The jinn, now in his lizard form and humming softly in her ear, shifted on her shoulder. He made a sound of confirmation.
She drew closer to the ship’s railings. Even through an orange veil of sand, the sun was bright enough she could make out the tiers of the great desert city of Madinne. At the top was the sultan’s palace, made up of beautiful white domed towers and minarets that reached for the sun. It was surrounded on all sides by colorful buildings—stone and wooden constructions both domed and flat, tall and squat. And somewhere in the midst of those buildings, nestled in a nexus of crooked, winding alleyways, was home. Their home.
“I wonder how Dahlia is doing.” Qadir’s voice, made much softer by his smaller form, was directly in her ear.
“However she’s doing, she’ll be much better when we drop by with our rent.”
Qadir made a clicking sound—she still wasn’t sure whether he did it with his teeth or tongue—and said, “Yes, because our rent is equivalent to all the coin in our bag.”
“I won’t give her all of our earnings.”
“That last exchange was for my blood, you know.”
Loulie suppressed a smile as she looked over her shoulder at the sailors. Though the men were far from graceful, she could not help but think they resembled dancers in the easy way they went about their docking preparations.
“Would you like me to keep your blood money, then?”
Qadir hissed. “I do not need your human gold.”
“Ah, what a shame. And here I thought you’d enjoy spending it on wine or women. You know the dealers won’t take your commemorative coins.” She glanced at the two-faced coin between her fingers.
“Loulie?”
“Mm?” She slid the coin into her pocket.
“I overhear talk of the sultan.”
Suppressing a groan, Loulie turned and surveyed the deck. Other than the sailors, she spotted a few scattered groups of people. She walked between them, keeping her expression blank as she eavesdropped. As little interest as she had in the sultan, she could not afford to ignore the gossip. Not when she, a criminal, always tried to avoid his men.
But while she caught two sailors trading profanity-laden opinions, heard a couple confessing forbidden love to one another, and was audience to a strange riddle game, she overheard nothing about the sultan.
She had just given up hope when she spotted Rasul al-Jasheen speaking with a man wearing the uniform of the sultan’s guard. Loulie quickly glanced away and slowed her pace as she approached them.
“The sultan’s councillors are beside themselves,” the guard was saying.
Rasul snorted. “Why does he not send the high prince to search for the relic?”
The guard glanced in her direction. Loulie grabbed hold of a passing sailor and asked him in her most pleasant voice if he knew where they were docking. The sailor responded, but she was not listening. Not to him, anyway.
“Could such a treasure really exist?” Rasul said.
“The rumors are that the sultan’s late wife brought up the artifact in one of her stories.”
She thanked the sailor and angled her head to catch Rasul’s response.
“Poor man. Does he truly believe Lady Shafia’s stories were true?”
The guard shrugged. “They had power enough to stop the killings, so perhaps.” There was a mournful pause. All desert dwellers knew of the sultan’s wife killings, just as all knew of Shafia, who had stopped them with her stories. She was as much a legend as the tales she’d told.
“His Majesty believes there is something in one of her stories that will help him claim a victory over the jinn.”
“Against the jinn? They are like flies; surely you cannot kill them all.” Rasul’s voice died down to a murmur. By the time the wind brought the conversation back to her ears, they were speaking about something else.
“But tell me about this miracle!” the guard said. “I hear the Midnight Merchant herself delivered the elixir to you? Do you have any idea how she obtained it?”
“None. But I suppose it wouldn’t be much of a miracle if we knew the how of it.” Rasul laughed. “Regardless, I bless the gods for my good luck. I did not think she would so readily accept my request.”
Qadir sighed in her ear. “Why do humans thank the gods for things they do not do?”
“Because they are fools that believe in fate,” Loulie said bitterly. If these gods existed, they had not batted their lashes when her family was murdered.
She glanced over her shoulder at the looming city. They were close enough now that she could make out people on the docks waving at the ship. She turned and made her way toward the bow for a better view. Behind her, the guard was still talking.
“What a shame she disappeared! I would have liked to see this legendary merchant.”
Rasul sighed. “She had a sharp tongue, to be sure, but what a rare gem she was. Had she not disappeared last night, I would have convinced her to have dinner with me in Madinne. Can you imagine it? Having the Midnight Merchant on your arm?”
Loulie thought again of how relieved she was to have slipped out of her merchant’s clothing and rubbed the kohl from her eyes this morning. For if the formerly one-eyed merchant had invited her to dinner with the intention of flaunting her, she would have punched him.
“So.” Qadir spoke in her ear. “The sultan is looking for a relic. Do you think we can find the magic before he sends his hounds to track it?”
Loulie paused at the ship’s bow and stared wordlessly up at the city. She stretched out her arms, allowing the wind to push and pull at her sleeves. Qadir had the sense to stop talking. Later, they would speak of relics and gold and magic. But for now, all of it disappeared from her mind. The world folded into a single, simple truth.
She was home.
2
MAZEN
When Mazen bin Malik was told by his most trusted servant that his older brother would return home the first hour of sunset, he expected, quite reasonably, for his older brother to return the first hour of sunset.
Omar never returned from his hunts in the morning, and it was common for him to spend his afternoons with his thieves. This was why, when Omar threw open the doors to Mazen’s bedroom, Mazen was already halfway out the window. As Omar stepped inside, it occurred to Mazen that not accounting for his brother’s early return had been a severe oversight.
He tried to picture this scene through Omar’s eyes: he, the sultan’s youngest son, dressed as a commoner and sneaking out the window of his bedroom in broad daylight. The last time he’d been caught like this, he’d been a child pretending to be an adventurer. He didn’t suppose that excuse would be as endearing now, coming from a man of twenty-two years.
Mazen cleared his throat. “Salaam, Omar.”
One of Omar’s brows inched up far enough to wrinkle his forehead. “Salaam, Mazen.”
“How was your hunt?”
“I found both marks.” Omar gestured to his clothing: an embroidered tunic tucked into sirwal trousers held up by a knife-notched belt. The silver jinn blood staining his clothes looked more like twinkling stardust than gore.
“You sparkle like the moon, brother of mine.” Mazen tried a smile.
“While I appreciate your flattery, I am more interested in the truth.” Omar closed the doors behind him. “Perhaps it would be easier to talk inside?”
“But it’s so stuffy inside—”
“Does Father know you’re sneaking out?”
Mazen froze. No, his father most certainly did not know. If he caught wind of this—of any of Mazen’s clandestine excursions—he would lock Mazen in his room forever. Being trapped in the palace was bad, but being trapped in his room? Mazen would die.
He forced himself to laugh. “I wasn’t sneaking out! I was just getting some fresh air.”
“By hanging precariously out a window.”
“Not at all. This curtain is surprisingly sturdy.”
“You must sneak out often, mm?” Omar approached, hands clasped behind his back.