In the quiet of her waters, her resentment festered.
A shiver ran through me.There was so much more to this realm than I’d ever thought possible.The Jinn weren’t creatures of flame and shadows.They weren’t monsters lurking in the dark.They were powerful and ancient, a force unlike any other.And somehow, mortals had managed to lock them away.
I turned to the next passage.
Sahir, King of the Rammal.
If the sea was rage, the desert was patience.Sahir, ruler of the shifting sands, was as merciless as his domain.His power was not only over the dunes, but over time itself.The wind whispered forgotten secrets to him.The grains of sand carried visions of past and future alike.
But the Veil had stolen that sight from him.
Now, his visions came in fragments, unclear and incomplete.The past slipped through his fingers like sand in a storm.Once, he had ruled with certainty.Now, he ruled with anger.
It was Dalkhan’s war that had ended in failure.Dalkhan’s lands where the Veil was raised and their world had been cut off.Though they never spoke the accusation aloud, never dared challenge him directly, the resentment lingered—a fury whispered along the winds, carried in the silence of the realm.
I shut the book with a heavy thud.
My head fell into my hands, my thoughts unravelling.
They’d blamed him.
Dalkhan had led the Jinn into battle against the mortals.He had fought to stop the Veil—to keep their world free.And yet, because the spell had been cast within his dominion—because his lands had been the first to fall, they’d blamed him.
Nazirah and Sahir were inhumanly, impossibly powerful, yet they didn’t dare to challenge him.
How much strength does Dalkhan truly command?
A cold weight settled in my stomach, my fingers pressing into the book’s cover like I could will the answers from it.
The door creaked open.Mira strolled in with fresh clothing in her arms, humming to herself.
I sat frozen, the closed book still beneath my hands.
She paused by the bed and raised a brow.“You look pale.”
She’d have been pale too if she knew what I was up against.
“You need to return those tomorrow,” she chirped, setting the fabrics down at the foot of my bed.
I frowned, rising.“I didn’t even get the chance to finish them.”
“Maybe another time.”
Maybe it was for the best.What I’d read was enough to make me want to run away from Zaheera’s impossible task.
Mira worked quickly, filling the silence with light conversation while she draped the garments over me.
“Will you always have to help me get dressed?”I asked, lifting my arms as she wrapped the dark material around my waist.
Mira huffed a laugh.“No.Just until you get accustomed to the styles here.”She shot me a playful look.“Then I’m sure you’ll figure it out on your own.”
I was already growing used to the clothing—the way the soft, flowing fabric clung to my form, baring skin I once would’ve covered without thought.There was something freeing about it now.Something powerful.
She stepped back to admire her work before reaching for the jar of kohl.I didn’t even get the chance to protest before she was lining my eyes.
I sighed.Why fight it at this point?
“Perfect,” she beamed, stepping back just as the door opened.Here we go.
