She turned to Qadir. “What happened after the takeover?”
Qadir’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “The prince fled. Rumors say that the sultan’s council has assumed control of the city until Omar returns. If what Prince Mazen says is true, then the current army is probably being led by Omar’s thieves.”
Loulie frowned. “If Omar hasn’t gone back, then…”
“He’s searching for ifrit magic,” the prince said.
Qadir sighed. “Then he will be looking for the lamp. I doubt Aisha bint Louas came all this way just to keep you from returning to the city.”
The prince flinched at that but said nothing.
Loulie crossed her arms. “Well. At least we know why your brother sent you on this journey, Prince.”
“He deserves to die,” the prince said quietly. There was an unnatural stoniness to his expression as he said the words, a deadly calm that was so unlike him it made her cringe. He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes and said, “There’s no need to call me Prince anymore.” He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared blankly into the fire.
Loulie frowned. “Do you mean that? About your brother? Because I don’t want you to object when I stick a blade through his throat.”
“I’d kill him myself. But I…” He shook his head, swallowed. “Why should I stay? You’re no longer obligated to drag me along. You don’t even need to look for the lamp.”
She bristled at the morose look on his face. At the defeated slump of his shoulders.
“Loulie and I were trapped the moment your father forced us into this quest, bin Malik,” Qadir said, voice gentle. “We do not have the luxury of running, even now. Your brother will eventually find his way to the lamp, and I do not intend to let him take one of my old comrades.”
“You could join us,” Loulie said. “We’re probably the only ones in the desert who won’t turn you in for the reward.”
Mazen eyed her warily. “How will you find the lamp? You don’t even know where it is.”
Loulie scoffed. “You’re forgetting we have Qadir, who can burn holes in the sand.”
Qadir held up the compass. “And a compass that can locate anything.”
The compass and Qadir. She had never thought it would be so simple. Once, Qadir had told her the sultan underestimated them. She could still remember her response: He’ll regret threatening us.
Now she made another promise. “We’ll make your brother regret this. I swear it.”
Their enemy had changed, but their goal was the same: find the lamp, outwit a corrupt noble. Loulie was going to make Prince Omar suffer. She had lost everything because of him. Now she would take everything from him. She would destroy him so thoroughly not even ashes remained.
She stood and held out a hand.
And after a few long moments, Mazen took it.
“Come.” Qadir faced the desert with a grim smile. “The lamp awaits.”
62
AISHA
Aisha had been a killer for many years, but only now did she feel like a criminal, waiting for Omar at the rendezvous point Tawil had specified. She sat in a cave at the outskirts of the Sandsea, staring into the sunset. The sky looked like it was on fire, the clouds wisps of smoke.
“Why haven’t you stopped me yet?” she whispered to the air.
The ifrit shifted somewhere in her mind. Because I made a deal with you.
Aisha scoffed. “A terrible deal. A jinn killer and a jinn cannot coexist.”
Silence. But then a soft chuckle. I never make bad deals.
Aisha opened her mouth to protest but then decided it wasn’t worth it. She’d grown accustomed to the ifrit’s nonanswers. She dug her heels into the sand with a sigh as she watched the horizon, waiting for the familiar shadow of her king. She wondered what form he would take.
When the undead voices started murmuring into the quiet, Aisha spoke again, asking a question that had been on her mind for a long time. “You can revive people from the dead. So why did you not ‘become one’ with Munaqid?”
Because he, unlike you, had already passed on. Had I brought him back, he would have been mindless as a ghoul. Aisha took a deep, shuddering breath. That is why I let his tribesmen dismember my body. Because without Munaqid, I was lost.
“And now?” Aisha said.
I have found you, and we are lost together.
Aisha did not know how to respond, so she said nothing. She had felt the ifrit’s loss in her memories. She could not deny they had both suffered at the hands of murderers—jinn and human alike. She tried not to ponder that blurred line too deeply. If she started thinking about crimes caused by humans—senseless crimes like the slaughter of Loulie al-Nazari’s tribe—she would start questioning everything about her sense of justice.
And she could not afford to question things, not now.
She squinted at a blur of motion on the horizon and blinked a few times to make sure she was not seeing things. But no, there was the shadow. As it drew closer, Aisha saw it was Tawil riding toward her. A falcon rested on his shoulder, but the moment he stopped at the cave, the bird flitted to the ground. It plucked at the bangle hanging from its leg, and then it transformed into a man. A man Aisha respected. A man she feared.
Instinctually, she got down on one knee and dipped her head.
“What’s this? You know better than to bow to me, Aisha. Rise.” When she looked up, Prince Omar was smiling at her. He hardly looked like royalty in his simple tunic and pants. But he did look the part of a thief with the belt of daggers around his waist.
“Are you not the sultan now? I ought to show you the proper respect.”
Omar laughed. “How can I be sultan when I am journeying with the Midnight Merchant?” His eyes glittered with mirth. “No, it will be weeks before the honor passes to me.”
Aisha rose to her feet. Normally, she could look Omar in the eye without batting a lash. Now she found it difficult to hold his gaze. “I… lost the bangle,” she murmured.
Omar held up his relic. “A small sacrifice. I have its twin. Besides.” He stepped forward, that easygoing smile on his face as he reached toward her. “Junaid and Tawil told me you have something far more valuable.” He pushed away her scarf. Aisha was aware of the coolness of the collar around her throat.
Omar touched a finger to the relic.
Aisha became inexplicably, violently sick. The world blurred. She closed her eyes with a hiss. No, the Resurrectionist said. Look.
Aisha forced her eyes open.
And saw a phantom. A beautiful woman with soft brown eyes stood behind Omar, watching Aisha over his shoulder. Aisha did not know her, and yet she recognized her.
Once, they had been friends. While they both dealt in memories, Aisha—the Resurrectionist—had been death, and this woman’s magic had been life. I love humans, she’d once said. They are the gods’ creatures, same as us, so why should we harm them?
Because they seek to destroy us, the Resurrectionist had replied.
But her friend, ever the pacifist, had refused to believe this. They only fear us because we are more powerful. If we show them we are equals, they will not harm us.
And they had tried. Their king had tried. But the humans had abused his kindness. They had slaughtered jinn and stolen relics, and still Aisha’s friend had said, I do not believe they are irredeemable. Those had been the last words she spoke to her before their world sank and she disappeared forever. Later, the Resurrectionist felt her friend’s death from a distance. But she had never known where or what her relic was.
Aisha stared. The ifrit—the Mystic, she had once been called—smiled at her sadly.
And then she was gone, dissipated into thin air as Omar drew his hand away. “Have you heard a single thing I’ve said, Aisha?”
She swallowed. “Yes. I was just… distracted by the voices.”
Omar raised a brow. “Voices?”
“The dead,” Aisha clarified. “The relic lets me hear their voices.”