‘Your hands are covered in gunpowder.’ He sounded different now, drawing away as I glanced down. Black powder was buried in the creases of my palms. A part of me wanted to draw him back, to dust off my palms and promise to explain later. To put the Rebellion aside for one night. But Jin was already on his feet, lighting the lamp by the side of his bed so he could see me clearly.
‘Does this have anything to do with why I heard gunfire earlier?’ he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a safe distance between us, putting us back on solid ground, where there was a war happening. I was going to have to explain.
I sketched it out for him as quickly as I could, explaining the offer the captain had made. The price of it. What I’d decided. And my plan.
By the time I was done, Jin was watching me grimly. ‘Amani …’ He hesitated, lingering on my name like he didn’t know where to start. He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, an anxious gesture. ‘You’re seriously considering turning down an army?’
‘I’m not considering it,’ I said, my knees drawn up to my chest. I was leaning against the wall under the open window, and the cool night air spread gooseflesh along my neck. ‘I’ve decided.’
‘An army is what we came here for. And now suddenly you don’t think that’s important?’
‘I don’t think it’s worth trading an entire country for,’ I argued. ‘Or Sam’s life.’
‘We don’t even have a country to trade.’ Jin leaned forwards. ‘Don’t you think we maybe ought to win the throne before we decide it’s under threat, Bandit?’
‘It is under threat.’ I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but I didn’t like his reasoning, cajoling tone. I dropped to a whisper, remembering the soldiers outside. ‘And making alliances with foreigners is how your father wound up in this mess in the first place.’
Jin’s mouth pressed into an angry line. He hated being reminded that the Sultan was his father. I knew that. Because I knew him. I’d done it deliberately, to needle him. ‘You didn’t have a problem letting Hala die for the Rebellion,’ he retorted. Now that was more than a needle. ‘How is Sam different?’
‘Sam doesn’t have to die.’ I clenched my jaw angrily. I didn’t like what he was implying: that I was being governed by feelings instead of reason. That I hadn’t cared about Hala.
‘Hala didn’t either.’
‘No,’ I snapped as quietly as I could. ‘You’re right. I could’ve just left her to be tortured and manipulated by the Sultan. Then would you be questioning my reasons for wanting to save one of our own?’
‘You know that’s not what I—’ he started to interject, but I was done letting him talk.
‘Maybe this would be a whole lot easier for you if I were still the same selfish girl you met in Dustwalk, the one who left people behind to die because it benefited her in some way. But you’re alive right now because I’m not that girl. And you’re—’ And you’re in love with me because I’m not that girl any more. I’d been about to say that, but the words stumbled on my tongue. ‘We’re here … together because I’m not that girl any more.’ I tried to glide over the hesitation, though the slight rise of his brow told me he’d caught it. ‘And if Sam doesn’t have to die, then I’m not going to let him just because it’s easier. I can’t have another body in this war before we’ve even got to the real fight. Not unless I have to.’
We sat at opposing ends of the room, neither of us moving, gazes locked, muscles tensing as though we might be ready for battle.
Normally, this would be the part when one of us stormed out into the desert until we cooled off. But there was a guard outside the door, and even if he had let me out, I’d have a hard time explaining how I got back here – and into someone else’s room, no less.
We were trapped together. And I might not be as selfish as I used to be, but I was still just as stubborn. I wasn’t going to be the one to break.
After an excruciating stretch of silence, Jin finally spoke.
‘It’s my family, Amani,’ he said more quietly. ‘My brother. My sister. That’s whose lives you’re playing with.’
I could hear the pain in that voice. There was nothing in this world Jin cared about more than his family. He would die to save them, in a heartbeat.
‘My country,’ I argued. Jin had grown up over the sea, in his mother’s country. He might be half-Mirajin, but he was more foreign. ‘My decision.’ I stood firm. ‘I’m not asking for your help,’ I said. ‘I’m telling you what we’re going to do.’ That thought crept up on me again. Who did I think I was to be giving orders to a prince? To someone who had been in this rebellion longer than I had? To Jin, who I would never take an order from myself if he tried? Who was I to be leading us all down an uncertain road and acting like I was sure of it?
‘Then you ought to get some sleep,’ Jin said finally, breaking the silence. ‘There’s a lot to do tomorrow.’
He wasn’t wrong, but there was no getting back to my room, what with the soldier in the hall. I reckoned I could sleep well enough on the floor. But Jin shifted over on the bed, making room for me, even if he was staring at the ceiling.
I thought about arguing. But I was tired. God, I was tired – tired of fighting, of running, of arguing. And that soft bed looked tempting as sin. I settled on the bed as carefully as if it were made of glass, positioning myself so that my back was turned to Jin, so I was staring at the window, waiting for sunrise, the argument firmly lodged between us.
I was drifting between sleep and wakefulness when I felt Jin’s hand on my face. I heard him speak, low enough that I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.
‘You’re wrong, you know. I’m not with you because of who you became. I fell in love with you when I was bleeding under a counter at the dead end of the desert and you saved my life. Back when we were both who we used to be.’
I woke up with my head fitted in the place between his chin and his tattoo, one of his arms draped over me, his hand curled into the fabric of my shirt.
Chapter 15
The blue light of dawn in the mountains made Sam look even paler than he usually did as he stumbled the last few steps to the top of the ramparts that overlooked the sheer drop of the cliff, hands shackled in iron. His golden hair was tousled from lack of sleep, and the skin below his eyes was bruise dark. Soldiers held him up on either side.
The wall was lined with army men come to watch the spectacle: the deserter too cowardly to fight for his own country, being marched to his execution.
I wrapped my hands around my arms. It was cooler in the mountains than I was used to. Sam’s eyes darted my way, and then they drifted beyond me, looking for the others. He wouldn’t find them. It was just me on those walls, among the lines of soldiers in green uniforms that clashed with the sky and stones around them.
Sam’s mouth pulled up wanly at the corners when he realised. I’d come alone. ‘I guess it is a pretty uncivilised hour for an execution,’ he said, as he was jostled past me. ‘Can’t expect everyone to be out of bed.’ He was out of earshot before I could say anything back.