Mazen swallowed. “I’m sorry.” The apology tumbled from his lips before he could think it. “About the quest, my father, the shadow jinn…”
The merchant looked up, a peculiar expression on her face. “Why are you sorry about the jinn?”
Because my brother left her alive and she hurt you. Me. Both of us.
When he didn’t respond, the merchant changed the subject. “So, am I to call you Prince Mazen, then? Or…？” Her brows lifted.
“Mazen. Yousef is another identity for another time.” He shuffled on his feet, considering—then he tried a question. “But you knew it wasn’t my real name, didn’t you? It was why you followed me.”
The only evidence of the merchant’s surprise was a slow, careful blink. “A jinn made it her prerogative to hunt you down. I knew you were more than a simple scribe.” The words hung between them, a silent accusation.
But then, he had not been the only one lying. “And you?” he said. “What should I call you?” Loulie or Layla?
The merchant’s lips quirked. “Loulie. Layla is another identity for another time.”
She turned away, leaving Mazen to stare in wonder at her back. He hesitated. Would she flee if he asked more questions? She obviously wasn’t keen on speaking to the sultan, but maybe she would talk to him?
Cautiously, he stepped into the rose bed and crouched down beside her. “The stories they tell about you—the tales of Loulie al-Nazari, the Midnight Merchant—are they true?”
The merchant shrugged. “It depends on what they say. I haven’t, for instance, single-handedly defeated a group of notorious robbers with magic. But I did once set a hideout on fire and let the robbers fight over the rescued spoils until they defeated themselves.” There was humor dancing in her eyes. “And what about you, Prince?”
She shifted so that her rust-brown eyes bored right into him. “They tell many stories of your brother, but you are a mystery. You are the son of a storyteller, and a storyteller yourself, yet there are no tales about you.”
The words were a simple observation, but they fell on his shoulders like a physical weight. “Yes. There are not many stories to tell of a prince locked in a palace.”
“You can’t leave?”
“Not without a retinue.” He laughed weakly. “Every outing would be a procession.”
“And so you become Yousef.” She was still looking at him, brow furrowed. Mazen realized there was no judgment in her voice; she spoke matter-of-factly.
“Truth be told, I was just an anonymous man in the souk before I met you. You were the first to wonder about my identity.” A sad smile curved his lips. “Though I doubt I’ll be able to do it again anytime soon, it was nice to live a fictional life for a time.”
Loulie didn’t respond, not immediately, but when she did her words were a cold mumble. “I understand what you mean. A reputation can be a nuisance. Apparently, it can even be used to blackmail a person into going on a perilous quest.”
Mazen flinched. He knew her bitter words were not directed at him, but that did not make him feel any less responsible for his father’s cruelty. He was struggling to come up with a response when someone clamped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. He turned to see Omar looming behind them, surveying the scene with a lazy smile. “Salaam, Mazen.” He looked at Loulie. “Midnight Merchant.” His voice was cool.
Loulie’s expression went rigid. “High Prince.”
“It is, as always, a pleasure. I hope you do not mind me stealing my brother away.”
Mazen frowned. What now? He was certainly not late for the morning meal.
“Not at all.” The merchant rose from the bed of flowers and dusted off her robes. She looked out of place in the sunshine: a patch of night in a field of bright flowers. Yet she carried herself with the confidence of someone who belonged. No, with the confidence of someone who deserved better than this place, this quest.
With a sigh, Mazen begrudgingly let Omar steer him away. They had not gotten far when the merchant called out to them. “I’m curious, High Prince. Your black knives—where did you get them? They made even an incorporeal jinn solid.”
Mazen thought of the black knife in his dream and flinched. He hadn’t considered it before, but his brother’s knives were strange, weren’t they?
“They are the same as your blade. A weapon enchanted by jinn.” Omar smiled over his shoulder. His lady-killing smile, Mazen and Hakim called it, though Loulie did not look impressed. “Do not worry; I will use them to protect you if the need arises.”