Aisha frowned at him, unimpressed.
“Don’t give me that look. I wanted to apologize for dismissing you so abruptly earlier. My brother has a bad habit of asking questions he won’t understand the answers to. I thought it better to avoid this conversation with him.”
“You wanted to avoid the qaid too. That’s why you sent me to speak with him.”
“I’m expected to be pleasant at court. You, on the other hand…” He smirked. “I appreciate you using that needle-sharp honesty for the greater good.”
I did it because you ordered me to, you bastard.
But she found her lips quirking despite the thought. She liked the prince—enough that she didn’t mind taking orders from him, occasional frustrating fights aside. He was straightforward and honest and didn’t waste time on words he didn’t mean.
“Shukran, Aisha.” Omar considered her with a tilt of his head. “I promise I won’t hand you over to the qaid. That hardheaded security fool doesn’t deserve you.”
“No, he doesn’t.” She huffed out a sigh. “Now, am I free to go?”
“Of course. I just wanted to thank you.” He paused to look up at the tower, and Aisha followed his gaze to one of the windows above: her window, hidden behind a gossamer curtain that fluttered softly in the breeze.
“And, I suppose, I wanted to warn you.”
She snapped back to attention at the words. Omar was looking at her again, all traces of his smile gone. “The jinn who attacked my brother still skulks through the shadows. Be careful that it does not ambush you. And if you do see the jinn, leave it be. It’s my mark.”
Aisha bristled. She knew she had a tendency to steal kills, but why should it matter who destroyed creatures condemned by the gods? Creatures who would tear down an entire village, who would ruthlessly slaughter children and carve their victory into their victims’ flesh…
She dug her nails into her palms hard enough to root herself in the present. The scars hidden beneath her cloak itched at the memory.
“Fine,” she said brusquely.
The reluctant admission seemed to be enough for Omar. He was smiling again when he excused himself for the night. Once he was gone, Aisha sighed and got to work on the overcomplicated door locks. Eventually, the bolts gave, and she was about to enter the tower when she heard the sound of crunching grass and froze. She glanced over her shoulder, fingers hovering over one of the knives on her belt.
But though she could have sworn she’d heard footsteps, there was nothing behind her but tree-shaped shadows swaying in the breeze.
Aisha watched the darkness for a long time just to be sure no one was there. Then, disgruntled with herself for being so jumpy, she stepped into the tower.
The last thing she heard before she slammed the door shut was the ominous susurration of the wind, which sounded uncomfortably like laughter.
8
LOULIE
“So.” Dahlia bint Adnan lowered her pipe and exhaled a cloud of shisha into the air. It hung like blue mist above her and Loulie’s heads. “You met Rasul al-Jasheen.” The tavernkeeper’s amber eyes shone like coins in the dimness. “How did you like him?”
“He was ugly as sin.”
Dahlia smirked. “Not that I don’t agree, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“He was okay, for a merchant.” Loulie glanced at the door to her room for what was probably the dozenth time that hour. While she didn’t mind filling Dahlia in on her adventures, the second hour of moonrise was nearly upon them, and she was becoming impatient.
Qadir had left some time ago to gather gossip from around the souk, promising he would keep an ear out for rumors of assassins in black. She’d assumed he would be back in time for their visit to the Night Market, but hours had gone by and though she was in her merchant robes and ready to depart, Qadir was still not here.
“You seem agitated,” Dahlia said with a click of her tongue. “Let me guess: Qadir?”
Loulie scowled. “He’s late.”
“Isn’t he always? You ought to find a timelier bodyguard.” She grinned. “Or better yet, a husband to distract you from your business. Someone Qadir will not scare away.”
Loulie did not smoke shisha, but in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to steal the pipe from Dahlia’s hands and blow smoke in her face. They’d had this conversation many times. Loulie always gave Dahlia the same answer.
“I would rather marry a dust-covered relic than a man,” they said in unison.