Her eyes wandered to the shamshir sheathed at Qadir’s hip.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Have you not noticed I have been wearing it this whole time? Why would I leave it in a place any simple thief could break into?”
“You had it displayed on the wall of our room for years.”
“Dahlia would be insulted if she knew you were so skeptical of her security.”
“You know that’s not my point.” She followed Qadir down the corridor and toward the entrance, where the prince was waiting for them.
“I told you I would keep this blade safe. Here, that means carrying it on my person.”
“You think you’ll ever use it? I know it’s hardly an enchanted knife, but—”
“An object’s worth isn’t determined by whether or not it is enchanted.” His lips curled into one of his familiar not-quite smiles. “Besides, I have no doubt this blade will serve me. I just hope the day I must rely on it is far in the future.”
Loulie hoped so too. On the cliffs, Qadir had told her they were a team. And as his comrade, she would do her best to make sure he did not have to use the shamshir. She would rather he carry the blade around as an accessory forever than feel pressed into using it as a last resort. But if he did ever have to use it… she hoped it was as efficient as it was elegant.
When they met the prince at the door, he insisted on accompanying them to the souk. “You saw me work,” he said cheerfully. “It’s only fair I get to see you deal with customers.”
They set up shop in the foreigners’ souk, a small market on an outlying isle where travelers sold goods from all over the world. Because the souk was filled with visiting merchants rather than established ones, there were more stalls than buildings here. Merchants packed and left at a moment’s notice, so the souk was always in flux. As a result, there were always stalls available. It was at one of these unembellished stalls that Loulie began to set up.
She settled into the comfortable routine of eavesdropping while she displayed her relics. Normally, she would have kept her ears out for potential customer leads. Now she found herself listening for news about Ahmed. She wished he were here to see her work; gods knew the last time she’d tried to sell relics in his presence, it had ended in bloodshed. And yet even after the suffering of that night, he had still smiled at her when she left. Had still been able to make her heart flutter with nothing but a flowery promise and a hand kiss.
Tentatively, Loulie probed at a possibility she always tried to dismiss: a future in which she accepted Ahmed’s marriage proposal. She pictured them wandering the desert together, living the adventures they were only ever able to share as stories. She imagined them sleeping together beneath the stars and bantering beneath the sun.
And then she thought of Qadir, and the dream dissipated.
Shame heated her cheeks as she returned her attention to the stall. What was she thinking? It didn’t matter that Ahmed was kind to her. He was still a jinn hunter and a devout believer who would kill Qadir if ever he realized the truth about him.
She suppressed a sigh as she returned to her work. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Prince Mazen wandering the souk, staring in awe at imported goods: intricately patterned glass lanterns from the west, topaz-centric jewelry from the south, eye-shaped charms that warded off evil from an island to the east. His wide-eyed amazement drew her back into the present. He thought those shops were impressive? Wait until he saw hers.
He hadn’t made it far when she announced the opening of her business. A crowd formed immediately, staring at the merchandise with hungry eyes. Loulie felt a profound peace wash over her as she charmed, bartered, and batted her lashes at potential customers. By the time the stall was emptied, she was nearly drunk with euphoria. When the prince approached from the outskirts where he’d been observing, she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“We’re rich!” she cried.
It was true; they had gone from being dirt poor to having enough coins to bathe in. Normally, it would have been a satisfactory amount. Today, it was a small fortune.
The prince shook his head, looking dazed. “Truly?”
Qadir looked up and said, “We’re going to need a bigger bag.”
Loulie grew mournful as she remembered the bag of infinite space, but then brightened at the prospect of having so much of her weight be in gold. They ended up splitting the coin to carry it, and because Loulie was in the mood to celebrate before they set off tomorrow, they purchased entry to one of the entertainment ships winding through the city canals.
It was, in essence, a luxurious floating tavern where patrons drank with abandon and poets and musicians took to the stage to tell scandalous tales and sing lewd tunes. The ship cabin was large but cozy. Tables lay scattered beneath a sea of shisha smoke, occupied by grinning guests who whispered and laughed over expensive drinks. Above the crowds hung dimly lit lanterns that bobbed like sleepy fireflies in the darkness, dappling the walls with warm firelight.
For the first time in months, Loulie forgot herself in that dreamy space. She drank and laughed and savored the fuzzy, pleasant feeling brought on by the alcohol. She marveled at the intricately designed swaying lanterns hanging from the ship’s ceiling and grinned up at the smoking storyteller onstage, who looked as if he were floating on colorful clouds.
“So now you know!” the storyteller cried. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy. “If you cut down a tree without knocking on the roots, you invite a jinn into the world!”
Loulie snorted as the storyteller stumbled from the stage to uproarious applause. He was replaced by a small band of men playing uplifting music. Loulie bobbed her head and reached for her wine, only to find it gone.
“Your lips are stained,” Qadir said. He twirled the glass in his fingers, brows raised.
She grinned. “And yours aren’t stained at all. Give me my wine, dry man.”
When she reached for it, Qadir leaned back and drained the glass. Loulie shoved his shoulder, but she was laughing. The wine made everything so pleasant.
“Dry no longer,” Qadir said as he set down the glass.
Loulie wiggled her brows at him. “I dare you to get absolutely drunk.”
“I dare you to not.” Qadir sighed. “I would rather not have to carry you to the inn.”
“I can walk just fine.” She stood. And swayed. When Qadir reached forward to steady her, she grabbed his hand and leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “Dance with me?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You’re a grumpy old man.” She pried her hand from his and twirled away, into the crowds. At first, she could hear Qadir calling her name, but then his voice was just a thrum beneath the drums.
A current of ululation rippled through the room. Loulie saw women flipping their hair, men clapping their hands. There were a few people at the center, performing a debka line routine. She recognized one of the men. Prince Mazen. He was smiling—he’d been smiling for hours—and twirling across the ship with surprising grace. Midspin, he caught her gaze.
His smile grew brighter as he held out a hand. Loulie did not realize she’d rushed forward to take it until their fingers were pressed together and they were circling each other.
The prince pulled her toward him. “Are we still rich?”
Loulie grinned. “Criminally.”
He laughed, and it was the raw, unchecked laughter of a child. Loulie was awed by him, by this strange man who smiled even when his world was falling apart. He looked at ease here, every bit the handsome, bright-eyed storyteller who’d opened up to her in the souk.
Handsome, ha! It’s a good thing Dahlia isn’t here to suggest marriage.
She gripped his palm. “Please tell me you know how to dance.”