“Yes, but not just any magic. This jinn was stronger than the others, for its army was made up of immortal shadows. The jinn melted in and out of them as easily as if they were rays of sunshine…”
Loulie recognized the story of the shadow jinn. The longer it went on, the more fictitious it became, until it sounded more like a legend than the truth. She found herself oddly charmed by it. Or perhaps it was not the story that captivated her, but the high prince, who seemed a different, more pleasant person when he told it.
“In the end…” He leaned forward, pausing dramatically. “The shadows dispersed. Because even the mightiest of jinn succumb to a hunter’s iron blade.”
In the silence that followed, the prince grew stiff, expression shuttering. But then his audience clapped, and his cocky smile returned. Loulie turned away, disgruntled. Had there always been such a discrepancy in his personality?
She was still mulling over this later, when she was bedding down for the night in a guest tent. Normally, she would have vented her frustrations to Qadir, but the jinn had chosen to give her a wide berth that night. As far as she was aware, he was wandering the campsite, watching her from a distance through the fire he’d lit in their lantern. Loulie stared at the lantern-cast shadows until they faded into the darkness behind her eyelids. Thoughts of Omar chased her into slumber.
Always, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, flickering in and out of sight as if he were a mirage. Every time he reappeared, he wore a different face. First, a condescending grin. Then a harsh scowl. Then, disconcertingly, a starry-eyed smile. He lifted a hand to point at her. And laughed.
She realized she was sinking.
The sand sighed as it devoured her. She clawed at the air, but to no avail. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Darkness pressed in on her—
Abruptly, a flame flared into being.
Loulie shot up and out of her blankets. She squinted into the sudden brightness until she could make out Qadir’s shadowed figure, and relaxed when she saw the fire cupped between his palms. “Nightmare?” he said softly.
She groaned as she rubbed at her eyes. “I was drowning in the Sandsea.”
Qadir’s fire shimmered a gentle white. When she squinted, she saw the tattoos on his arms flash the same color. “I could keep this fire alive, if it would help you sleep.”
“And attract unwanted attention? No.” Her limbs cracked as she stretched. She found she was no longer in the mood for slumber.
Qadir blew on the flame until it was nothing but embers on his palms. His tattoos dimmed as well, until they were just barely visible in the darkness. Loulie had learned long ago that the tattoos appeared only when he used his fire magic. She traced the patterns with her eyes, wondering at some of the less aesthetically pleasing marks.
“So,” he said. “I see you’re speaking to me again.”
She answered with a noncommittal grunt.
His lips quirked. “How convenient. I was just thinking it would be strange to tell you a story and not have to suffer your questions afterward.”
She drew her blankets around her like a shield. “Story?”
“You were angry at me for hiding the truth, so I thought I would apologize by giving you a history lesson.”
“The subject?”
Qadir raised a brow. “Myself.”
“And what will you talk about?” She kept her eyes on his tattoos.
Qadir saw her looking and set a hand on his bicep. “I’ll tell you about my markings.”
Loulie leaned forward, close enough that she could make out where the patterns connected and diverged. She thought of the way they flared like fire. “Are they made with magic?”
“… Of a kind.”
“How did you get them?”
Qadir considered for a few moments before he said, “Some of them I was gifted. Others I received as punishment. In my culture, every mark has a meaning.”
“What kind of meaning?”
He shifted so that the inside of his arm was visible to her, and ran his fingers down his veins. The tattoos flared back to life beneath his touch. They glowed red and gold, flickering softly as he traced the curved lines toward his fingers.
She squinted at them. “It’s shaped like… a fire?”
Qadir smiled. “Now look at this one.” This time, he traced the curve of his elbow. These marks were thin and short and looked less like brushstrokes and more like scars from a knife.
She frowned. “I don’t see a shape.”
“Because it is a mark of shame.”
“It looks like you were scratched up with a blade.”
Qadir lowered his arm with a sigh, and the tattoos vanished. “Yes. My shame was carved into me with a knife so that I would not forget it. I deserved it.”
Loulie tucked her knees into her chest and waited. She did not expect him to continue, so she was surprised when he kept talking. “I told you once I was no longer welcome in Dhahab. That is because I committed a crime, and criminals are rarely forgiven in my city.” He tapped the markings on his skin. “These marks are proof of that.”
“What did you do?”
Qadir opened his mouth, closed it. “I would rather not say. It is a long and gruesome story, and I would prefer to tell it without any chance of being overheard.” He exhaled softly. “I can tell you one thing, at least. The compass we carry contains the soul of a jinn named Khalilah.” His expression softened at her name. “I was resigned to rotting away in a cell, but she saved me. Khalilah led me to your human desert and guided me with her magic.”
He reached into the merchant bag and took out the compass. Loulie had always wondered why he looked at it so tenderly. “She can… find things?”
“She is an erafa who was born with the ability to read the future. Even in death, she can locate items and people and foresee a destiny before it passes.” Qadir paused, brow furrowed. “We became separated early on, and she was killed by hunters before I could save her. By the time I located her, your father had already found her in the form of the compass. I followed his trail to your campsite.”
Layla Najima al-Nazari, it seems saving your life was my destiny. Loulie would never forget those words. They had changed her life. And the compass—her eyes wandered to the dusty object cradled in Qadir’s hands—the compass had saved it.
When she again looked at Qadir, his eyes were dark and stormy. “Who was she to you?” she asked softly.
“A friend,” Qadir murmured. “My greatest, dearest friend.”
The silence that followed was so fragile Loulie could not bring herself to break it. On impulse, she crawled forward and set a hand on Qadir’s shoulder. The jinn startled. “What’s this? You’re trying to comfort me? I expected more questions.”
“I’m not obtuse, Qadir. I can see when you’re in pain.” She was taken aback by his shock. And frankly, a little offended. “What? How heartless do you think I am?”
Miracle of all miracles, the jinn started laughing. It was a genuine sound, one she had been lucky enough to hear only a couple of times in her life. The last time she’d heard it, she had just given Qadir the shamshir. He’d burst out laughing when she suggested he wear it to look intimidating rather than for any practical purpose. The memory still lightened her heart.
“My gods.” She grinned. “Who are you, and what have you done with my gloomy partner?”
Qadir was too busy laughing to answer. Loulie wondered, not for the first time, if it was his past that kept him so anchored to melancholy.
When he finally regained his composure, he looked at her and said, “Am I forgiven?”
Loulie sighed. “Yes, on the condition you don’t lie to me again.”
“Deal.” Qadir glanced at their bag. “Does this mean I can carry the bag?”
“What for? I’m the merchant.” She paused, noticing he’d slipped the collar out from gods knew where in his cloak. She drew back at the sight of it.
“You can relax. It’s still sealed. It would be easier to carry in the bag, though.”
She ignored the comment and eyed the collar. “What are we going to do with it?” It was one thing to find a home for lost relics—another to give away a dangerous ancient treasure. “Maybe we should bury it somewhere in the desert.”
Qadir looked up sharply. “Or we could keep it.”