Nazirah returns to the bedroom, dives onto the bed and rolls around on the silky sheets. She reads the scroll. It’s from Solomon, inviting her to tea tomorrow afternoon. Solomon also tells her that he’s taken the liberty of buying her some clothes as a welcoming gift. Nazirah hops off the bed, walks past her ratty luggage, and opens the armoire. She pulls out designer dress after designer dress. Awestruck, she prances over to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. One garment is probably worth several months’ work, in Rafu.
Nazirah stops suddenly. Only a few hours ago, she watched the Medis destroy nearly everything the slum dwellers had, including their lives. She thinks of them now, asleep in their huts, every last one of their meager possessions literally inches from their fingertips. She thinks of Cayu, the crashing surf and crying seagulls his lullabies. Nazirah may not have grown up in the slum, but those are her people. That is where she belongs. Not here, with these fancy dresses and quixotic dreams. This is Solomon’s reality, Adamek’s reality, but not Nazirah’s.
Never Nazirah’s.
Nazirah stuffs the dresses back into the armoire and slams the doors shut, ashamed at getting so carried away. She pulls off her clothes, kicks them onto the floor, and scrambles under the covers – ash and all.
Nazirah dreams of monkeys along the coast, beating their chests, screeching as they burn. Sticking her hand in the flaming sand, Nazirah reaches for beach shells, finds only bullet shells.
#
The next morning, Nazirah wears a light, mint green dress. It’s delicate, feminine, and accentuates her slender waist. The dress is one of Solomon’s gifts, because Nazirah doesn’t want to be rude. But it’s the simplest one. It’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever worn.
She takes her time, walking slowly back towards the entryway. Everything about the riad is more breathtaking in daylight. The colors, muted at night, are suddenly hyper-intense. The smells are richer, the sounds lovelier. Olag meets her near the entrance and they walk together to the dining room. Adamek and Aldrik are unsurprisingly already present, sitting at a long gilt table and talking strategy with Solomon.
“Yes, I have already spoken with them,” Solomon says as Nazirah walks into the room. “The enforcers throughout the prisons are with us. Besides their own personal incentives, they are extremely loyal to me. It is not an issue.” Solomon sees Nazirah and lights up. “Oh, Miss Nation! You are absolutely radiant!” He sighs. “You would make such a lovely Red bride.”
“Good morning, Solomon.” Nazirah greets him awkwardly, sitting across from Adamek. She isn’t usually one to turn down a compliment, but Solomon is downright embarrassing sometimes. She looks up to find Adamek’s eyes lingering on her. She blushes, wondering if it’s still for show.
“You were saying, Salaahi?” Aldrik asks, annoyed. He reaches for some bread and drenches it with honey and oil. True to Solomon’s word, the table is completely loaded with Deathlandic delicacies. There are warm breads, yogurts, sausages, juices, and omelets with spices. Nazirah steers clear of what looks to be a stuffed goat’s head, the centerpiece of their meal. Nazirah hasn’t seen this much food in her life, and for only the four of them! She guiltily fills up her plate, thinking of how many slum dwellers this could feed.
Solomon shovels jasmine rice onto his already heaping plate. “Yes, right,” he continues. “Like I said, Red law enforcers are with us, no questions asked. I have left them in charge of the prison during your stay, so I can focus solely on this. Jasmine is right from the garden,” he says proudly, tucking into his meal.
Aldrik bangs on the table with his fork, trying to hold Solomon’s attention. “And what of the Red Lords?”
Solomon’s face turns serious. “Therein lies the rub,” he says somberly. “Our numbers as enforcers are limited. We need the Lords’ support because they control the vast mercenaries. We have an informal gathering with them here in a few hours. I must confess, though, that I am extremely worried about the outcome.”
Nazirah doesn’t see an insurmountable problem. “So?” she asks. “Why can’t we win them over like we did in Eridies? Bribe them, or show them the Iluxor like we planned? Promise them better access to food and water after we win? Piece of cake.”
“It’s not quite that simple, Nation,” Aldrik snaps. “This isn’t Eridies, where everyone holds hands and skips in the sand.”
Nazirah looks at the three of them. She gets the distinct feeling the joke is on her and no one is letting her in on it. “I don’t understand.” She hesitates. “What am I missing?”
Solomon’s eyes dart around nervously. “It is unfortunately a complicated situation,” he says. “Unlike in Eridies, we are traditional here. The Red Lords do not make their own decisions or accept their own bribes. They only prescribe to the ruling of their overlord, their Khan, Lord Khanto. And he is not exactly pleased with the rebels.”
“Why not?”
She looks at Adamek, who meets her gaze steadily. Nazirah notices for the first time that his plate is empty, utensils untouched. “Lord Bantu was Khanto’s father,” he says expressionlessly. “Up until a few months ago, Bantu was the overlord and one of my father’s harshest critics.”
“Was?” she asks slowly. No one responds. Nazirah stares hard into her plate, realizing. She isn’t hungry anymore. “Oh.”
“So we are in quite a bind, you see,” Solomon says, trying to defuse the tension. “But never fear! We will meet with Lord Khanto soon enough, and convince him to see reason for the sake of his people.”
They finish eating in silence. Nazirah doesn’t look up from her plate again. She can’t blame this overlord if he doesn’t agree to join them. Will Adamek’s wake of destruction never end? There is so much pain, so much devastation tied up in his life. Nazirah wonders how he deals with it all … how he deals with it at all.
She thinks of Victoria, red water in the bathtub; of Aneira, lit red with Bilungi’s candles; of the dead intermix, scorched red in the flames; of Riva and Kasimir, wasted red on the floor.
Nazirah doesn’t cry.
Chapter Nineteen
Nazirah sits in an empty corridor, waiting. She watches from the open archway as black cars line up in the driveway. The Lords that exit are completely unlike their Eridian counterparts. They’re heavily armed, surrounded by bodyguards, and menacing. Nazirah rises to go find Solomon and the others, reminding herself that she is not in Eridies anymore.
She walks back to the main entryway, from which Olag leads her into the library. It’s small but lavish, lined with bookcases, with an ornate wooden table in the center. Nazirah takes a seat next to Aldrik, near the head, as the Lords file inside. Nazirah counts a dozen in total, far more than in Eridies, a much smaller territory. Each Lord sits at the table; at least two bodyguards armed with assault rifles stationed behind him. Nazirah wrings her hands in her lap, wishing Solomon hadn’t convinced Aldrik her presence here would be a good idea. Adamek is unusually late.
Solomon sits down at the head of the table, bolstered by several plush cushions, as a man enters the room. Nazirah knows instantly that this is the Khan. He has skin dark as night, sinewy muscles riddled with thick, cobwebbed veins. His ebony mane glistens, oiled and coarse. It’s knotted into a long braid that falls down his back. Khanto wears a vest of bullets and a necklace strung with human teeth, his own “scratches.”
The Khan sits down across from Nazirah. He looks around for Adamek and then focuses on her. “Nazirah Nation,” he says, voice rolling like thunder. “I am shocked to see you here, considering the company you keep. Yet I admire your effort to uphold the honor of your bloodline, misguided as you are. It’s unfortunate the tapestries of our lives share this common weave, but it is a pleasure to meet you nonetheless.”