“How did you two meet?”
“I tried to pick his pockets.” When he simply stared at her, she shrugged and said, “He saw potential in me. Anyway, that’s why I witnessed Imad’s defeat. That is why he hates me.”
“I think he hates everyone,” Mazen murmured.
Aisha remembered Imad storming toward Omar in the courtyard nine years ago. She remembered the way he had glared at her. You’ve replaced us with a woman? A girl? You have tied your own noose!
Aisha shook the memory from her head with a scowl. “Yes, he is a miserable creature.”
There was a momentary silence. And then: “So Imad has a jinn king’s relic now?”
Aisha frowned. She’d expected Imad to possess the cursed collar. Instead, he’d taken out the merchant’s much less impressive compass. She assumed he meant to use it to track down Omar—a rather underwhelming use for a so-called powerful relic. “I doubt it. I thought he was going to pull out that relic from the dune, but either he doesn’t know of its power or the merchant lost it somewhere.”
They had just turned a corner when she heard it: a scream so shrill it pierced her eardrums. For a few moments, Aisha was too shaken to reach for her blade. The prince stepped forward during her moment of hesitation. He started walking. Faster and faster, until he was running.
“Prince!” She chased after him. “What are you doing!”
But the prince had apparently lost all sense of reason and was darting mindlessly toward the chamber where the scream had come from. The treasure chamber, no doubt.
It was a trap; it had to be. And the stupid prince was heading right into it.
Aisha gave chase. The world swam before her eye as she ran, but she ignored her exhaustion. Prince Mazen had saved her life, and she was hell-bent on repaying the favor.
Aisha did not mourn the past, and she did not overthink the future. But the present—that was something she could shape for the better with her blade.
And she would not run from it.
45
MAZEN
Mazen turned the corner and blanched at the sight before him. At the end of the hall was a doorway that led into a room filled with mountains of gold. The treasure chamber. And coming from that chamber: the scream. Mazen had never heard an agony so loud, so bare.
The Midnight Merchant. Panic gripped his heart.
The scream came again, a sob-riddled wail that sent shivers up his spine.
He pulled his shadow around him and paused at the open doors. The chamber was whole: no gaps, no natural light. There was only the firelight from the sconces. Imad and the merchant were barely illuminated by the hazy glow.
Loulie lay unmoving on the floor, the stars on her robes lost beneath a constellation of blood splatters. Imad circled her like a vulture in Omar’s body, twirling a knife in his fingers.
Mazen surged forward. He had no plan. He had no time.
He didn’t see the ghouls until it was too late. Until they were shrieking and rushing toward him. He kept running, even as the human men shifted and Imad searched the emptiness for him. Mazen crashed into him before he could attack the merchant, slapping the knife out of his hand. It was all he managed before he was jumped from behind. He tumbled, and the shadow cloak collapsed to the floor.
One man reached for it while another pinned him to the ground. “Won’t come off,” he said to Imad.
“Search the perimeter for bint Louas.” When he looked at Mazen, his gaze—Omar’s gaze—was terrifyingly blank. “So we meet again, Prince. You’ve made quite a mess of things.”
The fire behind Imad flickered and dimmed. The blood on the merchant’s clothing looked garish beneath its light. Mazen quivered. “What have you done to her?”
“Anyone with eyes can see.” Imad reached out and grabbed him by his shirt. Mazen saw a dagger in his hand. It was a different weapon than the one he’d knocked away: a dagger with a gold letter embedded into the hilt. “I made the mistake of underestimating you once, Prince, but not again. If I must drag your brother here to avenge your corpse, so be it.”
He raised the knife. It flashed through the air faster than Mazen could scream. He felt the coldness of it against his skin and—
Nothing.
Slowly, he eased his eyes open.
The blade had been straight before, but now it was inexplicably crescent shaped, its point curved away from his throat. Mazen was still staring when Imad stabbed him again, and he saw the moment the blade hit his chest and bent.
Imad’s face paled. “What?”
The fire behind them wavered again. It turned a deep and ominous green.