She stored her clothes at the vestibule, passed the first bathing chamber—she was keen on avoiding the laughing women inside—and made her way to the middle archway, wherein lay the chamber with the most amiable temperature, neither too cold nor too hot. The room smelled of jasmine and was dimly lit with lanterns placed at every corner of the bath. Some of the tension eased from Loulie’s limbs as she slid into the water and closed her eyes.
For a time, her mind was blissfully blank.
She did not know how long she sat there before she opened her eyes and noticed the ceiling vents had been opened to let in air. Gazing up at the starry sky, she was reminded of how long the day—the journey—had been. And it was at that point the memories she had been trying to suppress surfaced. Tentatively, she began to sift through them.
Nine years ago, Qadir had lost a compass in the desert. A compass that had been found by her father. A group of thieves had tracked down the jinn searching for that compass and had killed her tribe to protect the secret of that quest. The jinn—ifrit—had killed them and taken her under his wing. For redemption, he’d told her, but how was she to know that was the full truth, when he’d kept so many things from her?
But what was most painful to her was not the lies. It was the truth.
That her tribe had been nothing but collateral damage. That all these years, the person who had ordered her parents dead had been hiding behind gilded doors. And now she was traveling with his brother and working for his father.
She was trapped, and there wasn’t a godsdamned thing she could do about it.
She did not realize there were tears rolling down her cheeks until ripples spread on the surface of the bathwater. She let herself cry without reservation. Because she was alone, and there was no one there to see her shatter.
It was a testament to the extremity of her grief, she thought, that her mind wandered to Ahmed bin Walid. What she wouldn’t give to be in his company now. Dancing in his diwan, conversing in his courtyard—it didn’t matter. When she was with Ahmed, she was able to forget her reputation and insecurities. At least, for a time.
That was the problem with respites; they were temporary. Flimsy dreams at best.
And yet Loulie still found herself yearning for the quiet comfort that washed over her when she sat with Ahmed in his diwan. She wished, in that moment, that she lived a simpler life. One where she was not so scared of losing other people.
It was unfortunate that wishes, like dreams, were imaginary.
Later, when Loulie dried her tears and returned to the inn, her and Qadir’s room was empty. Save for the few relics she had on her, along with Qadir’s shamshir, which was leaning against the wall by the bed, they had no belongings left. There was, however, a lone lantern sitting atop the desk, flickering with a soft blue light.
Loulie fell onto her bed without acknowledging it. The fire was unoffended. It never wavered, never burned out, and never stopped watching over her.
52
MAZEN
Mazen was blinking sleep out of his eyes when Aisha threw a bundle of garments at him. “You look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt,” she said by way of greeting.
“Sabah al-khair to you too,” he mumbled as he looked at the clothing: a pair of cheap trousers and a shirt. There was even cloth for him to fashion into a ghutra. He looked up at Aisha, who had already washed and changed. He was surprised to see she had not covered her arms; both her scars and the faded henna overlaying them were visible. A scarf was wrapped loosely around her head, draping her features in shadow. Mazen could barely tell her eyes were different colors.
“Let me guess.” He held up the tunic. “Thieving?”
She shrugged. “The merchants won’t miss them. Now yalla, go wash up. We don’t have all day.”
Mazen stared at her. “We’re not leaving already, are we? We just got here.”
“What, you think we can continue our journey without horses and equipment?” She snorted. “I’ll be sure to tell your brother it was your own stupidity that killed you.”
“Is it necessary to always throw my words back at me?”
She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms. “It is when you say foolish things.”
She didn’t tail him when he left in search of the men’s hammam. Mazen found it not far from the inn, in a simple building tucked into a corner of the cliffs. Bathing there was… strange.
This was mostly because, having his own personal bathing chamber in the palace, he’d never bathed in the company of other men. It was a profoundly peculiar experience, one that made him acutely aware of how unmuscular he was. And yet it was a relief not being in his brother’s body. Being himself. It was only as he was dressing that he remembered what that meant.