She clenched her hands into fists. “And why would I want to talk to you?”
Imad’s lips curled into a sly, terrible smile. “Don’t you want to know who hired my companions and me all those years ago?”
The words plunged through her like a sword, effortlessly piercing the armor she had built up over so many years. He could be lying, she thought. But even if he was, the bastard was right. She had nothing to lose.
“What do you want to know?” Her voice cracked. She was too desperate to be ashamed.
“Smart woman.” Imad reached into a pocket and withdrew the golden bangle the ghouls had stolen off the prince’s wrist, the one he’d been wearing this entire journey. “Let us speak of magic,” he said. “Tell me, do you know where this relic came from?”
She scowled. “How am I supposed to know where the prince gets his trinkets?”
She wanted to slap herself for using that word. Not trinkets, souls. And of course the prince had been using one—the sultan probably had a relic for every occasion.
“I thought that if anyone knew, it would be you, famed collector of magics.” Imad stared at the bangle for a long moment before clasping it onto his arm. Between one blink and the next, he disappeared. In his place stood the high prince, with Imad’s smirk fixed to his face. Loulie shut her mouth when she realized she was gawking.
“Tell me, merchant. Was it your jinn who guided you to the relics you possess?” The voice that came from his lips was, disconcertingly, Prince Omar’s.
Loulie bristled. “That’s none of your business.”
“You are stupidly secretive for someone whose life is in my hands.” He clasped his hands and inclined his head. Loulie wondered if he was actually in Omar’s body or if it was an illusion. “This jinn of yours, is he the one that burned my companions years ago?”
“The very same. How the hell did you survive?”
“The gods saw fit to make me their messenger,” Imad said quietly. “I was on the outskirts of the camp when your jinn’s inferno raged. I was the only one to make it out alive. The Najima tribe died, my comrades died, and yet… my job was unaccomplished.”
Loulie shuddered at the emptiness in his eyes. “Your job?”
“I am a thief first, a killer second. I only destroy those who stand in the way of my goal.”
Thief. The desert was home to many thieves, but—a band of them skilled enough to slaughter a tribe? And if Imad knew Omar and Aisha…
Is he one of the prince’s thieves?
Imad was still talking, his voice an undercurrent to her confusion. “There was treasure at your camp, merchant. A relic so valuable we were ordered to kill any in the vicinity so they would never reveal its existence. It was a jinn king’s relic.”
Loulie’s mind clouded over with memories. There are many mysterious things in the desert, Sweet Fire, her father had once said. If ever you find such items, you must take great care of them, for they may be relics enchanted by jinn.
She remembered her skepticism. Is this compass filled with magic, then?
His laughter. It does not work for me, but perhaps it will guide your way.
And then: a jinn kneeling before her, pointing to that same compass after everyone she loved had perished. Layla Najima al-Nazari, it seems saving your life was my destiny.
A relic that could locate other relics. That could foresee a future yet to pass. A relic so powerful it could belong only to a jinn king. An ifrit. Loulie forgot how to breathe.
Imad’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Ah, so you remember. Will you tell me what it looks like?” He patted her bag. “I’d rather save myself the trouble of testing all your supplies.”
Loulie was at a loss. What should she do? He would take the damned bag with him either way, and she was helpless to stop him. She tried pulling on her shackles, but the metal was unyielding, cutting into her wrists without mercy.
“No?” Imad sighed. “I’m afraid our conversation is over, then.” He hefted the bag over his shoulder and walked toward the cell door.
“Wait.” She surged upright. “Wait! You promised me answers!”
Imad paused just long enough to say, “I promised you answers for answers. But since you have given me nothing, I will try my luck elsewhere.”
How dare he! She was no one’s prisoner. She was the Midnight Merchant, Loulie Najima al-Nazari, and she would get revenge on this man who had killed her family and…
Qadir.
The weight of his death descended on her in full then, until she was bowed beneath its weight, body racked with sobs. Qadir wasn’t coming for her. No one was. She was stuck in this godsforsaken place in the middle of nowhere, and she had no magic and no blade, and gods, had she always been so weak? So useless?