Loulie groaned as they passed a scraggly yellow shrub they had most certainly walked past earlier. Perhaps she should use the compass…
“I think I see another cave in the distance,” Qadir said. He pointed, and though Loulie saw nothing but smudges, the smudges were gray in color, and that was promising in a landscape of golds and reds. “I’ll ride out and check.” He looked at her and raised a brow. Wait for me, the look said.
Loulie hesitated. She and Prince Omar, alone? The thought made her nervous. Not because she was scared of him, no, but because she abhorred the idea of having to exist in the same space as him without Qadir. But…
She cast a surreptitious look at the prince. He was sullen, lips pressed together in a grimace that was more anxious than angry.
He is tolerable like this, she thought, and nodded at Qadir to say so.
The minute Qadir took off, the prince slid from his saddle and began climbing the nearest hill of sand. Loulie frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get to a vantage point.” He hesitated as the sand shifted beneath his feet, then turned to look at her expectantly. Loulie bristled. She refused to be looked down on—figuratively or literally.
Her legs were sore by the time they reached the top, but she was reinvigorated by the view. To the east: the shadow that was the city of Dhyme. And to the west, she saw a speck that was Qadir. He was heading for the gray smudge, which from here she could see was indeed a cave. In the distance she saw a line of shadows that might have been a caravan, but they were too far out for Aisha to have reached in a single night.
Loulie glanced down. The hill they were on dropped into a small, steep valley on this side, one surrounded by slopes of sand. It was a spectacular if eerie sight.
“I see something,” the prince mumbled. He pointed, and Loulie followed his gaze to a sliver of color below. From this distance, it looked like a crumpled shadow without an owner.
Loulie slid down into the valley ahead of him to investigate.
She dug through the sand to unearth the shard of color. Her heart dropped as she held it up.
It was a velvet scarf.
Omar snatched the lightweight cloth from her hands. “This looks like one of Aisha’s.”
Loulie stood and glanced around them. If this scarf was one of the thief’s, and it was here between the dunes, did that mean she had stumbled into this valley? Or had the wind simply carried it here?
Beside her, Omar inhaled sharply. He whirled in place, eyes narrowed. “What is that…” His gaze seemed oddly unfocused. “Infernal sound?” Loulie strained her ears, but all she could hear was the distant cry of a hawk.
“There’s a voice.” Omar stepped toward the dune. He paused, tilted his head. “A woman’s voice?” He pressed his palm to the gigantic hill of sand. For a few moments he just stood there, squinting. Then he began to claw at the dirt.
Loulie stepped back, away from the falling dust. “Ah, what a great idea, High Prince. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of Aisha burying herself in sand!”
The prince just kept digging like a man possessed, sending more dust at her face. She gasped—a terrible idea. She inhaled a fistful of sand and choked on her own breath. By the time the air cleared, her throat was on fire.
She spun on the high prince, a curse on her lips, but it died in the same breath. Despite all of the falling sand, the dune looked exactly as it had moments ago.
And Omar was gone.
She half expected him to jump out at her. But no such thing happened, and the prince did not respond when she called his name.
Magic?
There was only one way to find out. She reached into her robe and pulled out the compass. She knew even before looking at the arrow what it would show her. The instrument was humming the way it did every time an undiscovered relic was close.
Sure enough, the red arrow was pointing straight at the wall of sand, quivering as if with anticipation. Loulie eyed the dune warily. It was not rare for a relic to manipulate the space around it. The stronger the relic, the more powerful the manipulation. But—a dune?
She put her hand to the hill and startled when her rings warmed. Indecision seized her as she looked at the compass. She had never gone searching for a relic without Qadir. Had never left him without a way to find her. But…
I just need to grab the prince and get out. I’ll be back before Qadir returns.
She tucked the compass into her pocket and stepped forward. This time, the magic did not hide itself from her. The sand gave away, revealing an entrance that hadn’t been there before. Loulie stepped into the darkness and disappeared from the valley.
22
MAZEN
The corridor was glorious, shining from floor to ceiling with beautiful mosaics. Stone pillars held up a domed ceiling covered in decorative stained glass. Skull-shaped sconces hung from the walls and contained flaming white candles that made the tiled floor flash a brilliant cerulean blue. It was, despite its eeriness, the most beautiful corridor he’d ever seen.
Mazen had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten here.
He could vaguely remember seeing a dune. Digging into the dune. Falling into the dune. Once inside, screaming at the pitch black of the dune. He remembered panicking, beating his fists against dark walls in an effort to find the exit. But after that, his memory was a blur.
He took a deep breath as he turned to the cracked image on his right. He beheld a clustered, chaotic depiction of what he guessed were the seven jinn kings. One jinn was half bird and half man, sporting a human torso and legs but bird wings and a falcon head. Mazen wondered if it was a depiction of the jinn king imprisoned by Amir.
The second jinn was portrayed midspin, its features hidden behind a veil of mist. The third jinn held a skull in one hand and a scepter in the other; the fourth had fins sprouting from its back and scales shining on its flesh. The fifth: a jinn wearing a dara’a cut into two halves—one glittering with jewels and the other black and torn. The last two jinn were the strangest; one was crafted from wood and had flowers growing between its fingers, while the other was a fanged shadow with glittering red eyes.
Mazen stepped back at the sight of it, heart pounding in his ears. It reminded him of the shadow jinn. But… no. Surely she had not been a jinn king?
He stifled a nervous laugh and forced himself forward. Every footstep echoed too loudly in the silent hall, and the jinn on the walls seemed to follow him with their eyes.
Don’t panic. He plucked a dagger from Omar’s belt in the hope that it would make him feel braver. The ruins were so quiet he could hear the rustle of his clothing, the frantic pounding of his heart. Usually, even silence had a sound—some underlying cadence that went unnoticed until all other noise disappeared. But this absence was absolute. Unnatural.
Don’t panic. He forced himself to walk. And walk. And walk.
His stomach jumped into his throat when he again saw the image of the seven jinn. He knew it was the same because the stone was chipped in the same places. He wasn’t walking down an endless corridor—he was walking in place.
The fire nearby wavered. Mazen’s grip on the blade tightened. His muscles tensed, his breathing hitched, and he thought, Oh gods, please don’t let me be possessed please—
“Salaam.”
He turned and thrust the dagger forward. It sliced through nothing. The stranger was far enough away that the blade never even brushed her skin.
Mazen froze. He knew this woman.
Long hair that gleamed like polished wood, freckled olive skin, gold eyes flecked with uneven brown—Mazen lowered his blade. Those were his eyes. His mother’s eyes.
“Uma?” He blinked and somehow, impossibly, she did not disappear.
“Habibi,” she murmured. He flinched but did not pull away when she placed a hand on his cheek. Her skin was cold, so very cold. But her hand was so soft. When she pulled it away, Mazen felt as if she’d unwound some vital thread from inside of him. He blinked, and his mother wavered on the spot like a mirage.
“Uma—” His fingers swept through air.