Then, slowly, the tension eased from his body, and he sat there, mute and trembling. This close, Loulie could see the smile wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the flush of his tanned skin. He was a soft man, ill suited to the harsh realities of the world.
And here he was, facing them alone.
The prince took a deep, shuddering breath. “If I hadn’t been so selfish…” He trembled. “If I hadn’t left…”
“If you hadn’t left, you’d be dead.”
The prince stared at her. Loulie winced. The words had come out unbidden. They were a fact, she realized, and though she was not adept at navigating her own emotions, she knew she could trust facts.
“You were a scapegoat, Prince. A man hell-bent on patricide…” She faltered when more tears gathered in his eyes, but pressed on. “Clearly, Omar had the commitment to see this through. Had you been there, you would have been an obstacle. Don’t blame yourself for a crime you didn’t commit.”
Tears streamed down his face. “I lied to my father.”
“Your lies did not kill the sultan. Your brother did.”
The prince pressed a fist to his forehead and turned away, shoulders trembling. Loulie inwardly cursed. And she’d been doing so well too…
The tent flap opened. Loulie sighed. “Finally. It took you long enough.”
But when she looked up, it was not Qadir standing at the entrance, but an older woman garbed in layers of silk. A man wearing a sword at his hip stood beside her. The woman pointed at Mazen and said, “That’s him. Look at his face and tell me that isn’t him.”
The man with the sword—a mercenary charged to keep the peace, by the looks of it—glanced at Mazen. He seemed on the verge of apologizing when the prince looked up. The mercenary’s eyes widened. The prince stared at him in silence.
Loulie picked up the lantern. “Qadir?”
The fire cackled softly, and then nothing. She had no time to think about what that meant. The mercenary had yelled for backup and was now approaching them. Loulie slammed the lantern into his knee and gripped the prince’s wrist at the same time. The mercenary doubled back as she surged forward, dragging Mazen out with her.
Outside, visitors stared at them unabashedly, first with curiosity and then with fear as mercenaries entered the space, yelling Prince Mazen’s name. Loulie grabbed the prince and ran toward the corral. But there were already mercenaries there, ready for them.
“Let them have me,” the prince said. “What use am I to you, anyway?”
Loulie dug her nails into his wrist. He cried out. “Shut up and listen.” They were close to the corral now. “When I give the signal, run for the horses. I’m counting on you to free them.”
“W-what’s the signal?”
But there was no time to explain. The mercenaries were approaching, telling her to move away from the prince.
Qadir had said she was the bravest person he knew. Now she would prove it to herself.
When the mercenaries were close enough to touch, Loulie reached into her pocket and withdrew Qadir’s dagger. She slashed one mercenary in the arm and threw herself at the other, sending them both tumbling to the dirt. The moment she let go of the prince’s hand, he paused, stumbling and staring at her with wide eyes before he ran for the corral.
Loulie rose to her feet, but too slowly. One mercenary grabbed her by her hair and yanked her backward. She tried to elbow him, but to no avail; he was standing far enough away that she could not reach him.
He said something, but it was lost beneath the shrill sound of a scream.
Her captor paused, gasped. “What in nine hells?”
Loulie craned her neck to see what he was looking at. There was smoke—smoke and fire—coming from the souk. Before the mercenary could recover from his shock, Loulie angled her knife and slashed it through her curls, cutting both her hair and his grip.
It was perfect timing: the corral doors burst open, and the prince came charging toward her on his horse. He reached out a hand. Loulie grabbed it, throwing herself across the saddle and holding on for dear life as the burning souk blurred in her vision.
61
LOULIE
That night, neither of them slept. Loulie was too jittery, nervous that the mercenaries would give chase. She had commanded the compass to lead them to a hiding place, and it had brought them to a plateau overlooking the Sandsea. It was there that they waited for Qadir.
All the while, Loulie cursed herself for forgetting their supplies at the oasis. The loss of her merchant apparel made her inwardly and physically shudder. The desert was freezing, so cold she burrowed herself into the prince’s side without even thinking to ask for his permission. The prince didn’t seem to mind; he was either too numb or too cold to care. They sat there like that until the sun rose and Qadir appeared on the horizon—a lone figure walking toward them. It was a relief to see their bag of supplies slung over his shoulder.