Tawil led her across four bridges and through four districts until they came to the fish souk, where local seafood was on display. Aisha stole a bowl of finger shrimp and eyed piles of dead-eyed trout and river fish as they strode through.
Eventually, they came to a shack by the docks. Tawil entered through the back door, strode down a cobweb-filled corridor, and opened a hidden trapdoor in the kitchen. Aisha hesitated at the entrance. She was not sure why, exactly. She had been in this place before. Had, in fact, stayed here while passing through Ghiban on hunts. It was a thief hideout, after all.
And yet she was nervous.
Tawil’s laugh echoed from the darkness. “Worried I’ll murder you in the dark?”
Aisha bristled. He should be worried I’ll murder him in the dark. She slid down the ladder and realized only after shutting the trapdoor behind her that she didn’t know whose thoughts those were. Hers—or the ifrit’s?
Does it matter? We are one and the same.
Aisha gritted her teeth in annoyance. We are not. She tamped down her irritation as she entered the underground chamber: a thief storage space filled with tapestries, furniture, weapons, scrolls—and relics, resting on slanted cabinet shelves. Though this place belonged to all the thieves, this was Tawil’s stronghold; Ghiban was his hunting ground.
Tawil spun toward her as she entered, that irritating smile on his lips. Aisha wasted no time chiding him. “What the hell was that in the souk?”
He blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Sometimes the city folk forget we exist; I thought to remind them. But that’s unimportant. Look here.” He reached into the satchel at his hip and withdrew a glass orb, which he tossed to Aisha. “This seems like a relic our king would like, eh? It shows you your memories.”
She had no way of testing Tawil’s claim, for when she touched the orb, it was not her memories she saw. These memories belonged to the owner of the orb: a young jinn boy named Anas. Aisha was able to discern from his hazy memories that he’d carried this orb with him because it was a memento from his mother. That it was the only thing he’d managed to bring with him to the human world.
Anas’s final plea echoed in her mind. Please! Please, help me!
Aisha tossed the orb back to Tawil and shoved her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking. She had known the true nature of relics ever since Omar recruited her. It had never bothered her that they contained souls. But how could she ignore the fact now, when one of the damned things was talking to her?
You said before that the dead do not speak. The Resurrectionist’s voice brushed gently against her mind. But how would you know, when you did not have the ability to listen?
Tawil must have mistaken her unease for irritation. He laughed. “No need to be jealous.”
Aisha cleared her throat. “Can we talk about what’s actually important? How is Omar?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s been spending most of his days in the company of an annoyingly attentive wali. The man is like a leech; he refuses to go back to his city and asks too many questions. Omar has someone from the guard watching him.”
Irritatingly observant politicians aside, if Omar was commanding people in the guard now, it at least meant his plan to incorporate thieves into the qaid’s force had gone smoothly.
Tawil raised a brow. “Clearly, he’s faring better than your prince. Care to explain why Prince Mazen is no longer in disguise?” He crossed his arms. “And perhaps you’ll tell me about the so-called legendary relic you found in a dune? Junaid sounded very impressed in his letter.”
Aisha bit back a scowl. She didn’t care to tell the thief anything, but she had no choice if Junaid had already filled him in. She relayed the short version of what had transpired, the most important recollection being the ordeal with Imad. She did not tell him she had nearly died or that the collar had saved her from death, and yet—his eyes wandered to the silk around her neck.
He lunged toward her without preamble.
Aisha grabbed his wrist before he touched her. Searing hot pain shot through her veins at the contact. Tawil pulled his hand away the moment she did. They both stared at each other.
Tawil laughed weakly. “What was that?”
Aisha stepped away with a growl. That heat—where had it come from? Did Tawil have some kind of relic on him? “Speak for yourself, you ass.”
“The queen’s collar—you have it around your neck. I can see it.”
She drew the silk closer to her chin. “And?”
“Aren’t you going to give it to Omar? You know he’s looking for kings’ relics.” He tilted his head, eyes widening. “Or don’t tell me you’re actually keeping it, bint Louas? This wasn’t part of the plan, you know.”
None of this is part of the plan! she wanted to scream, but she could not bring herself to say the words. The memory of that strange heat still lay beneath her skin, and it made her wary.
“Give it to me.” He held out a hand. “I’ll deliver it to him.”
She was grateful Tawil was shorter than her, so she could look down her nose at him. “I don’t take commands from haughty children.”
Tawil’s bright fa?ade cracked. He glared at her with a vehemence that made her skin prickle. “You’re a bitch, bint Louas, you know that?”
“And you’re a bastard. Now, do you want to keep throwing names at each other, or shall we talk business like adults?” She was just about to return to their discussion when she heard a sound and paused. She and Tawil glanced at a pile of collector’s coins in the corner. Even as they watched, a few trickled to the floor.
Tawil shrugged it off, but she knew immediately that something was off. There was a buzzing in her ears. She focused until it became a voice: I am here, it said. And then Aisha did not just hear it; she saw it: the shadow relic, visible through the eye the ifrit had gifted her.
And beneath it: Mazen bin Malik, spying on them.
He had followed them. That was why he hadn’t objected to being left behind.
Aisha was torn between anger and pride. The latter won out. She had not yet revealed things the prince couldn’t know; she was safe. Omar was safe. But now that he was here—well, she couldn’t give him information, but there were other ways to reward him for his bravery.
“Let us continue this discussion aboveground. I’m famished.” She walked to the ladder before Tawil could protest, and turned back only once to glance pointedly at the cabinet. “You have quite the collection, Tawil. I can only imagine how much gold you could get from all this.”
Tawil was a prideful creature. Even if he did realize some of his relics had gone missing, he would not tell Omar.
She saw the understanding in the prince’s eyes. And then—he was nothing but a shadow on the wall. She hid a smirk as she made her way outside.
56
LOULIE
Mazen bin Malik was waiting in the inn’s tavern when they returned. The moment he saw them, he rushed past the occupied tables with disconcerting purpose and handed them a burlap sack. Loulie peeked into the bag. And stared.
“Relics,” Qadir said, confirming her suspicions.
They both looked at the prince, who raised his hands and said, “I can explain.”
And so as Loulie donned her merchant robes, he told them. About the young jinn murdered in the souk and of the thief who killed him. Loulie presumed even Aisha bint Louas must have despised the man if she’d encouraged Mazen to steal from him.
There was only one thing that bothered her about the situation. Namely, that the compass had not led them to Tawil’s stash. Qadir smiled faintly when she brought it up. “Khalilah knows the future,” he said. “She led us to where we needed to be.”
Loulie was in too good a mood to bring up her dislike of destiny. She was glad, at least, that the relics had ended up in their hands so she could sell them to people who weren’t members of the murderous forty thieves.
She was about to follow the prince out of the room when she paused and, out of habit, turned back to search for the bag of infinite space. Her stomach sank when she remembered it had been lost in the ruins. But at least we recovered our most important belongings. And…