Excerpt from Spice Road by Maiya Ibrahim, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

1

We will fight, but first we will have tea.

Not quite the motto of the Shields, but just as apt. Ordinarily I would be outside Qalia's walls with my squad, defending our lands from a never-ending onslaught of monsters: djinn, ghouls, sand serpents, and whatever other nightmare one can only conjure in the clutches of a fever dream. But even now, when we are home on mandated rest, we are facing a hard day of training—and I am certain Taha ibn Bayek of the Al-Baz clan can't wait.

Whenever we are in Qalia's barracks together, Taha's squadmates challenge me to spar him. It is a pathetic attempt at settling which of us is the better Shield, but Taha himself has never commented on the ongoing rivalry. In fact, for the two years I've known him, Taha has acted as if I don't exist, apart from the occasional snide comment. I've no doubt his squadmates will try again after the tea ceremony, but I have rejected their other challenges as a waste of my time, and I am not about to have a change of heart, even with him coldly staring at me like that from across the tea room. If one knows his reputation, and who in Qalia doesn't—a talented archer and beastseer who can control the minds of falcons—one would be forgiven imagining a young man with a keen gaze. But Taha's eyes are troublingly placid, the washed-out green of grasslands that have seen too much sun and not enough rain.

Tea ceremony etiquette is to watch the person preparing the Spice, but I wish he would deviate from tradition just this once and stop tracking my every move. I untie the drawstring on the silk pouch of misra and remove ribbons of bark. They have been carefully stripped from the ancient misra tree standing in Qalia's Sanctuary a few buildings over, as it has done for a millennium. I have led tea ceremonies enough times that I could do it with my eyes closed, but I still marvel over what is in my hands. Magic.

The light of the overhead lanterns winks in the gold-veined bark as I hold it to my nose and inhale deeply. Every Shield in the room does the same. Perhaps they too hope to decipher what scent the misra possesses. Once, I thought it smelled like life itself. Another time, stars and dreams. This morning, it is as bitter as the old ash of a fire long burned down to dark. Of someone gone, but not forgotten. It reminds me of Atheer.

It has been a year since I last saw my big brother and best friend. I was kneeling like this, preparing the misra, but I was at home and the Spice still smelled pleasant then. He joined me, seeking conversation with that faint, mystifying air of desperation about him.

"There are things in life greater than duty and rules, Imani," he said.

"Like what?" I asked. His eyes took on a somber gleam, as dry as dying light reflecting off a dull blade.

"Truth," he said quietly. "The truth is greater than everything; it is worth sacrificing everything for. And I have seen it." He waited then, for what, I don't know. Felt like it was all he did in those last few months before his disappearance, wait for something. But I said nothing, and after a time, he left home and did not return. I never asked him what it was, that truth. I didn't want to know.

My fingers tremble as I place the bark in the stone mortar. I clench my fists to steady them, then take up the pestle and grind. The aroma floods the room; it wafts up to the ceiling and weaves Stealing the rug fibers. My nose wrinkles; the back of my throat stings. I restrain a cough. My squad leader, Sara, kneels in the front row, inhaling the scent in appreciative drags. For her, the Spice is agreeable, like savannas after rain and her mama's jasmine perfume. Not withered things and words left unsaid. Once I asked my auntie Aziza, who commands the Order of Sorcerers, why the Spice smells different from person to person, ceremony to ceremony. "For the same reason different sorcerers possess different affinities: magic is a mirror," she answered. I wonder what this bitterness reflects about me when it is all I have smelled of late.

Excerpted from Spice Road by Maiya Ibrahim. Copyright © 2023 by Maiya Ibrahim. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.