Bilal was the same age as Rahim. They had grown up together, both raised by Bilal’s father, as brothers. Both of them were still shy of two decades. But now, with the illness destroying him, Bilal looked as if he might be ninety rather than nineteen.
To his right sat a man in an Albish uniform more elaborate than those of the younger men who’d brought us here. He didn’t have vines all over his uniform, but there were gold tassels on his shoulders and gold buttons that marked him apart. I guessed he was their general or captain. He seemed to be suffering in the heat, his pale face slightly flushed. His hair was a reddish colour, one I’d only ever seen before on foxes, and a carefully trimmed moustache adorned his upper lip. He was shifting uncomfortably on the pillow next to the low table, as if he’d prefer a chair. He wouldn’t find one here.
I guessed this was the outer receiving chamber of Bilal’s set of rooms, but it didn’t look like it was really meant to receive anyone. It reminded me of Tamid’s room back in the Hidden House, crowded with tables, stacked up with books and jars of powders labelled in a language I didn’t know.
‘Amani,’ Bilal greeted me. At least he was calling me by my name instead of Demdji. ‘Please –’ he waved one thin hand at the meal laid out around the table – ‘do join me and Captain Westcroft.’ I didn’t move, glancing from Bilal to the Albish officer at his right. ‘I should get to know my bride, after all.’
There was no mistaking that Bilal was closer to the end than he’d been a mere month ago in Izman, when he’d issued his ultimatum to us. He’d wanted a Demdji wife to tie his life to, in order to keep that life going. So it figured Bilal thought he knew why I was here.
I didn’t sit. ‘I’m not here to marry you.’
The servant to Bilal’s left flinched. I didn’t blame him. I waited for Bilal’s anger. I remembered Prince Kadir’s barely restrained violence when he’d been told he couldn’t have me. Men raised in privilege were not accustomed to being refused. But Bilal simply dropped his shaking hand to his plate, then smoothed out a crease in the cloth draped over the table, buying himself time to compose his features
‘Well, then, to what do I owe the dubious honour of this visit?’ He was thinner than he’d been when he left Izman, and his eyes looked sunken with pain and lack of sleep. But that imperious look hadn’t left him. Even now, on the edge of death, he wasn’t going to admit defeat.
I glanced at the Albish soldier to his right again, who was still watching me. ‘Don’t trouble yourself.’ Bilal waved a hand. ‘The captain here doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying, and I will instruct Anwar not to enlighten him.’ He motioned to the soldier standing between the two of them. ‘Anwar’s Albish is as flawed as any man’s who learned it from a woman.’ The soldier, Anwar, looked embarrassed as his emir said this, but he held his tongue. ‘But it’s passable for our present purposes. And it’s the best we have at the moment.’
The Albish captain was watching me with an air of studied blankness I didn’t entirely trust, but I turned my attention back to Bilal all the same.
‘I came here with a warning.’ I tried to hold myself with the same easy authority Shazad had when she was talking, like I held the upper hand here, not him. Me with my four rebels and two reluctant tagalongs on the run. Him with a fortress and an army and an arsenal. ‘And an offer.’
Bilal inclined his head. ‘I’ll take the warning first, I suppose. It couldn’t get much worse.’
‘The Sultan knows that you met with Ahmed before leaving the city.’ I reached into my pocket, pulling out a piece of paper, one of the letters that Jin had stolen from the palace. I passed it to the servant, who handed it down to Bilal, holding it open for him to read. ‘Our exalted ruler knows you’re a traitor. After he deals with the foreign threat at his gates –’ my eyes flicked hesitantly towards the fox-haired captain – ‘you’re his next target.’
Bilal didn’t look unduly distressed by this as he scanned the paper in the servant’s hands. After all, Iliaz was supposed to be the impregnable city, the fortress that guarded one of the only passages between western and eastern Miraji. The ultimate strategic land, according to Shazad.
‘And your offer?’ He sounded bored as he flicked two fingers at the servant, dismissing him and the letter that spelled out his destruction as if it was nothing. The servant carefully set the paper aside on one of the tables that was already overflowing with scraps and scribbles. ‘Well?’ he prompted when I didn’t speak right away.
My eyes darted again to the others in this room before I spoke. ‘My offer is that if you help us rescue Rahim’ – Anwar, the soldier at Bilal’s side, snapped to attention at the mention of Rahim; the mere sound of his captain’s name seemed to straighten his spine – ‘and Ahmed, we will do our best to take the throne from the Sultan and make sure the ruler of this country isn’t someone who wants to kill you.’
Mention of Rahim didn’t seem to do as much to get Bilal’s attention as it had Anwar’s. I’d figured Bilal must be something close to a brother to him. That Bilal would care that Rahim was going to die if we didn’t rescue him.
But Bilal just spread his hands wide, indicating the man at his side in the Albish uniform. ‘Does it look to you as if I’m trying to hide my treason, Amani? What kind of ruler would I be if I wasn’t prepared to face the consequences of it?’
‘Maybe one who doesn’t care about consequences because he’s a dead man anyway.’ The words were out before I could decide whether or not I ought to say them. I could swear that I saw the Albish soldier’s eyebrows rise just a little at the unchecked words. But Bilal let out a sharp laugh that turned quickly into a cough. It racked painfully through his worn body, seeming to rattle his very bones. The servant stepped forward, but Bilal waved him off quickly, composing himself.
‘You think I’d throw our country to the dogs out of spite?’
My eyes flicked to the Albish captain to see whether he had any reaction to his army being called dogs. But his face was studied blankness again. ‘I think what you’re treating like an alliance looks a lot like an invasion.’
‘Invasions don’t usually come with an invitation.’ Bilal smoothed his hand over the table again, a tic he couldn’t seem to help, trying to hide his shaking hands. ‘Though I appreciate that with those two words sounding so similar, it might be confusing to simpler folk.’
I tried to ignore the flash of shame as his voice took on a mocking twinge of my thick accent on the last handful of words. Like I was stupid just because I didn’t talk like he did.
‘A breach was inevitable, Amani.’ Bilal’s words took on a patronising tone now. ‘The Sultan’s army at our western border is in shambles. The rumor is that General Hamad has gone missing and they are without leadership.’ General Hamad. That was Shazad’s father. Missing, he said. Not dead. Shazad’s father must have escaped the Sultan’s attempt to apprehend him after his daughter’s treason. ‘Without a decent line of defense, it was easy for my new friends to walk into the desert from Amonpour. Our ruler is struggling to hold onto this country, Amani. You really think he has the resources to come after me for my choice of allies?’ He sounded so smug, sitting up here in his fortress. But I had just come from Izman and I knew better than to underestimate the Sultan.