Ali’s heart sank. “We’ll never make it.” The soldiers might have been focused on the tavern, but there was no way one of them wouldn’t notice three men, a girl child, and a baby dashing across the street. The fire worshippers were devilishly good archers—the Daevas as devoted to their bows as the Geziris were to their zulfiqars—and it was a wide street.
He turned to Anas. “We’ll have to find another way.”
Anas nodded. He glanced at the baby in Hanno’s arms and then at the little girl clutching his hand. “All right,” he said softly. He knelt to face the girl, untangling her fingers from his own. “My dear, I need you to go with the brother here.” He pointed at Ali. “He’s going to take you someplace safe.”
Ali stared at Anas, dumbstruck. “What? Wait . . . you don’t mean . . .”
“I’m the one they’re after.” Anas stood. “I’m not going to risk the lives of children to save my own.” He shrugged, but his voice was strained when he spoke again. “I knew this day would come . . . I-I’ll try to distract them . . . to give you as much time as possible.”
“Absolutely not,” Hanno declared. “The Tanzeem need you. I’ll go. I’ve got a better chance at taking out some of those purebloods anyway.”
Anas shook his head. “You’re better equipped than I to get the prince and the children to safety.”
“No.” The word tore from Ali’s throat, more prayer than plea. He could not lose his sheikh, not like this. “I’ll go. Surely I can negotiate some sort of—”
“You’ll negotiate nothing,” Anas cut in, his voice severe. “If you tell your father about tonight, you’re dead, do you understand? The Daevas would riot if they learned of your involvement. Your father won’t risk that.” He placed a hand on Ali’s shoulder. “And you’re too valuable to lose.”
“The hell he is,” Hanno retorted. “You’re going to get yourself killed just so some Qahtani brat can—”
Anas cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. “Alizayd al Qahtani can do more for the shafit than a thousand groups like the Tanzeem. And he will,” he added, giving Ali an intent look. “Earn this. I don’t care if you have to dance on my grave. Save yourself, brother. Live to fight again.” He pushed the little girl toward him. “Get them out of here, Hanno.” Without another word, he turned back, heading for the tavern.
The shafit girl looked up at Ali, her brown eyes enormous with fear. He blinked back tears. Anas had sealed his fate; the least Ali could do was follow his last order. He picked up the girl, and she clung to his neck, her heart thudding against his chest.
Hanno shot him a look of pure venom. “You and I, al Qahtani, are going to have a long chat when this is over.” He snatched the turban from Ali’s head, quickly fashioning it into a sling for the baby.
Ali immediately felt more exposed. “Was there something wrong with yours?”
“You’ll run faster if you’re worried about being recognized.” He nodded at Ali’s zulfiqar. “Put that away.”
Ali shoved the zulfiqar under his robe, shifting the girl to his back as they waited. There was a shout from the tavern, followed by a second, more exultant cry. God protect you, Anas.
The archers turned toward the tavern. One drew back his silver bow, aiming an arrow at the entrance.
“Go!” Hanno said and shot out, Ali at his heels. Ali didn’t look at the soldiers, his world reduced to sprinting across the cracked paving stones as fast as his legs would take him.
One of the archers shouted a warning.
Ali was halfway across when the first arrow whizzed over his head. It burst into fiery fragments, and the little girl screamed. The second tore through his robe, grazing his calf. He kept running.
They were across. Ali threw himself behind a stone balustrade, but his refuge was short-lived. Hanno lunged for an intricate wooden trellis attached to the building. It was covered with sprawling roses in a rainbow of colors, stretching three stories to reach the distant roof.
“Climb!”
Climb? Ali’s eyes went wide as he stared at the delicate trellis. The thing barely looked strong enough to hold its flowers, let alone the weight of two grown men.
An arrow doused in blazing pitch hit the ground near his feet. Ali jumped back, and the sound of trumpeting elephants filled the air.
The trellis it was.
The wooden frame shook violently as he climbed, the thorny vines shredding his hands. The little girl clung to his back, half-choking Ali as she buried her face in his neck, her cheeks wet with tears. Another arrow whizzed past their heads, and she shrieked—in pain this time.
Ali had no way to check on her. He kept climbing, trying to stay as flat as possible against the building. Please, God, please, he begged; he was far too terrified to come up with a more coherent prayer.
He was nearly at the roof, Hanno already clear, when the trellis began to peel away from the wall.
For one heart-stopping moment, Ali was falling backward. The wooden frame came apart in his hands. A scream bubbled up in his throat.
Hanno grabbed his wrist.
The shafit shapeshifter dragged him onto the roof, and Ali promptly collapsed. “The g-girl . . . ,” he breathed. “An arrow . . .”
Hanno pulled her from his back and quickly examined the back of her head. “It’s all right, little one,” he assured her. “You’ll be okay.” He glanced at Ali. “She’ll need a few stitches, but the wound doesn’t look deep.” He undid the sling. “Let’s switch.”
Ali took the baby, slipping into the sling.
There was a shout from below. “They’re on the roof!”
Hanno yanked him to his feet. “Go!”
He dashed away, and Ali followed. They ran across the roof, leaping over the narrow space to the next building and then doing it again, racing past lines of drying laundry and potted fruit trees. Ali tried not to look at the ground as they jumped, his heart in his throat.
They reached the last roof, but Hanno didn’t stop, instead speeding up as he neared the edge. And then—to Ali’s horror—he launched himself over.
Ali gasped, drawing to a stop just before the edge. But the shapeshifter wasn’t dashed on the ground below; instead, he’d landed atop the copper wall separating the tribal quarters. The wall was perhaps half a body length lower than the roof and a good ten paces away. It was an impossible jump, pure fortune that Hanno had made it.
He gave the shapeshifter an incredulous look. “Are you insane?”
Hanno grinned, baring his teeth. “Come on, al Qahtani. Surely if a shafit can do it, so can you.”
Ali hissed in response. He paced the edge of the roof. Every sensible instinct he had screamed at him not to jump.
The sound of the pursuing soldiers grew louder. They’d be up on the roof any minute. Ali took a few steps back, trying to work up the courage to take a running leap.
This is madness. He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice.” The humor vanished from Hanno’s voice. “Al Qahtani . . . Alizayd,” he pressed when Ali didn’t respond. “Listen to me. You heard what the sheikh said. You think you can turn back now? Beg your abba for mercy?” He shook his head. “I know Geziris. Your people don’t fuck around with loyalty.” Hanno met Ali’s gaze, his eyes dark with warning. “What do you think your father will do when he learns his own blood betrayed him?”
I never meant to betray him. Ali took a deep breath.
And then he jumped.