If he’d had any doubts about what had transpired last night, they would have vanished then. Here was proof that a jinn had died in this room.
He made his way into the diwan slowly, carefully stepping over roots and shrubs. Eventually, the forest thinned, and he was able to make out people sitting on a rug. There sat his father in an uncharacteristically plain beige thobe and ghutra and, beside him, Omar, wearing simple attire and a belt of daggers. Hakim sat on the sultan’s other side, dressed almost entirely in white—the color of prayer. And sitting with her back to him, dressed in dark blue shawls dusted white, was the Midnight Merchant.
His father saw him first. He paused midconversation, visibly paling at the sight of him. “Mazen?” The others turned to look at him, equally stunned. Hakim was the first to rise. He rushed toward Mazen and clapped a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Akhi, are you okay?” He began to lead Mazen to where the others were gathered. “You should not be out of bed! You…” Hakim stopped, swallowed.
“Almost died?” Mazen’s laughter came out a wheeze. “I do feel a little like a ghoul.”
“Mazen.” The sultan’s voice was soft. “What are you doing here?”
“You know me, yuba. It has never been in my nature to sit around doing nothing. How could I sit in my stuffy room when you all are enjoying such a pleasant chat in this beautiful forest?” He smiled and tried to bow, but the movement sent pain shooting through his limbs, and it was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing.
“For the love of the gods, sit. You do not bow to me when you are injured, child.” His father’s voice was strained, filled with an emotion that startled Mazen. The last time his father had so openly worn his sentiments on his sleeve, Mazen’s mother had just died.
Slowly, gracelessly, Mazen lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs.
“How are you feeling?” His father’s ashy brows were scrunched together. “You’ve barely had time to recover; you should not be here.”
“I am well enough to sit and listen to you speak. Besides.” He turned to the Midnight Merchant, whose expression was unreadable. Even though half her face was covered, he recognized her eyes—they reminded him of smothered fire. “I had to thank you in person, Midnight Merchant.”
The Midnight Merchant tilted her head slightly. In acknowledgment, perhaps. “I simply did what any able-bodied citizen of Madinne would do.” She paused, eyes narrowed. At first, he thought she was remembering him from the souk, that she might mention their perilous first meeting. His heart seized with fear, but she only said, “I am glad for your miraculous recovery.”
“Miraculous indeed.” Omar’s voice was soft but lethal. Mazen felt an inexplicable fear take hold of him as he glanced at his brother. Omar was not looking at him, though; he was looking at the Midnight Merchant. “But I’m sure you’ve witnessed the power of jinn blood before, al-Nazari. You sold a vial of it to Rasul al-Jasheen, no?”
Mazen instinctively put a hand to his wound. He felt an awful, sinking weight in his chest at the thought of the shadow jinn’s blood being used to knit his body back together.
The Midnight Merchant scoffed. “Rasul—he was the rat?”
The sultan smiled thinly. “Even merchants sworn to secrecy can be bought with the right amount of gold.” He leaned forward, hands steepled in his lap. “So tell me, Loulie al-Nazari, what is your price?”
Mazen inhaled sharply. Even Omar raised a brow. The sultan had not extended this generosity to any other person he’d sent on his quest. But then, those men had gone willingly—for glory or out of fear, Mazen was not sure.
“I am not for sale,” the merchant said coldly. Mazen flinched at her boldness.
The sultan was unmoved. “A shame. I had hoped to buy your services.”
“Do you normally preface your sale transactions by threatening to burn down a souk?”
Omar coughed sharply into his hand to hide a smile. Mazen did not share his amusement. He glanced at his father, whose expression had somehow become even stonier.
“I do if the person I am dealing with is a criminal.” He tilted his chin slightly so that Mazen had the impression he was, despite his close proximity, looking down at the merchant. “It is necessary, sometimes, to instill a healthy dose of fear in such people. To remind them that destroying their life would be a simple thing.”
A frigid silence followed. Mazen did not realize he’d been holding his breath until the merchant broke the quiet with a sigh. “You want me to search for a relic,” she said.