Zarina and the Djinn Page 5

  “Thank you, brother.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “If only we knew who he traded them to, maybe we could get them back.”

  “No one you need to deal with, or even meet for that matter. All we can do is protect what we have left.”

  Zarina released her brother and stepped back. “I couldn’t rouse him this morning. Now I know why.”

  “I’m told he was boasting again, as well. Claiming that we had spices all the way from Dalborough, thousands of leagues away. Three people have asked me for drakeroot today. I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”

  If it weren’t so pathetic a falsehood, she would have laughed. Instead, Zarina grunted. “Because it doesn’t exist. Honestly, he’s lucky you and I can run the shop on our own. As for our money, I plan to sleep with whatever earnings we make each day until I can convince the account keeper to grant us a safe of our own at the bank. I can’t keep him from his share of the profit, but by the gods, I won’t let him take ours too.”

  * * *

  Shortly before dusk, Zarina and her brother parted ways from the shop. Kazim headed to the eastern farms to discuss a new trade deal for spices, but Zarina had a feeling he was more interested in the farmer’s youngest unmarried daughter. Why else would he pause to buy a scarf along the way? More than anything, she wished her brother happiness.

  Amused by Kazim’s behavior, she made a detour to Kokura’s house on her way through the neighborhood. And even if she hadn’t intended to stop for friendly conversation, the other woman had been poised to flag her down, standing on the stairs waving a kerchief.

  Zarina grinned. “Did you think I would forget?”

  “Yes.” Her friend pouted. Although there were only five years between them, Kokura had a thriving business of her own, a good husband, and two children—the ideal family Zarina had always wanted when growing up.

  “Well, I’m here, and you’re free to interrogate me at will.”

  “Good. I saved your favorite.” When Zarina joined her on the stoop, Kokura passed over a roll stuffed with chopped dates, nuts, and cinnamon. “Now, tell me of your nighttime visitor. I have been dying to know everything, but I didn’t want to interrupt when I saw you both pass by two nights ago.”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” she began in a shy voice. “I’ve only met him three times, and he’s gone now.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t speak much of his work or his travels.”

  “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  What? Her heart slammed against her ribs. Did it mean Joaidane couldn’t be trusted? “No.”

  “It means he must work for the sultan, or perhaps even the vizier, if he is unable to discuss his business!” Kokura leaned closer and shook her by the shoulder, her blue eyes dancing with enthusiasm. “He must be a dangerous man. An assassin.”

  “An assassin?” Zarina burst out laughing. “I doubt it. Joaidane strikes me as too gentle a man to kill others.”

  “A gentle nature doesn’t mean he couldn’t kill for money. After all, most of the people targeted by the sultan’s personal assassins are bad people who threaten the sultanate. Ankar told me they seek out traitors and terrible people.”

  Ankar was full of shit, Zarina wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.

  “Though I suppose they couldn’t all be good when some of them also spirit girls away from their homes for the harem—”

  Zarina held up her hand. “He’s had ample opportunity to do so, but here I am. Really, Kokura, there is no way he could be what you claim.”

  “He could still be a spy.”

  Perhaps. That idea had merit, and a quiet little voice in the back of her mind whispered that the best assassins and spies would be those no one suspected. “He did tell me he sleeps through the day and is accustomed to going unseen at night.”

  “See!” Kokura clapped her hands together. “That would explain why no one noticed him until he began to visit you. A man that handsome would stand out in this little village, don’t you think? What do you both talk about? There must be another clue.”

  They chatted for another hour as the setting sun cast gold and pink streaks across the twilit sky. Ankar brought them tea to accompany the pastries, then bowed so deeply his necklace nearly touched the ground.

  “My apologies for today, Zarina. I was certain the beggar had robbed us when I saw him with the loaf. I should have asked my wife. We’ve discussed it, and given that he now bears your name at the city archives, we’ll feed him breakfast each morning.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I’m more than willing to pay.”

  “No.” Ankar shook his head. “It will come out of Pijar’s earnings. Perhaps I was wrong to speak without knowing the truth, but the worst crime was committed by our son. He chose to lift his hand in violence, and due to the part he played in wrongfully harming that man, I can think of no better lesson to teach him a little humility. Pijar will pay the costs from the tips he receives while making deliveries.”

  Kokura nodded. “Let him know at once if he should cross your path before we see him.”

  The conversation with the pair of bakers lasted a while longer before Zarina excused herself to head home. A long day of spice grinding had exhausted her, and she had hopes of visiting the public bath for a long soak and massage.

  While walking away, she couldn’t help but wonder if Ankar would have approved of his son’s behavior if the beggar had stolen the bread after all. No, of course not, she thought.

  Once Zarina entered the darkened home, she lit one of the candles beside the door and carried the wooden holder toward her room. Inside, she found her father rummaging through her belongings, tossing silk skirts, saris, and embroidered scarves in his pursuit for valuables worth selling at the market.

  “What are you doing?”

  He jerked around, caught red-handed. “Where are your mother’s perfume bottles, Zarina? The blown glass ones.”

  “Away somewhere safe where you can’t reach them.” She’d taken many of Renata’s favorite belongings and hidden them among her mother’s closest friends. In the safekeeping of Amira, her mother’s best friend and the local bookshop owner, her mother’s fine crystals and glassware would remain out of his grubby hands.

  “Go and fetch them, child.”

  Zarina raised her chin and pushed her shoulders back, pretending a wooden beam supported her spine. “No. You shame us.” Once the words burst free, nothing could hold back the tidal wave of emotion. “You’ve gambled away almost everything we have, Father, and every day you try to drink away the rest. You didn’t even come to help us with the shop today.”

  Darrius scowled at her. “Why should I, when you two are capable?”

  “That’s not the point! If you don’t want to work, fine, but stop wasting away what we earn. Your debaucheries are shameful. It’s bad enough you stole my chances for a better future, but you are risking Kazim’s livelihood now. Our shop.”

  Her father rose to his full height and stared down his long, slender nose at her, although it was a wonder he could see her without his glasses. “Do not speak to me of shame, girl, when you gallivant about at night with strange men.”

  The words stole the breath from her and took the wind from her sails. How had he discovered her evening walks with Joaidane? A concerned neighbor or family friend must have told. Zarina swallowed back her retort. “It’s not what you think,” she said in a meek whisper, stunned that anyone had dared to share her activities with him.

  “You speak to me of ruining the family, but you flaunt yourself like a harem girl, staying out past midnight with men I have never met. Men I haven’t approved for your courtship.”

  “Harem girl? It isn’t like that at all. Joaidane and I are only friends.” The heat returned to her voice, a livid flush overtaking her body until her pulse beat between her ears with the power of a dozen galloping horses.

  “So you claim. I hope he doesn’t
expect a dowry for you.”

  “Of course not, because you stole it!” She blinked away the hot tears blurring her vision. “Because you steal everything that matters to us. One day you won’t have us to care for you and to fix your messes, Father, because you’ll have driven us both away.” Despair clenched her throat in an unrelenting, iron-fisted grasp, and she ran from the room with tears streaming down her cheeks. Half blind, she struck her hip against the doorframe and banged her thigh against a table edge.

  Her father didn’t care enough to follow, and by the end of the night, he’d have a seat at the local cordial house with whatever money he could find in their few possessions.

  Chapter

  Each week crawled by at a snail’s pace. By day, Joaidane watched Zarina pass by the wall on her route to the city, and each night he lingered near the square when her father stumbled home in a drunken stupor.

  She deserves better.

  But was he any better for her? He’d debated it several times and even considered leaving Naruk for good—sparing her the pain of attachment—only to discover he wasn’t as selfless as he wanted to be.

  After all, how could he surrender the one bright star to shine above him in those bleak and turbulent skies? It didn’t help that she’d also paid five golden rubles, a fair portion of her hard-earned income, to induct him into their family at the archives. How could he leave and waste her noble gift?

  Kneading his hip and loathing the curse of arthritis, Joaidane made his way toward the neighborhood where he refilled his flask of drinking water each night at the well.

  “Please, my lord, not my daughter.”

  Drawn by the commotion, Joaidane veered into the next lane and followed the traveling crowd of onlookers. Farther up the streets, three men stood before a modest house with a sagging roof and dilapidated porch. The wooden steps tilted on an angle, unsupported by the rotting wood blocks beneath. The dark leather of the city watch armored the two guards flanking a man clothed by noble garb. Joaidane identified the city tax collector by his garish gold robes.

  An older man picked his way down the steps to meet them and dropped to his knees, arms outstretched and hands clasped in a pleading manner. “Please. She is all I have.”

  “You know the laws,” the tax collector said. “This is three times now you’ve failed to pay your taxes. Payment is due with interest.”

  “But my daughter—”

  “She’ll be cared for. If you can’t afford to pay your taxes, you can hardly call yourself capable of feeding her. Say goodbye to her and trust that your daughter will enjoy a life of comfort superior to anything you could have given her.” The man lowered his voice, though the harsh whisper still reached Joaidane’s ears. “Don’t make a fool of yourself in public. Accept that this has been a long time coming.”

  “I… A good life?”

  “A good life,” the noble said. “She will have silk for clothes, food from the palace kitchens, and the sultan’s personal attentions.”

  “That is indeed a good life.” Sadness shimmered in the old man’s cloudy eyes until he dipped his chin and let them fall shut.

  “Please. My father wouldn’t survive on his own. Without me, who will care for him?” the girl pleaded despite the promises of a generous royal lifestyle for her. “My lord, he cannot cook for himself or do the cleaning. Without me he will become Forgotten.”

  “Your father owes nineteen rubles in taxes.”

  An absurd amount of money. A dedicated laborer could make as much as five to eight silver solterras in a week, while honest merchants could earn as much as two or three rubles in that time. If their successful business drew in a large clientele and received patronage from the wealthy royal family, they could possibly earn four.

  Joaidane didn’t stay to watch the rest. The others who had gathered to witness the spectacle broke apart and hurried about their own ways, lest the guards turn their attention to them next. With the sun close to setting, he needed to get moving.

  The legal abduction of a young woman reminded him why he hated Naruk. A wise man would leave while he had the chance, and Joaidane had overstayed his welcome. Yet leaving Zarina behind would be yet another regret among many.

  After refilling the flask at the well, he retreated to his hovel at the outskirts of the city. There, he waited out the curse’s rotation and welcomed the return of the full moon. As darkness fell, silver light washed away his wrinkles and smoothed his sagging skin into toned muscle on a lithe, solid frame.

  Instead of climbing astride a horse and setting the sands ablaze while he was young and able-bodied, he made his way to the bathhouse, expecting to once again go unseen. Occasionally, when Joaidane couldn’t scavenge enough coins during the day, he snuck unseen into the bathing house during the time of the full moon.

  “A long week of work?” the clerk asked when Joaidane approached, startling him.

  “You see me?”

  “I can see it’s been a long while since you paid a visit here, sir.” The man chuckled and offered a towel with a bar of soap. “As is usually the case for you laborers charged with the sultan’s summer harvests. How do you do it? Working beneath the sun the entire day again and again.”

  He believes I’ve been working the green fields and harvesting for the sultan… “You do things you never knew you had the strength to endure when you haven’t much of a choice, sir,” Joaidane said.

  “Of course.” The attendant dipped his head in respect. “You must have a beautiful family to be worth the effort.”

  No, but how I wish that I did.

  With a parting smile, he tossed an additional copper into the jar designated for the clerk’s personal tips, and then he moved forward into the bathhouse. Money could purchase dignity after all. As water was a precious commodity in the desert cities, pipelines and channels carried it from the Sarel River miles away.

  Of all the places he’d ever visited as a child with his mother, nothing surpassed the beauty of a Samaharan bathhouse. The interior was all marble from top to bottom with enormous, smooth slabs where men sprawled while receiving hot oil massages. A public chamber and several private stalls housed spaces equipped with water pipelines heated by a unique underground furnace. He scrubbed beneath one of the spigots, rinsed, then spent the remainder of his hour in the steam room until the monthlong trial as the beggar faded from his memory. Moments like this made him feel human again, and while he’d been able to bathe regularly throughout the month thanks to Zarina, he’d been thrifty and gone without the additional comforts. No oils, no shaving lathers, and certainly no limitless time beneath the spigot.

  This night was the first night worth spending the additional money, but why had the clerk seen him? For months, he’d been visiting as Joaidane, ignored even after he’d dropped a copper into the tin, but for the first time, he found himself acknowledged. Seen.

  Was it because of Zarina?

  Magic restored his clothing to a pristine state, conditioning the leather and freshening his linens. Once he’d shaved and dragged a comb through his damp hair, he hurried onto the street and toward her district with time to spare.

  Joaidane waited beneath the enchanted lanterns at the well for her to arrive. At first, he was positive she’d lost interest during the month, as no one passed but a pair of merchants late from closing at the markets.

  Just when he was prepared to give up hope, she appeared like his personal guardian spirit, walking toward him in the hazy light, her wine-colored silks billowing around her ankles and slim legs.

  And he didn’t have a damned thing for her. So desperate to rush away to the bathing house, he’d left his offering behind in the hovel. In a panic, he conjured the flower arrangement of roses and night-blooming jasmine. The last time he had escorted her through the city, she had remarked on them being her favorite, so he’d spent the day in the desert hunting until he found the elusive blossoms.

  “You came.” Zarina’s slow steps brought her just beyond his reach.

&n
bsp; Divided between wanting to drag her into his arms and being the respectful gentleman caller, he clutched the bouquet tighter until the stems creaked between his gloved hands. “I wasn’t sure if you would come either.”

  “I’m sorry. I had to help Father to bed before I could leave.” Her eyes lowered to the floral arrangement. “You brought me flowers. Is that… is that a desert rose?”

  “One rose for another.”

  “They’re beautiful.” She lifted the bouquet to her nose and breathed in the sweet scent. Each golden petal faded to deep purple at the tips, reminding him of the famed twilight roses of Cairn Ocland.

  “They pale in comparison to you.” For the first time in all his life, he meant the words as more than some trivial flirtation.

  Zarina ducked her head shyly, but peeked up through her lashes and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “Did your travels go well?”

  “Nothing worthy of remark.”

  An amused glimmer danced in her gray eyes. “I think I’ve finally discovered the truth behind your mysterious travels. You’re one of the sultan’s spies, aren’t you? One of the men who sneaks only in the night.”

  He stared down at her, taken back by the preposterous notion of working for the sultan. “What?”

  “That’s why you can’t or won’t tell me what you do and why you travel the desert. You work for the royal family. My brother says there are many men who keep to the shadows while doing Sultan Kaspar’s will, and my friends agree.”

  “Well, I’m not one of those men.” He’d never killed anyone, even in self-defense, although he’d been cornered, beaten, and even suffered villagers hurling rocks at him in the past. And while he knew his tormentors came shy of killing him due to Yasmina’s magic, he had little appreciation for her interference. It wasn’t meant to protect him—only to prolong his suffering. After all, how could she be amused by a dead man?