The sultan looked at Hakim, who began unrolling a series of dusty, ancient-looking scrolls. The papyrus was stained, the words scrawled on the scrolls faded with age. Loulie saw slanted letters and dates, and a signature: an alif, followed by a meem, a ya, and a ra. Amir.
The sultan gestured toward the documents. “These are the papers that founded our kingdom. In them, Amir writes of the jinn he enslaved. He writes of the items the jinn enchanted for him, and the lamp’s burial. And he writes, most importantly, of ways to enter the Sandsea. There are paths, al-Nazari: caves that lead beneath the sand and roads hidden between the waves.”
“If others have failed to locate your lamp, what makes you think I can find it?” The longer Loulie stared at the scrolls, the tighter her lungs became. She had stood in front of the Sandsea before but never ventured into it. It was a land of no return. Even Qadir, who had traveled up through it once, would not approach it again.
“They were not collectors of ancient relics,” the sultan said. “But you are.”
“Why me?” Loulie insisted. “Why not your son, Prince Omar?” She glanced at the eldest prince and frowned. She had not forgotten their last encounter—the way anger had clouded his eyes when the sultan leaned over Mazen. It had occurred to her that the sultan never asked Omar if he was unharmed.
“My son is a hunter, not a tracker.” He paused, and the silence had an ominous weight, a foreboding that surrounded them like smoke. Loulie wanted to wave it away, to wave all this away like she would a bad dream.
“Omar.” The sultan turned to his son, and Omar dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You will accompany the merchant to make sure she does not run from her responsibility.”
“What?” She and the prince spoke at the same time.
“I hear you employ a bodyguard, al-Nazari. Think of my son as additional security.”
Omar shifted, frowned. “But, yuba, my thieves—”
“I will take over your plans for them.” The sultan spoke in a cold voice that brooked no disagreement. A muscle feathered in Omar’s face as he clenched his jaw. But Loulie would not be cowed. It was bad enough she was being blackmailed, and now she was being forced to journey with the King of the Forty Thieves? With a jinn killer?
“I do not need another bodyguard.”
The sultan shook his head. “This is not up for negotiation.”
“You do not trust me?”
The sultan scoffed. “Trust a conniving merchant woman? I think not.” He leaned forward. “Do not forget, al-Nazari: you are a criminal. I could throw you in the Bowels. I could take away your freedom and put a noose around your neck.”
Loulie was trembling. With fear. With anger. Because she knew the sultan did not lie. She had not yet been born when he’d killed his wives in cold blood, but she’d heard the tales. And she’d seen him sentence people to imprisonment in the Bowels for lesser crimes.
She had never felt so helpless.
The sultan leaned back, a faint smirk on his lips. “A word of warning: do not think you can steal the lamp. The jinn is my ancestor’s prisoner. You will not be able to use its magic.”
Cocky bastard. She bit down on her tongue before it shaped the words.
“Yuba,” Mazen cut in weakly. “Amir threw the lamp into the Sandsea because its power blinded him. I do not think it wise to—”
“Silence, boy.” The words had the force of a slap, and the prince went mute beside her. “It is not power that corrupts, but intent,” the sultan continued. “And my intentions are pure as they come.”
“Oh?” Loulie forced herself to look up, right into the sultan’s eyes. What could a murderer possibly want with a jinn servant?
“The jinn have been a plague on our land for years. The hunts are inefficient. The jinn still exist, and we cannot dig them out from the Sandsea, no. But we must eliminate them. I will not let them steal my family from me.” His eyes flickered to Mazen, who glanced away, face ashen. “With this magic, I will have the power to end them.”
Oh. Loulie clenched her hands in her lap, willing them to stop shaking.
“Defeat magic with magic,” Hakim said softly. “A jinn against jinn.”
Loulie was having trouble breathing. Qadir, she thought. He would kill Qadir.
“Not just a jinn, but one of the seven kings,” the sultan affirmed. He leveled his stoic gaze on Loulie. “Do you see, al-Nazari? This is a just quest.”
It will lead to a massacre.