Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) by Heather Demetrios

go?”
    Nalia looked from Malek to Saranya. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know about your husband. Hif la’azi vi. ” My heart breaks for you.
    Saranya nodded her head in thanks at the simple words of condolence shared among the jinn.
    Is that why Malek had never spoken of his brother? Nalia’s eyes trailed to Malek and he stood, turning his back to the room.
    â€œI’ve lost people I love, too,” Nalia said. “The jinni who’s after me—she killed nearly my entire family.”
    Because Nalia continued to hide behind the disguise of Shaitan eyes, Malek’s sister-in-law had no way of knowing Nalia meant the Ghan Aisouri. Though Nalia’s loss was catastrophic, she wasn’t the only jinni who had suffered under the brutal Ifrit regime.
    Saranya remained silent, staring into her glass of tea as though it were an oracle.
    â€œThank you for your hospitality,” Nalia said, standing. “I appreciate you taking the time to listen to our request.”
    Malek turned, a protest forming on his lips, but Zanari followed Nalia’s lead and stood as well. Nalia knew there was only one way she could convince this woman to help her. As she moved toward the exit, she reached out and covered Saranya’s hand with her own. As her chiaan connected with Saranya’s, the other jinni looked up, startled.
    â€œI need your help, Saranya,” Nalia said. “But I won’t beg you for it. Nor will I ask you to endanger your life without knowing fully what you’re getting yourself into.”
    â€œSo you are the Ghan Aisouri I hear whispers about.”
    Nalia inclined her chin, but gave no response.
    â€œShe’s the only chance we have of stopping the Ifrit,” Zanari said quietly.
    I just want to go home, Nalia was tempted to say. I want my brother. I want my land. But it seemed so selfish, those thoughts, in light of what was happening in her realm. It didn’t matter what she wanted; it never had.
    Malek and Saranya shared a long look. Nalia didn’t know what their silent conversation was about, but at the end of it, Saranya sighed.
    â€œYour guide will meet you here tomorrow morning, after the first prayer.”
    â€œWe need to leave now ,” Malek said. “The longer we stay—”
    â€œYou want the best, am I right?” Saranya asked.
    â€œYes,” Nalia said.
    â€œWell, the best is in Libya right now picking up a jinni who ran away from her slave trader. He won’t be able to return until morning.”
    The midday call to prayer sounded then, the muezzin’s voice from the human part of the souk cutting through the tension in the room.
    â€œNow if you’ll excuse me,” Saranya said, “I must pray.”
    â€œBut this song is for the human god,” Zanari said.
    â€œThe jinn gods have never heard the cries of their peopleon Earth.” Saranya looked at Nalia as she said this. Nalia could almost feel those shackles on her wrists again. The weight of them. The shame. “How many more jinn need to be on the dark caravan or executed before people start to see the truth?” Saranya continued. “The gods of Arjinna don’t care about any of us. Maybe they never have.”
    For so long Nalia had forced herself to kill such thoughts: the gods were the gods and that was that. But more and more she found herself wondering: maybe it was true—maybe they didn’t care one bit.

10
    ZANARI TRAILED BEHIND NALIA AND MALEK, HER HANDS at her sides, fingers tense and ready to channel chiaan , if need be. Earth confused her. It was so big, each place vastly different from the next. In the city where Nalia had lived, there were roads in the sky and people bought food in large, cold buildings. In Morocco, donkeys crowded the roads and skinned animals hung from hooks outside butchers’ stalls, flies buzzing around the meat.
    Earth had its problems, she knew: Zanari could see them in the