And so an election was held.
Nobody was surprised when Ahmed won. We had declared that anyone could put themselves forward as a contender for the throne. Several of the Sultan’s other sons had stepped up against Ahmed, along with one or two of the emirs. A dozen men against Ahmed in all. We spread the word around the whole country, sending out the men and women we trusted most to collect votes from every city, town and tiny village. In some places where they couldn’t read or write, they had to vote with objects instead of names. It was a strange collection that was brought back to Izman to be counted: names scrawled on paper by the hundreds next to bags of coloured stones and pieces of painted wood. But in the end it was easy to know the outcome. We were Demdji – after we counted, when we said that the most votes had been cast for Ahmed, it was true. We didn’t make mistakes.
Ahmed was elected the leader of Miraji for the next decade. Long enough to build the country he had promised, but not so long that power might corrupt him.
*
In the garden, men and women milled around in spectacularly coloured clothes. They were people whom Ahmed needed to support his rule now. Emirs and their wives and children, Rahim of Iliaz and Haytham of Tiamat among them, setting a good example for others to follow. Though we knew there were already mutters of dissent behind Ahmed’s back. Captains who were now serving under a general both younger and more female than any among them, who needed to be wooed into obedience. General Hamad had stepped down in favour of his daughter. He was growing older and had fought two great wars. Seen two Sultans die. One of whom he had betrayed. Ahmed was arranging for him to be paid a handsome retirement. He said that it was a rare privilege to retire instead of die on the battlefield. And it was time for a new generation to rule.
Shazad had started to change things already. One of the garrisons had been set aside for women, and it was filling up slowly. Many of the new female soldiers were rebels who had fought with us in the battle of Izman and decided not to go home. But a few were new recruits, trickling in from the city, a few even from Sara’s Hidden House. The captains would not accept their new general or their new recruits overnight. But they weren’t exactly being given a choice. The world was changing; they would have to change with it.
We had won the war, but we all knew there were still a thousand little fights like this waiting for us. But tonight, there were laughing voices drifting through the garden on the cooling night air, and there was good wine. And for a few hours, there was rest.
I lingered at the edge of the celebration, unnoticed in the shadows as I scanned the crowd, looking for Jin. But another brother found me first.
‘A different celebration than we had last year,’ Ahmed said, appearing at my elbow from inside the palace. At least I wasn’t the only one running late.
‘You could say that.’ Last Shihabian we had been in the Dev’s Valley. In hiding. Without a kingdom. Without a single real victory. Without so many deaths. Last Shihabian we had been surrounded by a whole lot of people who were now just dust in the desert.
Ahmed was wearing a black kurta with gold braiding. His hair was carefully combed back, making him seem older than his nineteen years. He looked every inch a ruler.
Since the election last month, he’d spent all day, every day locked in some meeting or other, untangling the country he’d won. I was in some of the meetings, but not all. Today Rahim and Ahmed had conferred to decide what to do with our traitor princess, who was still imprisoned in Iliaz. The rest of us had made ourselves scarce. No one wanted to be called on to take sides over whether to treat her like a sister or an enemy.
‘Any decision?’ I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I entirely wanted to know.
But Ahmed just shook his head gravely. ‘We’re still at odds. Executing Leyla is what my father would have done. Shazad says we should make an example of her. Rahim wants me to spare her any grave punishment, of course. Though she hasn’t so much as spoken to him since …’ He trailed off and ran his thumb along the rim of the glass. ‘He brought more news of her from Iliaz. She’s carrying a child.’
Bilal’s, I realised. I wouldn’t put it past Leyla to have planned this, too. As a way to keep herself alive. She had to guess that Ahmed would struggle to deprive a child of its mother, no matter what her crimes. Not after the Sultan had taken Ahmed and Delila’s mother from them.
‘I don’t know.’ Ahmed sighed, casting his gaze over the party as we lingered on the outskirts for a few moments longer. The light and noise lapped out of the party, just barely brushing at us, inviting us in. ‘I don’t think there’s any possible victory against her. I’m beginning to understand my father better after his death. Making choices that he would be hated for because the alternative was worse.’
‘You’re not like your father,’ I replied, leaning against the cool stone palace wall. But he wasn’t wrong. If he killed Leyla, some would call him cruel and some would call him just. If he imprisoned her, some would call him weak and some would call him kind.
‘What would you do?’ Ahmed asked, catching me off guard.
‘To Leyla?’ I asked. ‘There’s a whole lot of things I can think of, but I hear you’re supposed to be nice to pregnant girls.’
Ahmed smiled, but he didn’t give way either. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’ He tapped the golden medallion around my neck. ‘I gave you the post of advisor for a reason. I want you to advise me.’
‘I’d exile her.’ It slipped out before I could think. But as soon as I’d said it I knew I meant it. Enough people had died in this war. Too many. And all to build this: a better place. A new dawn. A new desert. ‘Send her to Albis,’ I said, the idea getting clearer in my mind. ‘Or back to her mother’s homeland in Gamanix. Just make it clear that she can’t ever set foot in the desert again. Send the message to everyone that the worst punishment for treason isn’t death, it’s living somewhere other than the great country that you will build. It’s what I’d be most afraid of, having to leave my home.’ Ahmed regarded me, a faint smile playing over his mouth. ‘What?’ I asked defensively.
‘Nothing. Just … it would have been an unbelievable waste to us all if you had spent your life stuck in that town at the end of the desert.’ He offered me his arm. It was time for us to wade into Shihabian.
‘Don’t worry.’ I looped my arm through his, like I’d seen Shazad do at polite occasions. ‘Even if I was still stuck there, I would’ve voted for you.’
We walked into the celebration together.
Full dark came at midnight, as it always did. Snuffing out the fire. The moon. The stars. For just that moment, it was like being dead all over again in those vaults. Total darkness. And then Jin’s hand found mine. Reminding me that we were alive. That we were just a flicker of flame in a very long night. But we were here now.
Maybe Jin was right, down in the vaults on the day of the battle for Izman. Maybe there was nothing after this life. Maybe he and I would just be dust, forever searching for each other in the wind. But that wouldn’t be all we were. We would be stories long after we were gone. Imperfect, inaccurate stories. Stories that could never even come close to reality.
I had already started to hear the tale of how Jin and I were saved from death by the grace of the Djinn, who were so moved by our great love that they fed us flames until our bodies reignited.