‘So, what is your intention?’ I asked.
The captain didn’t answer right away, pouring himself a glass of wine to match mine, buying himself time to think. ‘Miss Amani,’ he said finally, in a very proper tone of voice that didn’t sound like he was going to answer my question straight. ‘I heard with great interest what you said to good Lord Bilal. But – and I hope you won’t mind me putting this so indelicately – according to our intelligence, the Rebel Prince is dead.’ Ah, damn. I hadn’t exactly meant him to know that part. But it was too late now.
‘Well, your intelligence isn’t all that intelligent then.’
The captain turned his laugh into a polite cough. ‘If our intelligence is indeed flawed … do you truly believe your Rebel Prince can win the throne?’
That was the question, wasn’t it? Did I believe that Ahmed was capable of something his father reasoned he wasn’t? Did I believe that he could be the ruler this country needed, both for his people and against our enemies? When all logic said that a regime change now would doom the desert? But belief was a funny thing, foreign to logic. ‘If I didn’t believe that, it would be an awfully strange thing for me to risk my life trying to save him.’
‘I see.’ Captain Westcroft contemplated. ‘And am I right in understanding you need assistance to rescue him?’ I watched him warily, not sure exactly what he was getting at, but I nodded.
‘You asked me our intentions.’ Captain Westcroft sighed. ‘I don’t know how much you know about the history of Albis, Miss Amani, but we have a mutual enemy.’
‘The Gallan Empire.’ The same enemy that was sitting at the gates of Izman.
‘Yes. We have held off a Gallan invasion for a thousand years because ours is a country founded on magic. I expect you better than anyone understand what Gallan occupation means for … those whose ancestry is not entirely mortal.’ I understood exactly. It meant death for Demdji, for anyone and anything they considered touched by a First Being. It meant our country being bled dry of labour to fuel their crusade against other countries who used magic, and towns like Dustwalk being wrung out for all their worth. It meant soldiers running amok and lawless, killing and raping in my country and turning it into part of their hideous empire.
‘Many fled your country in fear of the Gallan twenty years ago, my wife among them. She and others, they came to us because they knew we were a country that has held fast against the enemy for centuries. When the Gallan army first marched on Albis a thousand years ago, carrying their swords and bows, our first queen raised the very land against them.’ He puffed out air through his moustache. ‘When Gallandie sent an armada against us, our queen swept the ships from the sea with one hand. But blood thins, magic fades and technology advances. That was why our Queen Hilda came to your Sultan so readily to make an alliance during Auranzeb. And he killed her.’
I remembered the night of Auranzeb, the foreign leaders burning at the hands of Abdals, a declaration of independence from all these enemies clamouring at our borders, offering friendship and hiding manacles behind their backs.
They came for an alliance. The Sultan gave them death. I had considered everyone that night enemies of Miraji. But I supposed some were more enemies than others.
‘There are terrible rumours, since Queen Hilda’s death, that the new young queen, her daughter, cannot even light a fire without falling into a dead faint.’
‘And your enemy has matches,’ I said.
‘Precisely. Put magic against swords and magic wins every time. Magic against guns, we stand a fighting chance. But a mortal queen against the might of the Gallan, well …’ He smiled faintly. ‘She has been left with very little choice but to ally or to fall. Young Queen Elinore is crafting a treaty with Gallandie, a marriage alliance with one of their own young princes. If it is ratified, we will fight alongside our oldest enemies against your Sultan. We are waiting here, poised for instructions before we join them.’
I understood suddenly. The notes scribbled in the papers Jin had found in the Sultan’s office – he was waiting until the whole might of our enemies was gathered outside our walls. ‘You’re the reinforcements that the Gallan are waiting for in Izman.’
‘Yes.’ The captain looked faintly embarrassed. ‘There is more of their army coming, too, from Gallandie itself, headed for your northern shores.’ He sounded apologetic. ‘Your city will be surrounded.’
And they might all be annihilated for it. They had no idea what kind of force the Sultan could turn against them. Then again, even the Sultan might not be expecting two ancient enemies to join against him. The Albish magic, with the Gallan’s numbers, might stand a chance at fighting the Abdals.
One way or another, this would be a massacre. And it might be the end of Miraji before we even had a chance to take the throne for Ahmed. We would be a conquered country in the Gallan Empire.
‘However,’ the captain said, stepping into my churning thoughts carefully, ‘before your Rebel Prince was executed, it was made known to some that Queen Hilda might be prepared to offer her support to the Rebel Prince in his bid for the throne.’ Captain Westcroft toyed with one of the gold buttons on his sleeve. ‘If you were amenable, I could send word back to Albis today to find out if the offer of alliance still stands with young Queen Elinore. If perhaps she might prefer it to getting into bed with our enemies. So to speak. We would have word back by tomorrow, I expect.’ That didn’t make any kind of sense to me. Albis was oceans away, far beyond the horizon. They really must have magic that I didn’t wholly understand.
‘So, for an alliance you’d be willing to help us rescue Ahmed?’ He was offering me what we had come to Bilal for: an army. But I hesitated.
I remembered sitting across from the Sultan at the palace, over a duck I’d killed. He was chastising me, saying that the world was not so simple as the Rebellion would like to make it out to be. That Miraji was a country that couldn’t stand on its own. That it would be conquered if it did not ally. He had been toying with me then. But that didn’t mean he was wrong. To help us win our country, they wanted our country. And it wasn’t my country to give away.
But if we didn’t manage to rescue Ahmed, if I left the Albish to ally with the Gallan, it would never be his country either.
Before I could answer, a shout came from outside. There was a commotion in the hall where I’d left the boys and our traitor princess. I was on my feet in a second, the foreign captain close behind me. I wrenched the door open just in time to see an Albish soldier with pale brown curls take a swing at Sam, two of his compatriots looking on.
Amazingly, Sam managed to look sheepish while being punched in the face.
Sam hit the ground bleeding from his nose even as Captain Westcroft barked something that sounded like an order in Albish. The two other soldiers snapped to attention, but the one who’d hit Sam either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He moved as if to hit him again. I stepped to stop him, but Jin was closer. Faster than I could see, he had the soldier by the front of his uniform and slammed him back into the opposite wall. He said something to him in rapid-fire Albish. It sounded like a threat but the other boy didn’t take a swing at Jin. Possibly because Jin stood a head taller than him.
Only then did the soldier seem to notice his captain. He straightened quickly, even though he was wedged against a wall, and did his best to smooth down a uniform that was still twisted in Jin’s fists.
The captain said something in Albish that I could only guess was, What the hell is going on here? I wanted to know the same thing. Jin finally let the soldier go and reached down a hand to help up Sam, who was still lying on the floor, looking stunned.
‘I’m fine,’ Sam said, staggering to his feet. ‘I’ve just never been hit in the face before.’