“See how much easier it is when you don’t fight communing?” the Nile marid remarked. “Tiamat will be pleased by these memories. You fought well.”
Ali ran his hands over his face, returning to himself. Tiamat. Sobek. They were the reason he was here, reporting as the new envoy between his peoples. “It is satisfactory?” he asked groggily. “The Banu Nahida promises to respect the river as our border.”
“It is satisfactory as long as the rest of her people do as well.” Sobek stretched, uncurling like the crocodile he was. “You should make your river wider. I can send more of my children to settle its waters.”
Ali had a very good idea what kind of children those were, and he was not ready to fill his river with djinn-eating crocodiles. “I thought we might try peace first.”
“As you wish. Will you return to them now?”
He nodded. “My brother and sister wait for me. There is still much work to be done.” Much work, of course, was an understatement. They had a war-torn city to put back together. They had an entire civilization to put back together. To potentially build wholly anew.
The marid let out a distinctly unimpressed snort. “Firebloods. You aim so low, Alizayd al Qahtani. You could be a proper river lord, and instead you will settle for paperwork and numbers.” He sounded scandalized. “Wasting your life attempting to make peace between squabbling djinn in a dry stone city.”
“I am sorry to be such a disappointment,” Ali said drily. “I can return the armor and sword if you like.”
Sobek bristled. “That will not be necessary. But know that Tiamat will expect you to return to her court and honor your pact, at least once every few years. It would be beneficial for you to visit me as well.”
“Careful, Sobek. You very nearly sound fond of me.”
“You know nothing of caring for a river. Someone must teach you.” He gestured to the river Ali had dragged through the land when Nahri had moved the city. “These waters and the life that flow in them are your responsibility. When they thrive, you will. Neglected, you will both fall.” He eyed Ali with the reptilian gaze they now shared. “You must understand, you will never have more than one foot in your djinn world again.”
“I know the price I paid.” Ali saw it in the eyes of every single person he encountered—from the shocked djinn around the world who needed Fiza to convince them he was still one of them to the whispers that followed him everywhere. No one had rebuked him—yet. He was one of the saviors of Daevabad, among friends and family.
But Ali knew the rebukes would come. He knew the whispers would occasionally be cutting. He’d be called a crocodile, a traitor, an abomination. His loyalty and his faith would be called into question. He knew too there would be times when it would be unbearable, when he would ache to call a flame into his hands and be a part of his people again, knowing it would never happen.
He still didn’t regret it. He had helped free his city and knew too well others had paid worse prices—his Ayaanle ancestors, for one. And if he was honest, part of Ali felt at ease for the first time in his life, as if the trace of him rooted in Sobek had been acknowledged and settled.
Ali rose to his feet. “I should return.”
“Yes, I suppose you should. Tell the fire-bloods we will drown them if they approach our lake.”
“I’m not going to say that.”
Sobek strode through the water at his side. “You should mate with the Nahid if you insist on staying here. Offspring between our peoples would better seal our new pact. They could visit me too.”
And with that, Ali was abruptly done with his ancestor. “Oh, would you look at the sky,” he remarked, gesturing to the featureless fog. “It’s getting late. Why don’t I continue alone?”
Sobek didn’t seem to register Ali’s dodge, looking lost in his own thoughts. “She wasn’t much older than a child when first we met.”
“Nahri?”
“Her mother.”
Ali stopped walking. This was the first time Sobek had brought up Nahri’s family on his own and definitely the first time he’d specifically mentioned her mother.
Knowing how guarded Sobek could be, Ali chose his words carefully. “So, what Manizheh told Nahri was true?” He had already shared his memories with Sobek, and the marid knew what Ali knew: that the story of Manizheh denouncing Nahri as her brother’s “mistake,” the daughter of a shafit mother, was spreading like wildfire.
“Yes.” Sobek was silent a long moment. “Your Nahid took a great risk for peace with my people. Giving back the lake … it edges into a gift.”
Ali sensed where this was going. “You would not wish to remain in her debt.”
“No, I would not.” He fixed his gaze on Ali. “The promise I made to her mother was to remove her memories so that she might start a new life. You are ally to her; I will leave it to your discretion if she has done so.”
“Yes,” Ali said in a rush. There was little he knew Nahri would want more. “Restore her memories. I will bring her immediately—”
“Your Nahid’s memories are gone. But her mother struck a deal with me. Duriya,” Sobek said, pronouncing the name with quiet reverence. “Her remembrances passed to me when she died. I can share them with you, and then you may do the same.”
“But I’ve never done that kind of magic.”
“It is not difficult.” Sobek paused. The marid’s face was rarely readable, shifting between humanoid and reptilian, but Ali would swear he saw a trace of sorrow. “They are not easy memories. They would be better coming from a friend.”
Ali hesitated. In his mind’s eye, he saw Nahri sitting beside him on the bank of the Nile, the river reflecting in her dark gaze as she spoke with palpable longing
