“It’s fine,” he said weakly. “Only a flesh wound. I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”
Aisha turned away without another word. It was not until she and everyone else left that the numbness faded and Mazen was finally able to consider his injury. He pulled his hand away and looked at the blood. He blinked. Again and again, but the impossible sight did not vanish.
His blood was black.
32
LOULIE
“This isn’t the way to Madinne, is it?” Layla glanced over her shoulder at the looming city in the distance. The compass had been pointing them toward it for the last week, and they were close enough now that she knew it was not a mirage.
The sight was a relief. After weeks of traveling with a hollowed-out heart, Layla yearned for a place to rest. It had been less than a month since she’d lost her family, and the jinn insisted the liveliness of the city would help fill the yawning emptiness inside her.
But now Qadir’s attention was focused not on the city, but on the compass, which pointed south. “Sometimes we must make necessary stops before we reach our final destination.”
Layla grumbled as she followed him to a date tree. Qadir glanced from the compass to the short still-young tree, brows scrunched. Then he tucked it away and began to climb. Layla knew better than to question him.
When Qadir climbed back down, he was holding a swath of silk. A shawl.
“Do you think a traveler lost it in a sandstorm?” she asked.
In answer, Qadir threw the scarf at her and said, “Put it on.”
“Why?” She eyed it suspiciously.
Qadir gave her The Look. The one where he raised a brow and made a straight line with his mouth and stared at her so hard it made her want to wither away. Layla wound the shawl around her neck—and noticed the change immediately. The silk was cool, so chilly against her skin it felt like a contained breeze. “Did you enchant it?” she asked, voice soft with wonder.
He shrugged. “It was already enchanted when I found it. All relics are like this.”
Layla tilted her head. “Relic?”
“A relic…” He paused, as if trying to find the right words. “A relic is an item enchanted by a jinn. It contains their magic.” He held up the compass. “Like this compass.”
“Did you enchant the compass?”
A wry smile pulled at his lips. “No, it was already enchanted when I received it.”
“And this shawl?”
Qadir shrugged. “It most likely belonged to a jinn traveler.”
“Do you think they’ll come back for it?”
Silence. Some emotion flickered across his face but quickly faded. “No,” he said after a few moments. “Why would they, when they could easily enchant another?”
It was a good point. Tools were easily replaced. Still… there was something awfully sad about this fabric fluttering on the tree, forgotten.
Qadir turned and began to walk toward the city. Layla followed, still grasping the shawl. “Why are they called relics? It makes them sound ancient.”
Qadir spoke without turning to look at her. “Jinn are ancient. Is it any surprise the things we enchant are just as old?”
Qadir had lied to her.
The realization festered like an open wound, growing more tender until, by the time Loulie left Ahmed’s diwan, it was causing her physical pain.
The city was dark by the time she returned to the Wanderer’s Sanctuary, its bright buildings dulled beneath the pall of deep night. Most of the lights around the souk had been put out, but this did little to dissuade miscreants from sneaking through the shadows.
Miscreants like me, she thought dourly.
Loulie found Qadir sitting on the inn’s sloped roof, looking quietly at the stars. She used the crates in the alley to climb up and, swallowing her anger, carefully inched her way toward him. She tried not to think about the helplessness she’d felt when the ifrit wearing Ahmed’s skin put a knife to her throat. Tried not to think of the way his—her—eyes had burned with accusation when he said, Do you kill jinn because you hope to steal their magic?
She tried not to think of the pain that had racked her body when she had been stuck in the memory that was not hers, of her horror when she pieced together the meaning behind it.
The ifrit’s words pounded through her mind. Have you at all considered, merchant, that your business capitalizes on suffering?
Long ago, Qadir had told her relics were enchanted items. But charmed objects did not have memories of being alive. It had taken an ifrit with death magic to help her realize that truth.
Qadir lowered his gaze to meet her eyes as she stopped in front of him.
“I believe you owe me some answers,” she said. Each word was cold, brittle.
Qadir patted the space beside him. “There was no news of your assassin in black.”
Loulie bristled at his deflection. She had always abided Qadir’s secrecy because she understood the comfort in being enigmatic—Qadir had shown her that appeal—but a secret history that had no bearing on her life was different from one that shaped her morals.
“Are you going to sit, or do you prefer glowering at me with your neck craned?”
She did as Qadir suggested, though she sat far enough away he could not reach for her. Qadir appeared unoffended. He looked at her expectantly. Loulie tried to speak but found that all her accusations were lodged in her throat. This is my fault, she thought. I let Qadir lie to me.
“You want to ask me about what happened tonight.” He spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a child moments away from a tantrum.
On impulse, Loulie reached into the bag of infinite space she’d lugged with her, pulled out the compass, and held it over the roof. “What would happen if I broke this compass?”
Qadir’s calm never vanished, but Loulie saw a muscle feather in his jaw, betraying his panic. “You would release the soul inside it, and the item would lose its magic.”
“What’s this about a soul? You told me relics were enchanted items.”
Qadir’s eyes flickered between her and the instrument. “They are enchanted items.” He inched closer to her, closer to the compass.
Loulie held it out of his grasp. “No, this is a prison.”
“No.” Qadir was so tense he could have been made of rock. “Not a prison. We jinn live on in the items most precious to us. It is how we guide the living, even after death. You should understand—you humans leave behind valuable heirlooms for your loved ones too.”
“We don’t live in those items!” Loulie’s voice pitched higher without her consent. “You told me relics were magical objects—replaceable trinkets with enchantments. Do your dagger and the two-faced coin contain souls as well?”
Qadir held up his hands in a placating—or perhaps a defeated—gesture. “You humans use the word relic to refer to all magical items, but it is no lie we can enchant objects. Like the dagger and coin.” He shifted closer. “But enchantments are temporary and fade upon death. The only way to keep our magic alive forever is to contain it in what we jinn call a relic: an object to which we bind our souls so we can live on after our mind and body have perished. That is what the compass is.”
Loulie turned away from Qadir’s pleading gaze with a sinking heart. She did not need him to tell her the obvious: if enchantments faded after death, then the chances of them running into magical possessions left behind by still-living jinn were extremely slim.
“Loulie.” Qadir was close enough to brush shoulders with her. Loulie leaned farther over the edge of the roof. The jinn froze. “Loulie, please,” he said, voice so soft it made her tremble. He had never begged her like this before. It made something in her crack. “That compass—it contains the soul of someone who is precious to me.”
“And what of the souls in other relics?” Her hands were shaking. “Are the lives of other jinn so worthless that you would let me sell them like they were mere tools? I’m no better than a slaver!”
This whole time, she had been selling captive souls.
“Loulie.” Qadir set a hand on her wrist.