia, “is what you fight for. Caring for your realm, your people—that will only get you so far. Victory comes when you fight to save the ones you love. You will stop at nothing for them. It's a good strategy, no?”

Raif remembered the last conversation he'd had with Dthar Djan'Urbi, on the sand dunes beside the Arjinnan Sea the day before his father died. For all his powerful rhetoric and the fierceness with which he fought in battle, Raif's father had said he fought because he wanted his family to be free, because he could no longer bear seeing Shaitan overlords whip and demean his wife and children. His father hadn't died for the revolution—he'd died for his family. And lived for them. Nalia was wrong: Love wasn't a weakness. It was love that had given the serfs a voice for the first time in thousands of years. It was love that had returned their dignity.

Raif clapped Samar on the back. “Thank you, brother.”

“I'm just telling you what I see.”

As Raif moved toward the tunnel Nalia had disappeared into, he could hear Noqril begin a new song, a field worker's tune Raif knew by heart. He remembered singing it as a little boy, when he was still a serf who'd had to labor on his overlord's land. He could see the scarred backs of the male jinn, shirtless and dripping with sweat as they swung their scythes. He whispered the words as his pace quickened.

I love you as the earth loves rain

Without you I will die

THE TUNNEL WAS A WIDE-OPEN MOUTH AND NALIA LET it swallow her.

The darkness was a comfort and a shield. Here, no one would see what she knew must be written so plainly on her face: she'd never wanted anyone or anything more than Raif Djan'Urbi. When he looked at her, she lost all sense of herself, of time and space and everything under the sun because he
was
her sun. The only light in her life, the only thing that could fight the endless night inside her.

Nalia stayed in the darkness just inside the tunnel, listening, but Noqril's next song had only made the feeling building inside her worse. It was a favorite of hers, one that caused her
chiaan
to
rush faster through her veins
.
She remembered late summer nights sitting on her balcony, when everyone in the palace was asleep
except for the servants. In the heat of an Arjinnan midnight, they would convene in the garden, playing music and singing in soft, rich voices. This song, and others. How many hours had she spent in the bottle, humming that very tune? Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept her sane.

The last notes of the song faded as Nalia moved deeper into the tunnel. It was too much, this sudden longing for home that filled her, this need for Raif and Arjinna, as though the two were somehow one and the same.

She kept reaching for the fury, the desire to kill Calar, because the ache in her hurt less when she thought about the vengeance due her. But the rage wasn't there like she thought it would be. Revenge is what she wanted, what Bashil deserved. And yet all Nalia felt was an overwhelming grief: for Bashil, for the land, for all the people of Arjinna, and for the slaves on the dark caravan.

In the darkness of the tunnel, in that place without light or hope, Nalia realized that she didn't want to fight. She wanted to build. To plant and grow and nurture. She wanted long, uneventful days. She wanted time. But to get any of those things, she'd have to fight and fight hard.

And she wasn't sure how much fight was left in her.

So she walked. As far away as she could, as fast as she could. Nalia didn't know where she was going, didn't care. All she knew was that she couldn't sit across the fire from Raif any longer or hear songs that made her blood cry with homesickness.

Raif.
Oh gods, Raif.

She was so close to giving in to him. And she couldn't.

What the two of you have—it's reckless.

This was a fact. Irrefutable.

But he wasn't making it easy. Every chance he got, Raif reminded her in some way that she was never far from his mind—a whispered kindness, a light touch on her arm, eyes that never looked away. Nalia's fingertips slid along the rough rock and her mind conjured his laborer's hands, how they were surprisingly gentle when he touched her and how his
chiaan
whispered to her own.

Reckless.

Hadn't she been reckless when she set Calar free in the palace dungeon all those years ago? Reckless mercy turned into the ruin of her realm.

Nalia's hand fell from the rock. These thoughts were pointless, little tortures she came to again and again. Nalia didn't deserve Raif, not after what she'd done to Kir. Not after her very existence had snuffed out Bashil's short life.

She pushed on through the darkness, as though physical distance from Raif could somehow erase him, little by little, from her heart. Up ahead, the tunnel widened and as she rounded a corner, she stopped, her breath catching as a faint aquamarine glow emanated from further along the passage. She curled her fingers into her palms, extinguishing her
chiaan
, then she slid her dagger into her hand and crept closer, hugging the wall. Her skin prickled as she imagined stumbling into Haraja's lair or some other as yet unseen monster.

The light pulsed, growing brighter the closer she got. Now Nalia could see that the tunnel opened up into a small cavern.
She raised a hand, ready to beam her
chiaan
at anything that came toward her. She pointed her dagger outward, and its jade tip caught the light. Then she lunged forward.

Nalia gasped, her hands falling to her sides, any thought of foes completely forgotten in the face of the incandescent beauty before her. The entire ceiling and walls of the cavern were covered with glowworms, thousands of them. They looked like sea-green fireflies or the phosphorescence that floated in the Pacific at night. A small pool of water took up most of the cavern, reflecting the ethereal light of the creatures. The water was pristine, so clear that she could see the pool's sandstone bottom. A low, rocky ledge covered with thick tufts of moss ringed the pool. It glimmered, verdant.

This was a place the gods had touched.

Nalia kicked off her thick hiking boots and pulled off her socks. She stepped onto the moss and let the soft cloud of vegetation caress her tired feet. The energy of the plants and stone grounded her, as though Earth were holding her in the palm of its hand.

“If you had three wishes, what would you choose?”

She turned, startled. Raif stood a few feet away, leaning against the rocky wall of the cavern's entrance. She didn't know how long he'd been standing there.

“I've never thought about it,” she said, recovering. She looked away from him, her heart pressing, pressing, bursting. It wanted free. As though it knew it belonged in his hands.

Nalia dipped a toe in the water. It was warm, like a bath. “Everything I would wish for is impossible—the dead to come
back to life, the coup to never have happened. For Malek to know nothing of the sigil.” She sighed. “Wishes are for humans.”

“Then what is left for the jinn?”

Nalia gazed at the glowworms' impossible beauty. “Hope,” she whispered, turning to him.

He smiled, a secret hiding somewhere inside him. “Hope,” he repeated. “And what are your three hopes?” he asked.

“For the war to end. For Calar to die. For . . .” Her eyes slid to his, purple to green, heart to heart. “For you.”

Raif walked toward her, slowly. “That would be a waste of a third hope. I'm already yours.”

He placed his hands on her arms and drew her to him. Nalia's body obeyed, even though her mind screamed at it to stop.

Selfish, reckless, selfish selfish selfish.

“Nalia, I know you think by keeping me away that you're somehow protecting me or punishing yourself or saving the realm. But when we're not together, when things are unwell between us . . . I'm lost. Utterly. It's all I can think about, all I care about. That's no way to command soldiers and win a revolution. You have to agree, it's not a very good strategy.”

“Then I'm a distraction, something that keeps you from—”

“That's not at all what I'm saying and you know it.”

The cave's glow licked his skin and she wanted to taste him, to feel the salty sizzle of Raif's
chiaan
against her tongue.

Nalia closed her eyes. Took a breath. “But what about Kir? How can you still want me after what I did? To him—to everyone.”

“Because you're a part of me.” He ran a hand through her
short hair. “Because you were a child, forced to do a terrible thing.” His fingers trailed across her jaw. “Because I love you.”

“Raif . . .” Her voice, a weak protest. The only thing that made sense was the feel of his
chiaan
slipping into her, twisting with her own until there was no Nalia, no Raif. Only
Us. We. Our.

“I want us to belong to each other,” he said softly. “Not like you belonged to Malek—it doesn't have to be like that. You can belong to a person without them owning you. Does that make sense,
rohifsa
?”

The words were a final piece to a puzzle she'd been trying to put together all her life.
Belong.
Yes. She wanted to belong to him. And he to her.

Nalia fell into him, a wave crashing upon a shore. Raif pulled her down onto the thick carpet of moss, cradling her in his arms.

“Do you remember what I told you, in the glass house in Los Angeles?” he asked.

Malek's conservatory, the night she killed Haran. The night Raif had told Nalia he had to be with her. She blushed.

“Yes.”

I intend on kissing every inch of you the first chance I get.

His hand reached for the zipper on her sweater. As he pulled it down, Raif gave a soft laugh. “This is a funny little human invention, isn't it?”

That was all it took to banish any lingering uncertainty inside her: Raif's laughter, the moment somehow more intimate than everything that had gone before it. Nalia reached for his shirt, her eyes on his.

Love was Raif's breath, hot against her skin. His fingers exploring, his lips burning, his tongue, tasting her, all of her.

Love was an explosion, falling up in an exhilarating burst, emerald and violet
chiaan
swirling around naked skin, moss against a bare back, and sweet, slick sweat.

Love was a gasp and a moan. It was an arched back and fingers gripping shoulders and a whispered
more more more.

Love was a waking dream and truth.

It was freedom.

Raif held Nalia's hand as they floated in the pool beneath the glowworms. His body buzzed with the feel of her
chiaan
inside him. Every now and then she would look at him and smile and he wondered if it were possible to feel any happier without dying from it.

“I'm never leaving this cavern,” he declared.

She laughed. “You'd miss the sun. And fresh air. And
widr
trees.”

“Not as much as I'd miss this.”

He hated that they'd have to go back.

“What about Zanari?” Nalia said.

“She can visit us when she wants to.”

“Well, she might be busy with Phara . . .”

Raif smiled. “So you've noticed.”

“
Everybody
has noticed. I think it's wonderful. Zanari deserves to be happy.”

He nodded. “I've never seen Zan so relaxed. Keeps her off my back, too, which is nice.”

Nalia gripped his arm. “
Raif.
”

“What, it's true. She's always nagging me about something—”

“No.
Look.
”

Her finger pointed above them, at the glowworms. The creatures were moving slowly and the light from their bodies swirled across the cavern's roof. Then they stopped.

They had assumed the shape of an eight-pointed star.

“How did Antharoe manage
that
?” he said. The seventh star—only one more to go.

“Beautiful magic.” Nalia said, clearly delighted. “She must have spelled the whole cavern somehow.”

“
Gods.
”

Nalia kissed his cheek and slipped out of the pool, her limbs graceful as ever. Even with the scar that began at her hip and ended at her belly button, a result of her brush with death while fighting Haran, she was perfect. Nalia caught him looking and blushed, but she didn't try to cover herself.

“We should tell the others about the star,” she said.

“Mmmm,” was all he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “You might want to get dressed before they come looking for us.”

“Everyone's asleep by now. They won't be up for hours.”

“Two of us disappear and no one's going to be worried?” she asked.

Raif sighed and swam a few lazy strokes toward the ledge,
then pulled himself up onto the moss. He leaned forward and kissed her collarbone. She caught his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.

“I love you,” she said. “No matter what happens.”

The side of his mouth turned up. “That's foreboding.”

“You know what I mean.” Nalia craned her neck to look at the star above them. “I wonder how long they stay in their star form?”

She went quiet and he took her hand and squeezed it. “What's wrong?”

“It's stupid, really. It's just . . . my whole life I've looked up to Antharoe. The stories of her adventures, her strength in fighting, her magical abilities.” She pointed to the ceiling. “I mean, how could she do this
and
kill all those people in the City of Brass?”

“I told you before, you're nothing like her,
rohifsa
,
I promise.” He kissed her forehead and drew her to his side. “Now, let's go tell everyone they don't need to look in any more of those godsdamned caverns.”

They heard the screaming long before they reached the others. When they burst out of the tunnel, the first thing Raif saw was Malek. The
pardjinn
was clutching at his head and his cries were an anguished stream of Arabic.

“Haraja,” Zanari said, when they ran up to her.

Nalia stared at her former master, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.

Raif felt no such horror. He fell to his knees and kissed the earth as he whispered a prayer of thanks to Tirgan, his patron god.

“Little brother,” Zanari said, “are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Raif nodded. “I could kiss Haraja right now.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far,” she said.

Malek Alzahabi had been doomed to a lifetime of incurable madness. One that, because of his own greed, he would have to endure until the day he chose to take his own life. If the only cure for Haraja's madness was hypersuasion, then the
pardjinn
was screwed. He couldn't very well hypersuade himself.

Nalia gripped Phara's arm. “Do you have any idea what he thinks is happening?”

“He keeps screaming your name,” she said. Nalia blanched.

Tears had begun streaming down Malek's face and Raif watched, disgusted. Furious. His own greatest fear was harm coming to Nalia and it seemed so wrong that he should share that with Malek.

Nalia moved toward Malek, but Raif grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Don't. He deserves this. Whatever Haraja has slipped into his mind . . . it doesn't begin to punish him for what he did to you.”