Chapter 19 #2
of that studied indifference and inscrutable secrecy was a front, the way she’d learned to survive in a world that made viciously
clear what parts of your identity could doom you.
Wordlessly, I reached out to squeeze her hand . When she didn’t pull away, I spoke. “I won’t, I promise. I should have reached out sooner, and for that, I do apologize. But I am sorry for what happened at the village. I would never want you to think I would make such a distinction
between our peoples, and if I’ve acted in a manner that suggests so... I need to change that.”
“All right.” We both sat there in a moment of mutual discomfort and weird warmth before Dalila added, “You must have really
feared meeting God to have just admitted you were wrong in multiple situations.”
“And you must have really feared losing me to confess that we’re friends.” When she grimaced, I let out a small sound of triumph.
“You did!”
Dalila rolled her eyes. “Do not let a moment of emotional weakness delude you further.”
“You would have mourned me for a thousand years.” I tilted my head. “Can I ask you something else, since you have declared
our undying bonds of sisterhood and amity?”
“I am going to hit you with my staff.”
“Will you at least tell me your name?” I asked more gently, ignoring the threat. “Your real one. Not your Banu Sasan one,
Crafty Dalila.”
She laughed and rose to her feet. “You shall not have that, Amina al-Sirafi. Names are for tombstones. And us? We are not
yet dead.”
We weren’t, and yet by the time the Marawati returned, I wondered if dying might have been easier than telling Majed that Raksh was alive and we needed to take him with
us.
My navigator had his old sword in his hand and was standing at the prow of the dunij by the time the small boat neared the
beach, the Marawati bobbing in the distance.
“That,” he hissed, pointing to my estranged husband with the blade, “is not Asif’s daughter.”
“No, it is not,” I agreed. “Asif’s daughter is floating out to sea with a limited amount of time until she dies of thirst,
and Raksh is our only line of knowledgeable defense against the Frank—who now conjures sea monsters and has granted his men
the strength of djinn. We will discuss it once this damnable island is away, God willing.”
“Dunya is where? The Frank does what ?” Majed shook his head and called for the oarsmen to stop rowing. “No matter. That demon is not getting on this boat. Not
if you want me to stay on it.”
“Majed...” I was exhausted, my entire body aching. “We can fight about this later.”
“And we will.” Majed glared at Raksh. “But he stays.”
“Ah, but you are as unpleasant as I remember,” Raksh tutted. “Though a good bit grayer and rounder. Really, Father of Maps,
you should take better care of yourself.”
“Oh, shut up,” I snapped at Raksh. “You’re not doing yourself any favors.” I turned back to my navigator. “Majed, we are not
having this discussion from across the surf. Bring me the boat.”
With a look that promised future argument, Majed relented enough to lead the dunij to the beach, and we all headed back to my ship. I could have kissed the Marawati as I clambered aboard but settled for collapsing into my captain’s bench, watching suspiciously as Raksh strolled onto the
deck like he owned it. The men’s gazes followed him, a mix of curiosity and the intense longing he tended to cultivate.
“Leave them be,” I said harshly. “And come up here.”
Raksh snorted, but as though puppet strings had been cut, several men blinked and returned to their work, looking vaguely
puzzled by their distraction. Raksh plopped beside me on my bench, close enough that his hip grazed my own.
“Ah, the Marawati ...” he mused, patting my leg. “How I have missed you and all your adventures.”
“If your hand does not leave my thigh, I am going to put a knife through it.”
“Still so hostile. I suppose that means a reconciliatory bout of sexual intercourse is out of the— ow! ” Raksh’s black eyes went wide with surprise (not pain, unfortunately) as the point of my dagger pressed into his hand. “Fine,”
he muttered snippily. “But you’re only punishing yourself.”
Before I could adamantly and angrily—if not entirely truthfully—deny such a thing, my companions joined us.
“You two seem to be getting on well,” Tinbu greeted, Dalila and Majed behind him. “Do we have a direction?”
I pulled the knife from Raksh’s hand. “We were getting to that. Bring me the map.”
With obvious reluctance, Majed spread out one of his precious maps. “Tinbu said the villagers told you Dunya departed from
the northern shore. Considering what we know of the tides and currents...” Majed traced his fingers eastward toward the
open ocean. “I suspect she was pulled in this direction.”
“No.” Raksh’s eyes had fluttered shut. “Give me your hand, Amina. Preferably without stabbing me. Focus on Dunya. Long to find her as if she were your own daughter.”
Your own daughter . I credit fatigue that by the time my body was capable of reacting, I’d already shut down the impulse. I would not dare let
my thoughts linger in Marjana’s direction when Raksh was trying to read me.
Instead I thought of what I owed Asif. Of Salima’s threats and a young girl possibly dying of thirst right now. I thought
of how desperately I ached to return to my family, to retrieve Dunya and put this all behind me.
Raksh’s hand dragged mine straight north. “That way,” he murmured, spellbound. “I will need to sit at the rudders as we proceed,
but she went north.”
Majed looked skeptical. “So you trust the hunch of a demon over the science of our ancestors now, Amina?”
I thought back to the malice glittering in Falco’s eyes and the easy might of his men, scales and stingers laid over their
shifting bodies. There was nothing in my rahmani—in any text of human navigation—that dealt with things like that.
“In this case, yes,” I said. “Set a course.”