The first Omar—Real or an illusion?—rushed at them with his blade. There was a shriek of metal as Aisha held up her sword just in time to catch the attack. “I’ll be relieving you of the king’s relic now, Aisha.” Omar slid the dagger off her sword, aimed it at her heart.
Aisha retaliated with a slash, but Omar disappeared before it landed.
He reappeared behind her. Aisha turned.
And Omar buried the knife in her chest.
No! Mazen pushed his brother away. He had let Aisha die once. How could he—
Aisha grinned, baring crimson-coated teeth. Both of her eyes were black as midnight. “You’ll have to try harder than that, jinn killer.”
She snapped her fingers, and the corpse that had been Tawil reached out and gripped Omar’s ankle. For the first time in his life, Mazen saw fear on Omar’s face. Then the corpse pulled and Omar fell, the lamp tumbling from his hands and to the ground. A heartbeat later it was in Loulie’s hands. She turned and ran toward Qadir.
Mazen chased after her.
Qadir and Rijah fought in a raging storm, the winds around them as much a barrier as a cage. Loulie stood helplessly at the edge, starry robes billowing in the gust. Before she could protest, Mazen stole her knife and sliced his palm.
Understanding lit her eyes. She handed him the lamp.
The moment he pressed his bloodied palm to the surface, he felt it: power, thrumming beneath his skin. Hundreds of years ago, his ancestor had tricked an ifrit into enchanting this object for him. His father had warned Loulie that the relic worked only for ones who shared his blood. That was why Omar had been able to use the lamp, and why the sultan had never feared Loulie using it against him.
“Rijah!” Mazen yelled into the storm. “You are bound to me and you will serve me!” He held up the lamp. “Stop!”
The winds ceased. The moment the storm cleared, Loulie rushed toward Qadir and threw her arms around his neck. For a few moments, Rijah simply stood, watching them. Then they stepped forward and, midstride, transformed from a shadow into a woman with sharp, angular features and a crown of braids atop their head. When Mazen approached, they stomped toward him.
“Human.” Their turquoise eyes sparkled. “I’m going to rip out your throat.” Mazen found himself stupidly holding the lamp up like a shield. “You think I, the mightiest of jinn, will abide your abuse? You think I—”
“Rijah.” The ifrit stopped at the sound of Qadir’s voice. “He is a friend, not an enemy.”
Rijah glared at Mazen with a vehemence so intense Mazen half feared they would set him on fire. Instead, they turned and said, “Who, then? Introduce me so that I may kill them.”
“There,” Qadir said. He raised an arm and pointed at Omar, who was fighting Aisha and her reanimated corpse. Then he pointed to a human-shaped smudge approaching from the east. “And there…” Mazen followed his gaze to the west, to another shadow. There were figures approaching from all directions.
Mazen failed to comprehend where they were coming from—the strange room was so massive he could perceive no walls nor doorways.
“Reinforcements?” Loulie’s face was pale.
From here, all Mazen could make out was their black attire and the glint of hidden weapons. If what Omar had said was true, then it was possible they were jinn. Or thieves. Or both. “They can’t just be my brother’s thieves,” Mazen murmured. “There’s too many of them.”
Loulie grimaced. “But how? Has your brother been hiding this force all along? How did they get here?”
When she looked at him expectantly, Mazen just shook his head helplessly. The sultan had said there were multiple paths beneath the Sandsea, but Mazen did not know which Omar had used. His brother’s business had always been a secret; Mazen had no idea where to even begin unraveling his plans.
The jinn of the lamp strode past him, cracking their knuckles. “It does not matter if there is one or one thousand. I will burn them all to the ground.” They cast a look over their shoulder. Mazen shrank back at the violence in their eyes. “You may be able to command me, idiot human, but if you get in my way, I will murder you.”
Mazen blinked. He stared down at the lamp. An ifrit—his to command? It was a dizzying thought. One that had not quite sunk in.
The merchant reached out and stole her dagger back, startling him from his reverie. She looked at her bodyguard. “Qadir, fire?”
The blade obediently burst into flame, but Qadir looked wary. “What are you doing?”
Loulie scoffed. “Killing a sultan killer.” The words brought Mazen back to the present. He breathed in as Loulie rushed past him, Qadir limping after her. Rijah rushed to offer a hand, turning their back on Mazen and making it clear they would not wait for orders.
“How can I help?” he heard Rijah say.
“I do not deserve your help,” came Qadir’s weak response.
Loulie sighed. “But we could use it. If you’re the mightiest of jinn, prove it.”
She and the ifrit kept throwing heated words at each other until Qadir made them concede to watch each other’s backs. And then they headed into the battle, leaving him behind.
Mazen wanted to follow after them, but his body refused his commands. “I…” He felt eyes on him and looked up to see Omar. Omar, who had escaped his battle with Aisha by leaving her to deal with his reinforcements. Omar, who stared at him blankly from a distance, fingers brushing his ear.
Again, Mazen saw that strange, muted glow coming from Omar’s earring.
And then the world seemed to shudder. And break. The pale sand faded, the thieves disappeared, and everything fell into a darkness so complete Mazen had the distinct feeling he’d been plucked from the world like a thread torn from a tapestry. When his mind finally caught up to reality, he was no longer standing in darkness.
Mazen was in his mother’s chambers. At first, he was confused. Why am I here? But then he remembered: he was delivering a message from his father. “Uma?”
His mother lay on her bed, unmoving. He called her again, softly. When she did not answer, he drew close enough to peer at her face. Her eyes were open.
He drew back, heart beating in his throat. That was when the dread began to set in, when he realized her eyes were unseeing. He saw the blood staining her skin and the knife protruding from her chest, where a crimson stain was spreading.
He stumbled away from the bed, the body. He realized he was screaming. He heard footsteps, cries from the soldiers outside, but their voices were distant, unimportant. Mazen fell against the doorway, heaving, eyesight blurring, and—
He entered his mother’s chambers.
Again? He blinked.
His mother lay on her bed, unmoving. He hesitated. “Uma?” He took one step into the room before freezing, caught off guard when someone stepped past him. Omar.
“Omar!” he hissed. “Can you not see she is sleeping?”
But Omar was not listening. He paused in front of the bed, a vacant expression on his face. And then: a flicker of motion. A glimmer of silver up his sleeve. Mazen’s mother shifted, eyes twitching beneath the weight of sleep. Mazen reached out toward her. No. Omar’s knife came down. No!
Her eyes shot open with her pained gasp. A shudder racked her body as she looked at Omar. Her lips moved, forming soundless words. Omar leaned close enough for his lips to brush her ear and said, “The sultan stole my mother from me. Now I shall steal you from him.”
He stepped away and tore at the blankets, replicating a struggle. He sparked a match and singed the curtains, creating evidence of a nonexistent jinn fire. Then he escaped out the window without looking back. The sultan had claimed Mazen’s mother was killed by a jinn.
He had died without knowing the truth.