“No, he doesn’t.” She huffed out a sigh. “Now, am I free to go?”
“Of course. I just wanted to thank you.” He paused to look up at the tower, and Aisha followed his gaze to one of the windows above: her window, hidden behind a gossamer curtain that fluttered softly in the breeze.
“And, I suppose, I wanted to warn you.”
She snapped back to attention at the words. Omar was looking at her again, all traces of his smile gone. “The jinn who attacked my brother still skulks through the shadows. Be careful that it does not ambush you. And if you do see the jinn, leave it be. It’s my mark.”
Aisha bristled. She knew she had a tendency to steal kills, but why should it matter who destroyed creatures condemned by the gods? Creatures who would tear down an entire village, who would ruthlessly slaughter children and carve their victory into their victims’ flesh…
She dug her nails into her palms hard enough to root herself in the present. The scars hidden beneath her cloak itched at the memory.
“Fine,” she said brusquely.
The reluctant admission seemed to be enough for Omar. He was smiling again when he excused himself for the night. Once he was gone, Aisha sighed and got to work on the overcomplicated door locks. Eventually, the bolts gave, and she was about to enter the tower when she heard the sound of crunching grass and froze. She glanced over her shoulder, fingers hovering over one of the knives on her belt.
But though she could have sworn she’d heard footsteps, there was nothing behind her but tree-shaped shadows swaying in the breeze.
Aisha watched the darkness for a long time just to be sure no one was there. Then, disgruntled with herself for being so jumpy, she stepped into the tower.
The last thing she heard before she slammed the door shut was the ominous susurration of the wind, which sounded uncomfortably like laughter.
8
LOULIE
“So.” Dahlia bint Adnan lowered her pipe and exhaled a cloud of shisha into the air. It hung like blue mist above her and Loulie’s heads. “You met Rasul al-Jasheen.” The tavernkeeper’s amber eyes shone like coins in the dimness. “How did you like him?”
“He was ugly as sin.”
Dahlia smirked. “Not that I don’t agree, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“He was okay, for a merchant.” Loulie glanced at the door to her room for what was probably the dozenth time that hour. While she didn’t mind filling Dahlia in on her adventures, the second hour of moonrise was nearly upon them, and she was becoming impatient.
Qadir had left some time ago to gather gossip from around the souk, promising he would keep an ear out for rumors of assassins in black. She’d assumed he would be back in time for their visit to the Night Market, but hours had gone by and though she was in her merchant robes and ready to depart, Qadir was still not here.
“You seem agitated,” Dahlia said with a click of her tongue. “Let me guess: Qadir?”
Loulie scowled. “He’s late.”
“Isn’t he always? You ought to find a timelier bodyguard.” She grinned. “Or better yet, a husband to distract you from your business. Someone Qadir will not scare away.”
Loulie did not smoke shisha, but in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to steal the pipe from Dahlia’s hands and blow smoke in her face. They’d had this conversation many times. Loulie always gave Dahlia the same answer.
“I would rather marry a dust-covered relic than a man,” they said in unison.
Loulie flushed. Dahlia grinned. “Yes, yes, I know. If only you had better suitors, eh? Maybe if you dismissed your bodyguard when you met with them…”
“Never. I’d much rather leave the rejections to him.”
They shared a laugh at this, and the tension in Loulie’s shoulders eased. For the briefest of moments, she was tempted to tell Dahlia the truth—that there was a man in Dhyme she had feelings for, against her better judgment. But Ahmed’s name was a knot in her throat. She had managed to avoid thinking about him for the past few weeks; the last thing she needed was for Dahlia to ask pointed questions about their relationship.
Thankfully, she was spared the turmoil of untangling her complicated feelings for him when the door opened and Qadir entered. He dipped his head. “Dahlia.”
Dahlia smiled fondly. “Brute.”
“You’re late.” Loulie held back a sigh of relief as she stood. The bag of infinite space hung off one of her shoulders, and she had draped a glittering shawl over her head and lined her eyes with kohl. Now she pulled the shawl around her face, concealing everything but her eyes.
“But now I am here,” he said. “Shall we go?”
“We shall.” She wafted smoke away as she strode toward the door.
Dahlia rose from her cushion on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for Old Rhuba’s stories?” She crossed her bulky arms. “He’s missed you, you know. You make a very good shill in the audience.”
Loulie thought of Yousef, the starry-eyed man with a passion for stories. “I believe there will be a man here who would be more than happy to steal that honor.” She was actually a little regretful she couldn’t stay to talk with him. It would have been much easier to pry his secrets from him face-to-face.
Dahlia raised a brow. “Is he handsome, this man?”
“I was too distracted by his horrendously baggy clothing to notice, I’m afraid.”
Dahlia sighed. “You only ever have eyes for shiny things, don’t you?”
“Because I can trade shiny things for gold.”
As she turned and walked away, Dahlia called after her. “If you see him again, give Rasul my greetings. He may be ugly, but he has some of the most desirable goods on the market.”
It clicked in Loulie’s mind then: why Rasul had looked so familiar. He, like her, was a merchant of the Night Market. She’d probably passed his stall many times without realizing.
She and Qadir returned to the wine cellar, where they opened and entered a trapdoor hidden between casks of wine that led into Madinne’s underground tunnels. Years ago, Dahlia’s father, Adnan, had built these tunnels with a group of like-minded criminals. He’d constructed what was now the Night Market, an underground souk where precious, illegal goods were sold away from the watchful gaze of the sultan. After her father’s passing, Dahlia had taken over the business.
Loulie withdrew the glowing orb from her bag and used it to light their way through the tunnels. Some led out of the city and had been used by fleeing criminals. But she did not know those paths; she knew only the way to the underground market.
Turns later, Qadir started humming. He did that sometimes to fill the silence. When he was in a particularly good mood, he sang. It was always the same song about a king who traveled the world looking for his lost love. She’d heard it enough to know the lyrics by heart.
The stars, they burn the night
And guide the sheikh’s way.
Go to her, go to her, they say,
The star of your eye.
Go to her, go to her,
The compass of your heart…
Loulie coughed. “What news from the souk?”
Qadir stopped humming. “Mostly, it was the same rumors about the increase in jinn attacks. I overheard many ridiculous stories about jinn spiriting people away to the Sandsea.”
“The jinn hunters do love to embellish their propaganda, don’t they?”
Qadir grunted. “It seems to be in their nature.”
They turned another corner. Not too far away, Loulie saw the bright red lanterns that marked the tunnel leading into the Night Market. “Any mention of killers in black?”
Qadir shook his head. Loulie stifled a groan. If only she had been able to speak with the shadow jinn longer. She wondered, vaguely, if there was a way to summon her.
“There was one more thing.” Qadir’s voice cut through the din of her thoughts. “You remember the relic Rasul mentioned on the Aysham? I was able to gather that the sultan is searching for some priceless treasure, but none of the rumors specified what it was.”