Murder of the sultan.
Mazen was vaguely aware of the feel of parchment beneath his fingers. Of the heavy tread of his feet as he made his way back through the souk. Air trapped in his lungs. Stomach churning. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. His heart beating so fast it felt like it would burst from his chest.
He did not know how he made it to the tent, only that when he did, his lungs were starved of air. The shadow slid from his shoulders as he stumbled inside, where Loulie was waiting for him.
“What…？” She paused when she saw his face.
His breathing hitched, and a small broken sound left his mouth.
“What… what’s wrong with you?” Loulie stepped forward and frowned at the parchment in his hands. He had stolen it off the wall without realizing. He held it out to her. Breathe, he commanded himself, but every breath was a hiccup that made his heart seize.
The moment Loulie grabbed the parchment from him, he collapsed. Qadir was there to ease him to the ground as she unrolled the parchment and stared, wide-eyed, at the wanted poster.
“Oh.” Her voice caught. “Oh fuck.”
60
LOULIE
“Where is Aisha?”
Panic had, rather than clouding Loulie’s mind, made it sharper. She pushed past the fallen prince and ducked outside. Aisha’s horse was still absent from the corral. “Shit,” she murmured as she stepped back inside.
The prince was sobbing now, a miserable keening sound that made her heart hitch. Qadir was crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. He looked up at Loulie and frowned. “Gone?”
“Gone.” Loulie ran a hand through her curls. Off to get supplies. What a lie.
She wanted to scream. This whole time, she’d been fearing the wrong person. Mazen bin Malik had never been a danger to her. And the sultan—he was dead now. Murdered by his own son. Omar had thought this through; even had Mazen still been in disguise, the damage was done. He was a wanted man now.
Loulie tore the wanted poster to pieces and threw it at Qadir, who burned it to cinders before it hit the ground. “How far do you think she’s gotten?”
Qadir shook his head. “With more than half an hour’s start and a horse? Far.”
“You think the Resurrectionist will stop her?”
“She knew Aisha’s mind the moment she saved her from death. If she did not stop her then, she will not now.” He glanced at the prince. “Can you speak?”
The prince was trembling like a newborn camel calf, but he managed to nod.
“Did Aisha say anything to you, anything at all that might explain what has happened?”
The prince opened his mouth to speak. Some sound left his throat, but it was not a word. He pressed his lips together and hung his head as tears gathered in his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was small. “It’s my fault.”
Loulie stepped toward him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s my fault. I left. I shouldn’t have left.”
Before she could ask him to clarify, Qadir fixed her with a stern look. Don’t push him.
Pity settled over her as she stared at the heartbroken prince. She knew the sorrow of losing family. She remembered how the loss had gnawed at her bones and dug itself into her heart. She remembered not being able to speak or think. She remembered having a gaping hole inside of her, an emptiness that consumed everything.
Without Qadir, she would have lost herself in that emptiness.
The prince had no one. And worse, the world had been turned against him. Words failed her. What did you say to a man who had lost his family and also been betrayed by them?
Qadir stepped away and grabbed their lantern. The moment his fingers touched the metal, a bright blue flame burst to life inside the glass. He handed it to Loulie. “I will go gather information. Call me through the fire if anything happens.” He squeezed her shoulder, picked up his shamshir, and left the tent.
Loulie turned to the prince, who had thankfully stopped crying but was now staring blankly at the ground with glassy eyes. A tremor racked his body even as she watched.
Loulie hesitated. What now?
She was good at talking, but only when it was at people. She knew how to use words as a weapon and a shield, but she’d never been good at using them to comfort others. Even when she was a child, her parents had bemoaned her lack of empathy and her inability to listen.
The prince did not acknowledge her as she stepped closer. Did not so much as shift as she awkwardly seated herself beside him and set a hand on his shoulder.
They both flinched at the contact.