Ari gaped at him, trying to process all the information. “Okay, okay. Sultan guy is Azazil. And then there are you and your brothers, who are sons of Azazil. Have you got a notepad, because I already can’t remember their names?”
The White King made a low humming noise from the back of her throat that creeped her out. “Try to keep up. I won’t repeat this. We live between realms, my brothers and I, interfering in the lives of importants on the days we ruled—”
“Importants?” Ari interrupted, frowning.
“People with destinies that matter to humans. We helped shape those destinies, but only on the days we ruled over. However, my brothers betrayed one another. They interfered on days that were not their own.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was told the Gilder King interfered with a very special important on a Thursday when he should only have traversed into the important’s world on a Sunday.”
“The Gilder King is the ruler of Sunday, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so you each started trespassing on one another’s turf. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly.”
“So what happened?” And am I really sure I’m just not crazy?
The White King looked at the dancing fire figures that had multiplied from one to eight. “Chaos. War. Distrust between the Seven Kings of Jinn. The order fell apart. We no longer control as many of the jinn as we once did. And new half-breed races have sprung up in the human world, deliberately seeking to interfere with us.” He sighed and wiped a hand over the fire figures, extinguishing them. “Only Azazil has the power to undo what has happened, but my father enjoys chaos. So we exist without order, without structure, once great… now… empty of purpose. Life seems meaningless.”
Ari’s stomach roiled, her chest rising and falling in fast waves, feeling as if a million birds had been let loose inside it, as he gazed over her shoulder into a world she could not see. “You’re not kidding, are you? This is real?”
He cocked his head. “What gave it away? The nisnas attack or the fire spirits that keep appearing before you?”
“Fire Spirits?”
“Colloquial name for jinn.”
Her fingers bit into the velvet blanket beside her. “So… jinn… there are different kinds? Some like you and Rabir and some like the nisnas?”
He nodded. “There are many kinds. With many talents.”
“Good or evil?”
If it was possible, his dark eyes grew even blacker. “Why are humans so obsessed with that distinction?”
Ari snorted. “Because we like to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Good people have been known to do evil things, child.”
She sucked in a deep breath, her nerves twanging as she found the courage to ask, “Are you a good person?”
The soft tap of his fingers against the glass arm of the throne made Ari jump, and she watched his face twitch at her reaction. She cursed herself for revealing how much he unnerved her. “I am not a person. I am jinn.”
She shivered at his evasive response, somehow inherently knowing that this man — this jinn — was not good. Was not right. He couldn’t be her father. There was no way. “Why am I here?”
“Because I willed it so.”
“Can you maybe explain?”
“My brothers and I are powerful. Powerful enough even to control whether we leave seed for a child to grow in the womb of a woman.”
Okay, too much information.
“Nineteen years ago, I decided I wanted a child. Perhaps a child would bring some connection to the world for me again. At the time, I had gained the servitude of a powerful ifrit—”
“Ifrit?”
“A strong species of jinn who have almost all our basic powers, including a gift specific to the individual. Sala’s gift was the power of seduction.”
At the name, Ari’s heart seemed to unhitch itself and drop into her stomach, splashing up acidic bile that lodged at the back of her throat. “Sala?” she whispered, disbelieving.
The White King studied her reaction, apparently fascinated but unmoved by it. “Your mother. If I were to have a child, I wished the child to be strong. Sala was the strongest and most desirable of my people. She conceived you because I willed it.”
Her face suddenly felt numb and she pressed the icy tips of her fingers to it, reassuring herself that she was still there, she was still her. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t Ari Johnson. She was… she wasn’t even human.
“I feel sick,” she mumbled, leaning into a bedpost.
“I have never understood the human reaction of uploading bodily waste at news you find discomfiting.”
Not caring that he was scary, Ari jerked her head up, her eyes flashing angrily. “Discomfiting news? You not only tell me I’m not… that my dad isn’t my dad… but that I’m not even human and you think that’s discomfiting? How about mind-fucking-altering!”
“I think you should calm yourself.”
“I think you should go fuc—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off. “I think you should calm yourself before you insult me and do something you regret.”