Tawil led her across four bridges and through four districts until they came to the fish souk, where local seafood was on display. Aisha stole a bowl of finger shrimp and eyed piles of dead-eyed trout and river fish as they strode through.
Eventually, they came to a shack by the docks. Tawil entered through the back door, strode down a cobweb-filled corridor, and opened a hidden trapdoor in the kitchen. Aisha hesitated at the entrance. She was not sure why, exactly. She had been in this place before. Had, in fact, stayed here while passing through Ghiban on hunts. It was a thief hideout, after all.
And yet she was nervous.
Tawil’s laugh echoed from the darkness. “Worried I’ll murder you in the dark?”
Aisha bristled. He should be worried I’ll murder him in the dark. She slid down the ladder and realized only after shutting the trapdoor behind her that she didn’t know whose thoughts those were. Hers—or the ifrit’s?
Does it matter? We are one and the same.
Aisha gritted her teeth in annoyance. We are not. She tamped down her irritation as she entered the underground chamber: a thief storage space filled with tapestries, furniture, weapons, scrolls—and relics, resting on slanted cabinet shelves. Though this place belonged to all the thieves, this was Tawil’s stronghold; Ghiban was his hunting ground.
Tawil spun toward her as she entered, that irritating smile on his lips. Aisha wasted no time chiding him. “What the hell was that in the souk?”
He blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Sometimes the city folk forget we exist; I thought to remind them. But that’s unimportant. Look here.” He reached into the satchel at his hip and withdrew a glass orb, which he tossed to Aisha. “This seems like a relic our king would like, eh? It shows you your memories.”
She had no way of testing Tawil’s claim, for when she touched the orb, it was not her memories she saw. These memories belonged to the owner of the orb: a young jinn boy named Anas. Aisha was able to discern from his hazy memories that he’d carried this orb with him because it was a memento from his mother. That it was the only thing he’d managed to bring with him to the human world.
Anas’s final plea echoed in her mind. Please! Please, help me!
Aisha tossed the orb back to Tawil and shoved her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking. She had known the true nature of relics ever since Omar recruited her. It had never bothered her that they contained souls. But how could she ignore the fact now, when one of the damned things was talking to her?
You said before that the dead do not speak. The Resurrectionist’s voice brushed gently against her mind. But how would you know, when you did not have the ability to listen?
Tawil must have mistaken her unease for irritation. He laughed. “No need to be jealous.”
Aisha cleared her throat. “Can we talk about what’s actually important? How is Omar?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s been spending most of his days in the company of an annoyingly attentive wali. The man is like a leech; he refuses to go back to his city and asks too many questions. Omar has someone from the guard watching him.”
Irritatingly observant politicians aside, if Omar was commanding people in the guard now, it at least meant his plan to incorporate thieves into the qaid’s force had gone smoothly.
Tawil raised a brow. “Clearly, he’s faring better than your prince. Care to explain why Prince Mazen is no longer in disguise?” He crossed his arms. “And perhaps you’ll tell me about the so-called legendary relic you found in a dune? Junaid sounded very impressed in his letter.”
Aisha bit back a scowl. She didn’t care to tell the thief anything, but she had no choice if Junaid had already filled him in. She relayed the short version of what had transpired, the most important recollection being the ordeal with Imad. She did not tell him she had nearly died or that the collar had saved her from death, and yet—his eyes wandered to the silk around her neck.
He lunged toward her without preamble.
Aisha grabbed his wrist before he touched her. Searing hot pain shot through her veins at the contact. Tawil pulled his hand away the moment she did. They both stared at each other.
Tawil laughed weakly. “What was that?”
Aisha stepped away with a growl. That heat—where had it come from? Did Tawil have some kind of relic on him? “Speak for yourself, you ass.”
“The queen’s collar—you have it around your neck. I can see it.”
She drew the silk closer to her chin. “And?”
“Aren’t you going to give it to Omar? You know he’s looking for kings’ relics.” He tilted his head, eyes widening. “Or don’t tell me you’re actually keeping it, bint Louas? This wasn’t part of the plan, you know.”