Mazen wanted to object, but Hakim had a point. “As always, you see right through me.”
“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” Hakim took the scarf from him and began to roll up his map. “Who else knows of this switch? Your servants? Karima?”
Mazen shook his head. “No one. I cannot risk sharing this secret.”
“What about the Midnight Merchant? Do you not think she would be more willing to travel with you if she knew your true identity?”
Mazen’s heart twisted with guilt. He hated lying to Loulie al-Nazari, but what choice did he have? She despised the sultan. If she found out Mazen’s secret, what was to stop her from using it as blackmail against his father? If that happened, the sultan would never forgive him.
Mazen liked Loulie, but he feared his father more.
Hakim nodded solemnly when Mazen told him this. “Then I alone will keep an eye on Omar.” He frowned. “It bothers me that he would put his own personal business before the sultan’s. And that he would send you on such a dangerous journey.”
It was bothersome, but not surprising. As a child, Omar had dared Mazen to do all sorts of dangerous things, only to laugh when he injured himself.
“I have marked the most well traveled routes on the map.” Hakim handed it to him. “The fastest route will take you through Dhyme and Ghiban.”
Mazen smiled wryly. “Ah yes, exactly what I need: cities full of people to act for.”
Hakim said nothing, only stared at him quietly, his bright eyes shadowed in the dim firelight. Mazen clutched the map to his chest, heart suddenly tight. He had no right to lament his trickery in front of his brother. His brother, who was trapped here because of him. “I’m sorry, Hakim.” The apology came out whisper thin.
Hakim blinked. “For what?”
Mazen gestured feebly around the chamber. At the towering stacks of tomes, at the maps pinned atop each other on the walls because there was no space. If it weren’t for him, Hakim would be out in the desert drawing his maps. Instead he sat here, a prisoner, handing Mazen the key to his escape.
The shadows on Hakim’s face shifted when he smiled, drawing dark crescents beneath his eyes that made him look much older than his twenty-five years. “I told you before: you owe me no apologies. Besides, now is not the time for them.”
Mazen swallowed the knot in his throat. No, now is the time for goodbyes.
Hakim stood and embraced him first, and it was all Mazen could do to return it without trembling. When Hakim drew away, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “May the stars guide your path and the gods keep you safe. And remember, Mazen.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “When in doubt, there is no better person to be than yourself.”
Mazen forced himself to smile. “I would never hope to be anyone else.”
He did not tell his brother that on this journey, he would be useless as himself. And that, deep down, he’d begun to fear this would always be the case.
18
LOULIE
Typically, Loulie’s departures from Madinne were quiet affairs. She and Qadir would rise with the sun, share chai with Dahlia, and then head out on horseback with their supplies in the bag of infinite space and the compass in hand.
Today was different. Today, everyone in Madinne was here to watch her leave. Or so it seemed. Loulie had never seen the thoroughfares so crowded. She’d known she had a reputation, but she had never expected this many people to know of her. It was strange that they were still enchanted by her, even though she looked far from mysterious standing upon the sultan’s hastily erected stage in her midnight-colored robes. Normally, she left Madinne in her brown shawls; there was no reason for her to draw attention to herself in the desert.
But now here she stood—the elusive Midnight Merchant, revealed at sunset.
Rasul al-Jasheen, the merchant, stood by the edge of the stage, trying to catch her gaze. Loulie ignored him. He had gotten her into this mess, and she would not forgive him for it.
She faced the crowds as the sultan’s speech came to a close. Their applause pulsed like a heartbeat in her body and thudded painfully through her head. Her stomach churned, and she could not tell if it was a consequence of the alcohol from last night or her own anxiety. Everything was too loud, too bright. The cheering was the worst—it was proof these people approved of her journey, and that they would not forgive her if she fled.
On the sultan’s command, Loulie mounted the chestnut-brown mare waiting at the head of the procession. She forced herself to sit upright as he came to her side with well-wishes that were clearly sugarcoated threats. Though she refused to do more than acknowledge him and his sons, her eyes lingered on the youngest prince as he turned away.
“Prince,” she said beneath her breath. “The jinn attacks were not your fault.” She had been meaning to say that to him ever since their conversation in the courtyard.
The prince angled his head and smiled. “Shukran. Safe journeys, al-Nazari.” He followed after the sultan and his brother. She blinked, startled by his curtness and the lack of sincerity in his voice.
She tamped down her irritation as she guided her mare forward, fighting dizziness as the world lurched. Prince Omar and his frowning thief, Aisha, were waiting for her, along with Qadir, who rode atop a broad stallion with his bow and quiver strapped to his back. Loulie was surprised to see the shamshir from their rooms sheathed at his hip.
“Feeling sentimental, are we?” She grinned. “And here I thought the shamshir would only ever be a pretty display.”
He turned as she approached. “It would be foolhardy to venture into the desert without a blade, no?” His eyes twinkled with humor. “It was collecting dust on the wall; I figured I may as well bring it with me in case I finally had a reason to use it.”
Hopefully there will never be a reason. Loulie held back a sigh as she joined him.
Qadir leaned back in his saddle, nodding toward the townsfolk. “I had no idea you were so popular in the land of the living.” His eyes skimmed the screaming, cheering crowds.
“You make me sound like a ghost.”
“Or a legend.” Qadir caught her eye.
She sighed. “And here I thought I was living a simple, humble life.”
He turned away with a snort. Loulie looked at him out of the corner of her eye, considering. There was a lot she still needed to ask him. About the lamp, the journey, and…
The cutthroats. She had not forgotten the shadow jinn’s warning. That in order to seek revenge, she would need to close off her heart. Those words had to mean something. And she would discuss them with Qadir as soon as they were able to steal a moment alone.
But who knew when that would be? Even now, she could feel Prince Omar smirking at her. She had never felt so great a desire to slap a smile off someone’s face.
She looked past Omar at his thief: a tall, graceful woman with dark braided hair that brushed the small of her back. Loulie felt insignificant beneath her glower, like a beetle being crushed beneath the heel of a boot. She was certain she had never been in worse company.
At least I still have Qadir. She held on to the thought as they started forward.
Her headache built into a painful throb as all around them the crowds hooted and trilled. Children waved decorative streamers from rooftops, women ululated and cheered, and men threw copper coins that glittered on the thoroughfares. The sultan’s soldiers stood sentinel at the edge of the road, stoically watching the proceedings while they kept an eye on the masses.