Loulie awoke in an ancient, extravagant chamber. The ceiling portrayed a war between jinn cloaked in fire and humans wielding iron weapons. The colors were faded, the faces a blur, but the red and silver blood splatters were perfectly rendered. Loulie glanced away from the ghastly depiction as she sat up and looked around her. She saw mountains of gold and sparkling marble columns. Long, beautifully detailed carpets and elaborate tapestries that looked like they belonged in the sultan’s treasury, not this dusty ruin. And then she saw the human men—a little fewer than a dozen, watching her from every corner of the room.
“Welcome, merchant, to our treasure chamber.” The high prince came into view. Loulie startled, then remembered the bangle he was wearing. Not Omar.
Imad smirked. “I confess it is amusing to watch you balk at my appearance.”
Loulie clamped her mouth shut against a retort. She eyed the men stationed around the chamber. “Who are they?”
The moment she spoke, she felt a shocking chill at her neck—a cold so sharp it numbed all other sensation but pain. She keeled over with a soundless gasp.
Imad chuckled. “Sorry. You spoke before I could explain.” He crouched beside her and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes. “I thought it would be better if I did most of the talking. And to that end, I have given you a little gift.” Loulie felt his fingernails against her skin. “This relic punishes you for speaking by shooting a needle into your neck.”
She pulled away from him, breathing hard. Imad stood, eyes shining as he gestured at the men watching the spectacle with hungry eyes. “To answer your question: my companions are fellow outlaws. They are the ones who brought me news of your travels.” He angled his head. “These ruins are our sanctuary.”
Loulie knew she should focus. Plan. Escape. No one was coming to save her. The prince wouldn’t put himself in danger for her, and neither would the thief. To them, she was an easily dispensable pawn. The only one who had ever cared was Qadir. And he was…
Dead. The sorrow washed over her anew. He’s dead.
Distantly, she heard Imad talking. He was pacing as he spoke of his plan to capture the prince. She was to be the bait, yes, and he had ghouls—he gestured to them all, hidden in shadowed corners—who would sniff the prince out when he arrived and…
He stopped suddenly. “Let us speak of something more interesting, mm?” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a knife. Loulie balked at the sight of it. Danger, her sluggish mind screamed, and she pushed herself back, away. But then Imad lowered it, and she saw the gold qaf on the hilt. The first letter of Qadir’s name.
“When your jinn companion died, I had my ghouls return to the trap to search for a relic. They found nothing. Only a dead horse and flowers and ivy twisting around the blades. I did not realize why, at first, until I remembered the strange blade you were carrying.” He flipped the dagger back and forth. It shimmered a soft blue beneath the wall sconces.
Qadir’s voice, nothing but a memory, echoed in her mind. We jinn live on in the items most precious to us. It is how we guide the living, even after death.
Loulie did not know what had happened to the collar and the shamshir, but she knew the knife Qadir had given her all those years ago was important to him. Other than the compass, it was the only belonging he’d brought with him from the jinn realm.
Imad smiled at the horror on her face. “Ah, so I was right. You do have his relic.” He pocketed the knife.
Loulie swallowed. She needed that knife, even if it was just a piece of Qadir.
“I must apologize, al-Nazari.” Imad jerked his hand to the side. She realized only when her head was yanked in the same direction that he was pulling the shackle’s chain. “I don’t mean to hate you,” he said. “You are as much a victim in all of this as I, and yet you have prospered as I suffered. While I faded into obscurity, you became a legend.”
For a few moments, the chamber was quiet, the only sounds the crunch of gold beneath the men’s boots. Loulie focused on the sand spiderwebbed between the tiles. It was the only way to keep her panic at bay.
Imad stepped closer. He yanked her up by her hair, forced her gaze up. And that was when she saw his knife. Not Qadir’s blade, but a nondescript weapon she didn’t recognize. Imad pressed it to her throat.
“Such a blissful quiet this is. I wonder what it would take for you to break it. You ought to scream, merchant. The prince will never find you otherwise.”
She wasn’t weak. She would not scream. She wouldn’t—