She could feel the light pressing into her eyes now, could feel the kiss of the wind against her skin as they wove their way through sinking ruins and ran up a hill of falling sand, climbing higher and higher until—
A scream tore through the air. Loulie looked up and saw the prince, nothing but a shadow haloed in blinding light. She saw him collapse to his knees and slide down the slope, gripping his arm. She became aware of the second shadow only when a knife whistled past her ear and cut through Qadir’s smoky form. The jinn’s arms gave way, and she was suddenly falling, coughing sand as she tumbled down the slope.
“You. It was you we were looking for.” She recognized Omar’s voice. And when she looked up and saw him pointing uphill at Qadir’s misty body with madness in his eyes, she recognized that too. She remembered the chains. The collar. The knife against her throat.
Not Omar.
The laugh that left Imad’s throat was a broken thing. “You lied to me, merchant.” He hobbled toward her, dragging a clearly broken leg behind him. His skin was marred with odd black splatters that shone like blood. “Your compass is not the relic we were ordered to find. The king’s relic we searched for—it didn’t exist. And your jinn…” His breathing was a wet rasp. “Is more than just a jinn, isn’t he?”
Loulie, look at me.
Loulie stared at the thief, uncomprehending.
LOULIE. The dagger in her hands grew hot with fire. She looked down and saw Qadir’s narrowed eyes. Do you still want your vengeance? His voice echoed in her mind even as his mute, shadowy form slid down the hill toward her.
Imad’s laughter was so loud and wild it made his body shake. “It’s no wonder he lives! Do you know what he is, girl?”
He killed your family, Qadir said.
“Everything that’s happened—it’s his fault!” cried Imad.
He destroyed your tribe.
The fire glowed with such an intensity it burned dark spots into her vision. And in those patches of darkness, she saw the nightmare. Her campsite on fire. Her family, dead.
“Midnight Merchant!” The title startled her from the memories. She looked up, past Imad and Qadir, and saw the prince. He sat atop the dune, holding his bloodied arm and yelling her name. Loulie. Midnight Merchant.
She gripped the dagger. She was not Layla. She was not weak. Not anymore.
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t walk. She could crawl. And so she did, clawing her way through the sand until she could slash at Imad’s legs. He retaliated by kicking dust into her face. Loulie blinked back tears and aimed for his bad leg. She plunged her dagger into his foot.
The fire coating the blade was a living thing. It spread up Imad’s leg, coated his clothing. And then it began to burn through his skin. Imad stumbled away with a scream, wildly tearing at his attire. Loulie reached for his ankle. The fire curved away from her fingers just long enough for her to pull Imad down. For her to pin him to the ground. When he tried to defend himself, she deflected his strike and buried her knife in his chest.
Not enough. She stabbed him again.
His skin burned. Not enough. Crumbled to charcoal. Not enough. She slashed and stabbed and screamed and sobbed, and it was strange, so strange that no matter how many times she cut him, there was no blood. Just that strange ink that kept seeping out of him, and Why won’t he bleed? He deserves to bleed; he deserves to HURT.
She was sobbing so hard by the end of it that she dropped the dagger. She felt warmth at her back, arms around her shoulders. “Don’t look,” Qadir whispered as he picked her and the fallen blade up. And she didn’t. Not until they mounted the dune and Imad was nothing but a distant blot of ash.
Then: sunlight. She had to blink back tears to see. And when she could, she saw Qadir’s fading face above her. His red eyes had lightened to their shade of human brown, but they were barely an impression.
Loulie grabbed at his chest. “Qadir,” she said, willing him to solidify with the name.
He smiled at her weakly. “You did it. You avenged your family.”
His smile faded first, followed by the rest of his body. He lowered her to the ground as he vanished, as he went from man to smoke to dust.
The prince grabbed her before she collapsed, and carefully lowered her to the ground. The two of them sat side by side, watching the ruins sink into the Sandsea. The prince grasped his injured arm and prayed. Loulie stared resolutely ahead, trying not to cry and failing.
She had her vengeance, but it was an empty triumph.
47
AISHA
Aisha was dying.