We’ve reached Dhyme?
She paused to take in her surroundings. She recognized the room at the Wanderer’s Sanctuary, where she and Qadir stayed every time they came to the city. It was small, containing only a single bed and an unimpressive writing desk. The bag of infinite space and Qadir’s shamshir had been tucked into a corner, right next to an alcove that was home to a set of small stone idols. Sometimes Loulie amused herself by rearranging those idols to make it look like they were fighting a mock battle. Now they stood in a straight line, looking at her. Even faceless, they looked judgmental.
She turned her attention to her hand and flinched when she saw the blood-drenched cloth. Now that she was awake, it was impossible to ignore the sharp ache beneath her skin. She remembered Aisha wrapping the wound, pulling her through the crumbling ruins.
“What happened?”
“What happened was you were impulsive and nearly died,” Qadir snapped.
Loulie looked up at his tone of voice. She cringed when she saw his eyes. They had gone from their usual brown to a startling blue silver that flickered like fire.
“How many times must you nearly die before you realize you are not invincible, Loulie?” He leaned forward, eyes shining so bright they were almost white. “First you attack the shadow jinn without provocation, then you walk straight into a deadly illusion without thinking about the consequences.”
Loulie’s shame was a knot in her throat, and it stopped her from forming words. You don’t need to coddle me, she wanted to say. I’m not weak. She clenched her good hand and faltered when she felt the coldness of her rings against her skin. They had been useless in the ruins. She had fallen to the Queen of Dunes, had nearly given in to her…
Not weak. No matter how many times she thought the words, they rang hollow.
“I’m sorry.” It was an effort to keep her voice from shaking. “I only meant to bring the prince back.” She could already hear Qadir’s retorts in her mind. She knew that if he wanted to, he could use his words to slice through her bravado.
But that was not his way.
Slowly, the white in his eyes faded, like ice melting in the sun. His scowl softened as he took her injured hand in his. Though he was gentle, pain still shot through Loulie’s fingers as he raised her palm, and she had to bite her tongue to stop a whimper from escaping her lips. She watched as he unwrapped her bandages, revealing the hideous injury caked in dried blood, the gash at its center so deep she could see bone. Her stomach lurched at the sight.
Qadir slipped a dagger from his belt and sliced his palm. Loulie stared as silver blood rose to the surface of his skin. He gave her no time to ask questions, simply set his bloodied hand down on her wounded one and said, “Tell me what happened.”
She gasped. It had been a long time since she’d felt his blood magic in her veins. Qadir rarely healed her. He did not believe in mending minor injuries—especially not the ones she suffered because of her own “rash” decisions. The magic was an unpleasantly cold and prickling feeling beneath her skin, one that alternated between pain and numbness. Even more disconcerting: she could feel the torn tendons in her hand sewing themselves back together.
“Tell me.” Qadir’s voice was soft. She knew he was trying to distract her.
She humored him. She told him about the prince’s disappearance and wandering the ruins. She told him about the song, the voice in her head, the ghouls, and the collar. When she tried to remember her fight with the prince, there was only the lingering sensation of pain. The shock of waking from a nightmarish sleep. The last thing she remembered was stumbling out of the ruins and then—the warmth of Qadir’s chest and the intoxicating lull of sleep.
By the time she’d come to the end of her account, her mind was fuzzy with pain. Still, she forced herself to focus so she could ask the questions whirring through her mind. “What happened to the relic?”
Qadir grimaced. “The high prince’s thief refuses to hand it over. She believes that because the prince located it, it belongs to him.” His frown deepened. “I do not know how, but we must find a way to take it back. It is… special.”
He pulled his hand away, and where the terrible gash had been there was now a faintly glittering scar. Loulie knew she would have to bind the wounded hand again after she cleaned it; she could not let the prince and the thief see it healed so soon.
“Shukran,” she mumbled as she ran her thumb over the sensitive skin. “For healing my injury.” She looked up and caught his eyes. “And for helping me in the ruins.” Even from a distance, he’d been watching over her.
Qadir simply nodded as he turned to the window, eyes locked on the stars hanging in the ebony sky. Loulie knew that if she let him, he would sit there all night, stargazing. It was what he did every time he wanted to avoid speaking with her.
She pushed off her covers and threw her legs over the side of the bed so that she could face him. “Are you going to tell me why the relic is special? Does it have something to do with it belonging to the Queen of Dunes?” Even the name was a question.
Qadir sighed. “Meaningless titles aside, yes, the jinn you ran into in the ruins is an ifrit who specializes in death magic. It is what allowed her to influence the movements of the ghouls.”
Loulie probed her injury and flinched at the dull pain that shot through her limbs. She could feel Qadir’s eyes on her. “And the song she sang?” she asked softly.
“It is an old song.” His eyes dimmed as he leaned back in his chair, away from the fire. “A nostalgic song, one passed down by jinn who call Dhahab their home.”
Home. She had felt that insatiable longing for it in the ruins. She wondered if the reason she had seen her father was because he was a manifestation of what home meant.
“I never knew it had the power to possess people.”
Qadir smiled wanly. “The ifrit did not use lyrics to ensnare you. She used magic.” The smile faded. “That is why the ifrit are dangerous: their manipulation is subtle but powerful. Worse, they can possess people from a distance, through just their relics.”
“And what happens when we somehow manage to take this relic back from Aisha?” Loulie paused. “What if the ifrit possesses her before we can get it back?”
“The relic seems to have gone silent for now, but yes, time is of the essence.” He crossed his arms. “Once we have the collar, I will keep it until we figure out what to do with it. As a jinn, I am immune to ifrit possession.”
“And you call me cocky.” She regretted the words immediately after saying them.
But, much to her surprise, Qadir gave her—well, not a smile, exactly, but the edges of his lips had curled into something vaguely resembling one. “I know my limitations, unlike you.” He turned to the lantern, and the light dimmed. Qadir faded into shadow, and then he disappeared. Loulie spotted him curled around the base of the lantern in his lizard shape. He rested his head against the metal and closed his eyes.
“There’s a hammam at the end of the hall,” he said, his voice a whisper. “You should wash your hand, then get some sleep.”
Loulie groaned as she slid out of bed. She had nearly made it to the door when she stopped, eyes on her healing hand. “Qadir? You heard the tale of the Queen of Dunes; do you think the ifrit in the relic is the queen from the story?”
Qadir spoke softly into the darkness, as if afraid of being overheard. “Who knows? Humans make up tall tales all the time, but even lies stem from a kernel of truth.”
It was a dubious answer, a very Qadir answer, and it did little to assuage her worries. Well, she thought as she opened the door. At least now I can worry in earnest.
26
LOULIE