Not for the first time, he wondered at the thief’s jaded infallibility. We all start as cowards, she had told him in the ruins. But it was hard to imagine she had ever been craven. The only time he had seen her falter, when she had been desperate for help—
It took a great deal of effort to shove aside the memory of the knife cutting through her throat and to quiet his reeling mind. Thankfully, the return of sound to the desert scattered his thoughts. He looked up as the ghouls returned, carrying… another hare.
His stomach grumbled dejectedly.
Aisha raised a brow. “What, were you expecting a jackal? A wolf?”
“No expectations.” He sighed. “But I was hopeful.”
About an hour after they’d left, they made their way back to the cave. The sun had fully risen by the time they turned back, casting the landscape in a hazy, dusty light that blurred the distant dunes. Gentle winds brushed against their ankles, disturbing scrubby grasses and rippling the sand. It wasn’t the worst weather to travel in, but Mazen found it difficult to be relieved when he was so exhausted.
When they returned to the cave, they found the merchant standing outside, waiting for them. Aisha chuckled—the soft, breathy sound he’d heard yesterday. “Ah, the miracle of jinn blood. So you can walk now?”
“Well enough,” Loulie said stiffly. Mazen eyed her stance. From the way she was leaning against the wall, it was evident she was trying to keep the weight off her ankles. Mazen remembered his own injury. How, even healed, it had pained him for days. And he’d been able to rest.
Aisha brushed past Loulie with the hare slung over her shoulder. “Such a prideful creature you are. I recommend staying off your feet at least until I finish preparing the food.” She disappeared into the cave. Loulie remained leaning stubbornly against the cave wall.
A thought occurred to Mazen as Qadir joined them outside.
“We have no horses.” They stared at him. He cleared his throat and said, “How are we going to get to Ghiban without horses?”
Qadir was clearly unimpressed. “You have two legs, don’t you?”
Mazen blinked. These people are insane. We can’t cover that distance on foot!
As it turned out, they could and they did. Mazen just hated every moment of it.
With provisions, the two-day journey would not have been so awful. But trudging through the desert in his own body, wearing nothing but his brother’s ill-fitting clothing, was a harrowing experience. The first day, none of them spoke. Talking only made Mazen more aware of how much the cold air dried his lungs, so he walked in silence, trying all the while to ignore the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.
The compass, at least, was a blessing. When it wasn’t guiding them down the most painless path to Ghiban, it abruptly changed direction to alert them to the presence of game and water. The former, Aisha “hunted” with her ghouls. The water, they found mostly in cacti and plants, which Loulie chopped into with her knife and drained with a cloth. They had no waterskins to store the liquid in, so they drank as much as they could before moving on.
Even when the sun set and the moon rose, they pushed forward. Without any shelter to protect them from the frigid winds, they had to keep moving to conserve warmth. It was only in the morning, when the sun rose, that they drowsed.
The second day, Mazen woke to find Aisha roasting lizards over the fire while Qadir shared news that he’d found a creek nearby. After their sad meal, they followed Qadir to the water source and used it to refresh themselves and sate their thirst. Everyone was in a better mood when they returned to the journey. Aisha was even humming—that awful song the Resurrectionist had sung in Ahmed’s diwan.
Loulie turned in her saddle. “That song,” she snapped. “What is it?”
Aisha paused. “An old lullaby from Dhahab. When I am lost in the world of the dead, it brings me back to the present.” She glanced at Qadir. “He knows it as well.”
“I was not lying about the song being from Dhahab,” Qadir said softly.
Loulie looked down at the sand and said nothing.
Gradually, the dunes disappeared, replaced with looming cliffs that glowed like fire beneath the sun. A rocky pathway revealed itself, and the sand became littered with red stones. Mazen, who had never seen such a landscape before, was in awe.
“Your mouth is hanging open.” He turned to see the merchant walking beside him. Her face was pale, and sweat dampened her brow. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but it was a foolish question.
“I’ve never been to this part of the desert before,” he said.
“No? Is that why you’re here, taking your brother’s place?” She frowned. “To sightsee?”
Mazen grimaced. He’d been mentally preparing himself for this conversation since they set out, but now he was at a loss for words. “It’s complicated,” he finally mumbled.
The merchant narrowed her eyes. “Then we’ll stop. We need to talk.”
So on the merchant’s command, they made one last stop, settling into a cave hollowed into one of the cliffs. Mazen unwound the scarves from around his face, spat sand out of his mouth, and talked. He settled on the truth, bareboned as it was. He had been blackmailed because of his own cowardice. He was going on this journey because his brother had important security-related business in Madinne, and the sultan did not know, because, of course, he would never have allowed it.
He expected the merchant to scream at him when it was over. To grab him by his tunic and shake him until his teeth rattled. Instead, she shook her head and said, “You’re a fool.”
Mazen blinked. “I’ll admit I was lacking in foresight, maybe, but—”
“You think your brother would send you on this quest so he could stay behind and implement security measures?” She scoffed.
Mazen felt something inside of him fray. “What do you know about my brother?”
“I know he’s a murderer.”
“And? You don’t seem to mind the blood on Ahmed bin Walid’s hands.”
The merchant froze, eyes wide, body trembling. When she next spoke, her voice was a lethal whisper. “How dare you compare your brother to the wali of Dhyme. Ahmed did not give the order to kill a tribe of humans for a godsdamned relic.”
Mazen recoiled. Aisha had told him about this in the ruins; how had he forgotten? Because Omar is family, he thought. And with family, we always try to forget.
But how did Loulie know? Why would Imad tell her that story unless…? He stared at her. She was breathing fast in that way a person did when they were holding back tears.
… Unless that had been her tribe.
He swallowed. “Loulie, I’m—”
“Sorry? Your apologies are meaningless to me, Prince. I have no reason to trust your sincerity when you have been lying to me this entire time.” She turned her glare on Aisha. “And you. I trust you even less, whoever the hell you are. A thief, the Resurrectionist—either way, you’re a cold-blooded killer.”
She rose and limped out of the cave.
“Leave her be,” Qadir said sharply when Mazen began to rise. “Or do you plan to tail her like a hound even now?” Something flickered in his eyes—something that may have been fire.
Mazen deflated. What else did he have to offer besides apologies, empty as they were to her? He could not even give her answers. He looked at Aisha, who shrugged beneath his gaze. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know Omar’s mind. But…” She raised a brow. “Your father sent us on a similarly perilous quest. Sometimes power requires sacrifice.”
Mazen glared at her. “It’s not worth it if that power requires others to be sacrificed.”
Aisha’s lips quirked into a sardonic smile. “You truly do not know how to think like a prince, do you?” She laughed, and her voice took on the softness he’d come to associate with the Queen of Dunes. “Our world isn’t built on morals. Humans, jinn—we’re all selfish creatures. Your brother sought power, so he put others’ necks on the line for it. It’s the way of the world.”