Aisha breathed in deeply to relax her thudding heart and trembling limbs. She thought of Samar, who had promised to sing her praises when she returned to Madinne, and Junaid, who had proposed a toast to her loyalty. What a shame that she would have to disappoint them both.
Aisha looked at Omar and made a new vow.
I promise I will kill you, she thought.
She always kept her promises.
68
MAZEN
Aliyah the Forgotten. That was what the citizens of Madinne called the sultan’s first wife behind closed doors. To Mazen, she had always been a specter, a story his father never told. She was from a time before the wife killings, a memory inaccessible to all of them, even Omar. At least, that had been his belief.
But now, all the disparate pieces clicked together. Aliyah, an ifrit. The sultan, a jinn killer. Finally, Mazen understood why Omar’s blood was black. Why he hated the sultan. But—
“Why? Why would you kill jinn if your mother is one?”
Omar sighed. “As always, you ask the wrong questions, Mazen.” He slid a knife from his sleeve and angled it toward them. Mazen tensed, poised to flee—and then he heard Omar’s voice coming from behind. When he turned, his brother was close enough to stab him. The merchant shot forward with her knife, but the strike only broke Omar’s body into smoke.
The first Omar—Real or an illusion?—rushed at them with his blade. There was a shriek of metal as Aisha held up her sword just in time to catch the attack. “I’ll be relieving you of the king’s relic now, Aisha.” Omar slid the dagger off her sword, aimed it at her heart.
Aisha retaliated with a slash, but Omar disappeared before it landed.
He reappeared behind her. Aisha turned.
And Omar buried the knife in her chest.
No! Mazen pushed his brother away. He had let Aisha die once. How could he—
Aisha grinned, baring crimson-coated teeth. Both of her eyes were black as midnight. “You’ll have to try harder than that, jinn killer.”
She snapped her fingers, and the corpse that had been Tawil reached out and gripped Omar’s ankle. For the first time in his life, Mazen saw fear on Omar’s face. Then the corpse pulled and Omar fell, the lamp tumbling from his hands and to the ground. A heartbeat later it was in Loulie’s hands. She turned and ran toward Qadir.
Mazen chased after her.
Qadir and Rijah fought in a raging storm, the winds around them as much a barrier as a cage. Loulie stood helplessly at the edge, starry robes billowing in the gust. Before she could protest, Mazen stole her knife and sliced his palm.
Understanding lit her eyes. She handed him the lamp.
The moment he pressed his bloodied palm to the surface, he felt it: power, thrumming beneath his skin. Hundreds of years ago, his ancestor had tricked an ifrit into enchanting this object for him. His father had warned Loulie that the relic worked only for ones who shared his blood. That was why Omar had been able to use the lamp, and why the sultan had never feared Loulie using it against him.
“Rijah!” Mazen yelled into the storm. “You are bound to me and you will serve me!” He held up the lamp. “Stop!”
The winds ceased. The moment the storm cleared, Loulie rushed toward Qadir and threw her arms around his neck. For a few moments, Rijah simply stood, watching them. Then they stepped forward and, midstride, transformed from a shadow into a woman with sharp, angular features and a crown of braids atop their head. When Mazen approached, they stomped toward him.
“Human.” Their turquoise eyes sparkled. “I’m going to rip out your throat.” Mazen found himself stupidly holding the lamp up like a shield. “You think I, the mightiest of jinn, will abide your abuse? You think I—”
“Rijah.” The ifrit stopped at the sound of Qadir’s voice. “He is a friend, not an enemy.”
Rijah glared at Mazen with a vehemence so intense Mazen half feared they would set him on fire. Instead, they turned and said, “Who, then? Introduce me so that I may kill them.”
“There,” Qadir said. He raised an arm and pointed at Omar, who was fighting Aisha and her reanimated corpse. Then he pointed to a human-shaped smudge approaching from the east. “And there…” Mazen followed his gaze to the west, to another shadow. There were figures approaching from all directions.
Mazen failed to comprehend where they were coming from—the strange room was so massive he could perceive no walls nor doorways.
“Reinforcements?” Loulie’s face was pale.
From here, all Mazen could make out was their black attire and the glint of hidden weapons. If what Omar had said was true, then it was possible they were jinn. Or thieves. Or both. “They can’t just be my brother’s thieves,” Mazen murmured. “There’s too many of them.”