A scream. Splatters of crimson on the sand. Imad’s bandaged hands, red with blood.
“You bitch!”
His eyes sparkled with murder as he grabbed a knife and struck at Aisha. The first blow bounced off her shamshir. The second knocked the blade from her hands. The third struck her face and drew a scream from her lips. The fourth ripped a gash into her shoulder.
Imad struck again and again, until the sand beneath Aisha was stained with her blood.
Imad flipped the dagger, raised it into the air, and—
“Stop!” The prince slid in front of Aisha, arms held out. “Please.” His voice cracked.
Imad halted. He glared so hard at the prince, Loulie feared he would kill him. But then slowly, he sheathed his dagger and barked an order at the ghouls.
The last thing Loulie saw was Prince Mazen crouched over Aisha’s limp body, desperate tears in his eyes. Then Loulie was struck in the head. She experienced a pain so terrible it knocked the breath from her lungs. And then finally, blissfully, darkness.
40
MAZEN
Mazen woke in what looked like the ruins of a prison cell. Moonlight filtered into the chamber through holes in the ceiling, illuminating the dust on the floor and turning it an ominous bone white. The cell was barren, surrounded by three walls of stone and one made of thick iron bars. Behind them stood Imad and beside him, a ghoul.
“Sabah al-khair, Prince.”
“What…？” Mazen sat up slowly. He’d expected to be bound and gagged, but there were no shackles on his arms or legs.
“Sleep well?” Imad raised a brow.
Mazen blinked. He opened his mouth—and froze when his memories came rushing back. He remembered Qadir, dead. Loulie, screaming his name. Aisha, bleeding out on the sand. He approached the bars, heart beating in his throat. “What have you done with Aisha?”
The last thing he remembered was shaking her, begging her to hold on, hold on—she was one of Omar’s forty thieves, and how could she be killed by some random murderer? And then: pain and darkness.
“Bint Louas is in one piece,” Imad said. “Injured, but alive. She is lucky. I ought to have punished her more severely.” He reached out and curled his fingers around one of the bars, and Mazen saw the bloody wounds Aisha had ripped into his bandages.
He took a cautious step back. “What do you want from us?”
Imad’s lips quirked. “Truly? I never wanted anything from you. But now that you are here, it seems I must change my plans.” He leaned closer to the bars, close enough for Mazen to make out the details of his face in the moonlight. He was at least as old as the sultan, with harsh wrinkles etched into his sun-scorched skin, and gray-white hair dusting his cheeks and chin.
Do not underestimate a man based on his appearance. It was the advice his father offered when they were dealing with scheming court politicians.
Imad was an old blade but not a dull one.
Mazen paused, recalling their earlier conversation. “You were looking for my brother?”
“That is correct. The moment I heard Omar bin Malik was leading the Midnight Merchant in this direction, I decided to investigate. And yet…” He raised a pointed brow. “It is not the high prince I see before me, but his younger brother. How did this come to be?”
Idiot that I am, I allowed myself to be blackmailed. Mazen swallowed a laugh. He truly was a fool. To have thought this tromp through the desert was preferable to suffering the consequences for escaping the palace. To have thought it would be an adventure.
“It was advantageous for my brother and me to switch places.”
“Is that so? It hardly seems so now, does it?”
Mazen couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch himself or Imad more. “No,” he said softly. “It doesn’t.” He looked long and hard at the man, then said, “Why chase rumors of my brother in the first place? What do you want with him?”
Imad’s expression hardened. “You mean to tell me you do not know who I am?”
“I don’t think we’d be having this conversation if I did.”
Imad hissed. At first, Mazen thought it was a response meant for him, but then he noticed the ghoul behind Imad shift. It handed him a key ring.
“How are you…？” Mazen looked between Imad and the ghoul. “How are you controlling them?” In his mother’s stories, the ghouls were free-roaming terrors, not obedient soldiers.
Imad raised a brow. “I shall let you ponder. It will give you something to think about while we wait for your brother.”