“Fine. Then I will speak, and you can listen.” Out of the corner of her eye, Loulie saw him drape an arm over his knee. He was dry, not a single bead of water left on him. But that was hardly surprising, given he could combust into flames. “Do you remember what I told you in Dhyme? That the compass led me to relics so I could find a place for them to exist after death?”
His sigh was heavy enough to make his eyes cloud over with smoke. “It was the truth. I could not seek redemption in my country after what I had done, so I sought it here, in the human world. My greatest fear was that Khalilah would lead me to my fellow ifrit.” He smiled, a self-deprecating twitch of his lips that was barely discernible. “I told you before I was a coward; that is also true. It is the reason I did not tell you I was an ifrit. The reason I have not sought out my old companions.” His smile slipped. “The reason I sank a country.”
There was silence. And then a few breaths later, Qadir spoke again: “I thought I might be able to run forever. But then that fool of a human sultan asked you to track down an ifrit’s relic, and I realized I had to make a choice. I could run, or I could face my past.” Loulie felt his gaze shift to her. “I had planned to tell you the truth when we found the lamp. But then you recovered the Resurrectionist’s relic and witnessed her magic. I saw your rage and fear, and I withheld the entire truth, thinking you would shun me if I told you I had the same power.”
Loulie stifled a nervous laugh. He had to be pulling her leg. How could he not see that she depended on him? That she always had?
“Why stay with me at all?” she said. “You don’t need some weak human girl to help you face your past.” The words escaped before she could stop them. Panic echoed through the hollow chambers of her heart, building until she could barely breathe.
Qadir stared at her, wide-eyed. When she tried to slide away, he grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around. “Weak?” His eyes shimmered with a fierce blue light. “Is that what all this is about? Why you’ve been sulking?”
Loulie was rendered speechless by the intensity of his gaze. She’d been expecting exasperation, not this anger shining in his eyes. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She hated how bitter the words were. How small and self-pitying. But the moment she said them, a dam broke inside of her, and the rest of the confession came out as a torrent of words. “I couldn’t do anything. Not when my tribe was killed and not now. I can never do anything without your help. If I hadn’t had your knife in the ruins…” She blinked back tears. “If you hadn’t been there…”
“It is not weakness to rely on others for help,” Qadir said. Loulie did not know when, but at some point, she had reached for his hand. Now she was holding on to it as if it were some lifeline. Weak, said the voice in her mind. Weak, weak, weak.
“Loulie.” Gently, so gently it made her tremble, Qadir set a hand on her cheek and turned her face so that she was looking at him. “You rely on me, but I also rely on you. We are a team, you and I.”
“But I don’t—”
“You are the most courageous person I know, Loulie al-Nazari. Without you, I would still be aimlessly wandering the desert, lost in my grief. You are not weak. That is why I follow where you walk: because I trust you.” His expression softened. “What happened to your family—I truly am sorry. Loulie…”
She did not realize she had started crying again until Qadir ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “I would never have followed your family’s trail if I’d known someone was tracking me. I was only walking where the compass bade me to go. I was…”
“Lost?” Loulie rubbed at her eyes. “Yes, I know.” She forced herself to look him in the eyes. To hold his gaze. “It’s not your fault.”
Something inside of her released with the words, leaving her feeling—not empty, but deflated. Not weak, but vulnerable. She could have turned away then. Could have heeded the voice in her mind that said, You should let him go, but she realized she did not want to. She wanted to stay with Qadir. And Qadir—he could have left many times. But he was still here.
“You’re not going to disappear on me again, are you?”
Qadir never broke her gaze. “No.”
“Even if the compass leads you somewhere else?”
“I told you before, didn’t I? We are connected. The compass led me to you, and it is with you I shall stay until destiny demands we part ways.”
“You make it sound like it’s not your choice to stay or go.”
“Some things are out of our control. You know that just as well as I. All we can do is make choices based on the cards fate deals us. But so long as fate allows me to stay with you, I will not leave you, Loulie. That is a promise.”
It was the most Qadir-like answer, and it made her laugh despite herself. It was more a choking sound than a chuckle, but it was enough to make her smile. “I will kick your ass if you lie to me again, Qadir.”
Qadir shrugged. “Fair enough.” He stood and held out his hand.
In response, Loulie grabbed his tunic up off the ground and threw it at him. “Put your shirt on. You’re indecent.” She gathered her own layers as she glanced down at the city, which, after everything that had happened, suddenly seemed more energetic. More inviting.
“Loulie. Something for your troubles.” Qadir was holding something out to her. Her heart lifted at the sight of the two-faced coin.
“I didn’t realize you had more than one,” she said as she took it from him.
Qadir pulled his tunic over his head with a shrug. “You never asked. But this is the last one, so do not lose it.”
Loulie looked at the gold. Is Qadir telling the truth about wanting to stay with me?
She flipped the coin. It came down on the human side. She stifled a sigh of relief. “Fine. Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time.”
Qadir raised a brow. “Time to make some gold?”
Loulie grinned through her tears. “Yes. Let’s go sell a relic.”
55
AISHA
Aisha had never liked Tawil. No, dislike was insufficient. Hate was more accurate. She’d hated Tawil ever since Omar had made him a thief. He was an insufferably cocky bastard who killed jinn for glory rather than justice. A show-off who made every murder a spectacle.
This kill was, like the others, a performance. Tawil took the jinn boy into the souk, bled him out in front of an audience, and afterward, had the audacity to bow. Worse, people clapped for him. Before, Aisha would have found this reception annoying. Now it made a deep, dark rage boil in her blood. She blamed the Resurrectionist, whose hatred fueled her own.
What a despicable human, she hissed in Aisha’s mind. We ought to kill him.
“Don’t tempt me,” Aisha murmured beneath the applause of the crowd.
Afterward, Tawil returned to speak with them. When he asked Aisha why their plan—Omar and Mazen’s switch—had gone awry, Aisha simply said, “There have been some unexpected circumstances.” Tawil barely acknowledged the prince. In fact, he insisted that he and Aisha finish their conversation somewhere more private.
“Thieves’ business” was the excuse he gave Mazen.
The prince’s aggravation was apparent in the dip of his lips. Aisha was almost disappointed when he didn’t object. She’d become convinced he was growing a backbone, but perhaps not.
After promising to find the prince later, Aisha followed Tawil through the souk and across a bridge to another sector of Ghiban. It was easy to keep track of him in the crowds; the city’s separate, capacious isles were easier to navigate than Madinne’s clustered tiers and Dhyme’s winding streets. Though the central souk was the most thriving, each district contained shops and a residential area, making it easier for travelers to stock up on equipment and find accommodations.