I tracked the barrel of my gun along from Noorsham, through the soldiers. There were a few dozen of them. And there was Naguib.
My finger tightened on the trigger.
“Not even you can make that shot, Bandit.” Jin’s voice in my ear eased my finger off the trigger. “He’s still out of range.” As soon as my finger was away from the metal of the trigger, the terrifying, dizzying sensation of having an entire desert at my fingertips, ready to rip out of control, rushed back. My powers were still too much of a liability, Shazad had declared in the end. I didn’t know enough about what I was doing to be any kind of help as a Demdji just yet.
I let out a long breath. Just as I did, Noorsham’s head swiveled, swinging up toward us. I could swear he looked straight at our hiding place. Next to me, Shazad sucked in a breath.
He couldn’t see us, I reminded myself.
Hala was making sure of that. She lay on the rock next to me, eyes closed. I could see the strain in her face that holding on to every soldier’s mind at once took. Fixing an illusion there so that all they saw when they looked to the cliffs above Fahali was an empty mountain.
As Noorsham’s head tipped up I saw the flash of skin where the bronze mask didn’t quite meet the armor at his throat. It was a harder shot than a glass bottle in a pistol pit at the other end of the desert. I was just praying it wasn’t a shot I was going to have to take.
The plan was simple. Use Hala’s illusions to draw Noorsham away from his little army and into revealing the Sultan’s treachery to the Gallan. Then kill Noorsham and run, leaving Naguib and General Dumas to face each other.
Simple as saving an entire city of Mirajin and destroying a two-decade-old foreign treaty. Simple as murdering my brother. Killing Noorsham was the hard part. I was glad it belonged to Izz. I only had the gun in case he failed. In case I got a clear shot.
General Dumas had said it himself. He had a long history of killing folks with royal blood. It just wouldn’t be the prince he’d thought.
Without Noorsham, Naguib had nothing to face the Gallan army with, a small rabble of Miraji soldiers against the general’s troops. He would be killed, or captured. And one way or another, from the death of a Miraji prince or the betrayal of the Sultan, there would be war.
I only had the gun in case I got the chance to kill my brother.
No. I stopped that thought. Jin was right. Family and blood weren’t the same. I might not want to see Noorsham die, but this was a war. What I wanted didn’t matter.
My heart pounded between my backbone and the rock I was flattened against as Naguib’s small army advanced toward Fahali.
Next to me, Jin was frowning at something in his hand. Craning over, I realized he was holding the beat-up brass compass. The needle was swinging frantically. The way I’d only seen it do once, when the two were close together for the first time.
“Why’s it doing that?” I whispered. The army was close now, close enough that anything louder might carry down the canyon.
“It means Ahmed is on the move. Only there’s no reason Ahmed ought to know what we’re doing.”
“Delila told him,” I realized aloud. She’d told me how she used to lie awake at night, trying to say out loud that Jin was alive. That he was safe. That he would be home soon. That it would only come out if it were the truth. We were in enough trouble that one of those wasn’t true. And Ahmed was coming to find us.
“We have to get out of here before Ahmed can reach us.” Jin shoved the compass into his pocket. I had a sudden surge of resentment from nowhere. That he got to keep his brother alive while I was aiming a gun at mine.
“Hala,” Shazad ordered. “Now.”
“Oh, it’s that easy, is it?” Hala said sarcastically. But she sucked in a breath all the same and then twisted three dozen minds to see the same thing.
We shared the illusion with all of Naguib’s men that the gates of the city were swinging open, letting out a dozen men in Gallan uniforms. All I could see was the tops of their uniform caps as I craned over the edge of the canyon and watched them ride toward Naguib’s army, their horses kicking up sand.
They weren’t real. But they were enough to fool anyone who didn’t know. To confuse the real Gallan soldiers. Who I could now see climbing onto the city’s walls. Looking over the soldiers they thought were their allies, riding toward illusions.
Naguib leaned forward and said something to his weapon. Noorsham dismounted and started walking out to meet the Gallan soldiers. A safe enough distance that he wouldn’t burn up his own side with the enemy.
Almost there. Another step. He raised his hands. Almost. Almost.
The heat struck like a physical blow. I could feel it, even perched above the illusion. I swayed back; everyone else did, too. The first thing I saw was the sand turning black at his feet. The second thing was the illusion of the Gallan soldiers screaming. Screaming like Bahi had screamed. Screams planted in Naguib’s army’s mind by Hala. Even as she filled the air with the smell of burning.
Noorsham advanced.
A few more steps. My heart hammered.
His hands were raised, like he was blessing them.
And another step.
The heat swept across the sand and hit the walls of the city. Hit the real Gallan soldiers. Suddenly the screams turned real. The smell of burning snagged the corner of Hala’s attention. Not long, but enough. Enough for the illusion to waver.
One of the soldiers called something out, pointing straight at us, as our invisibility slipped. Guns swiveled toward us. I rolled away from the edge of the canyon a moment before the first bullet clipped the stone. I was on my feet, pistol back up.
High above, Izz screeched. The illusion vanished altogether, a second before Izz crashed down from the sky into Noorsham. The small bronze figure slammed into the ground as Izz transformed into a giant ape. I turned my head away. I didn’t want to see Izz’s fist crunch through copper and skull.
“Izz!” Hala’s cry drew my eyes back.
Noorsham was rising to his feet. Izz was still on the sand, turned back to a boy. For a second I though he was dead, and then he rolled. My own skin stung at the sight of the angry red burn mark across his neck.
Noorsham raised his hand over Izz’s head.
I shouted his name.
It was drowned out by another screech. A huge brown Roc with a blue tuft of feathers on his head crested the canyon.
Maz. And Ahmed riding on his back.
Maz dove straight for his brother. Noorsham was already raising his other hand toward him. The tips of his wings caught fire. No!
I was on my feet in a second, teetering at the edge of the drop from our mountain perch. Noorsham was in my sights now, and my finger was on the trigger.
The bullet hit him square in the breastplate. Noorsham stumbled back. His head reared up. Even this far away I could see his eyes, spots of blue behind the mask. He saw me.
He raised his hands like he was reaching out to a long-lost friend.
The blow of the heat carried me off my feet.
twenty-eight