Omar continued speaking slowly, calmly, as if to a child. “These bracelets are special. You remember the lamp the jinn king enchanted for Amir? These were also created by that jinn. They are as ancient as Amir’s scrolls.”
Mazen picked up one of the bangles and ran his fingers over the gemstones in awe. “Passed down through the family?”
“For hundreds of years. They’ve been in the treasury gathering dust, so I doubt they’ll be missed.” He leaned forward. “As you can see, I’ve already fed my blood to one of them. In order to pull off our illusion, you must offer your blood to the other.”
Mazen’s stomach knotted. “Illusion?”
Omar smiled. “We are going to switch places, Mazen.”
The bangle fell from his hands. “But Father wants you to accompany the merchant—”
“And that is exactly the problem. I am preparing for an important operation with my thieves, and I cannot miss it.” He rested his elbows on his knees, leaned forward. “I thought you would be excited about this. Have you not always wanted to go galivanting around the desert? Now you can.”
Mazen bit back a self-mocking laugh. As a child, he’d always craved adventure—the kind in his mother’s stories, which featured heroes and magic and fantastical creatures. But that had been then, and this was now. “Not this kind of adventure.”
Omar frowned. “I have kept your secrets, akhi, and I have saved your life. You owe me this. Or…” His eyes flashed. “Would you like me to explain to the sultan how the jinn came to possess your shadow?”
Mazen’s heart beat in his throat. It was you who brought the shadow jinn back. You who provoked her! He held his tongue. He knew he could not afford to say the words, knew that the sultan’s disappointment in Omar would be second to his anger at Mazen.
But Omar’s request—it was impossible.
“I don’t know how to use a blade. I could never pretend to be you.”
Omar stabbed his knife into the table and smiled when Mazen recoiled. “Never fear. I will send Aisha, my best thief, with you. She and my other thieves will know your true identity. If there is any fighting to be done, leave it to her.”
Mazen faintly remembered the hooded woman he’d seen with Omar in the courtyard. How was it that that meeting had been less than a week ago?
“What say you, Mazen?” Omar tilted his head.
Mazen let out a single, strained “ha” that was half a cry for help, half a laugh.
Before his mother’s death, he’d thought the world outside Madinne a magical place. His mother had made it seem full of life and light and endless possibilities. And then she had been killed by one of the creatures in her stories, and the magic had disappeared.
And yet…
Death in a free land is better than life in a gilded cage.
He had told Loulie al-Nazari he enjoyed stepping into a life where he could be someone other than himself. Someone other than the overprotected son of a legendary storyteller.
This was his chance to leave Madinne. His single, dangerous chance.
It would not be the first time he had pretended to be someone other than himself.
“Fine.” Mazen lifted his head and met his brother’s eyes. “I will go on your adventure.”
15
LOULIE
“Do you really need another drink?” Dahlia bint Adnan held the wine bottle a safe distance from Loulie, who sat at the tavern counter, shaking a precariously tipped cup at her.
“No.” Loulie frowned. “But I want one anyway.”
Dahlia sighed as she set the bottle back on the liquor shelf behind her. “Any more wine and you’ll fall off your horse tomorrow during the procession. You don’t want that, do you? You may not care what the sultan thinks of you now, but you certainly will tomorrow.”
Loulie scowled. “Let him think what he wants. I’m sick of letting him parade me around. Look at me, Dahlia!” She grasped the collar of the horrendously shimmering dara’a she was wearing. “Imagine my embarrassment at being forced to wear this tonight. And worse! Being forced to wear it while hanging off of Prince Omar’s arm.”
Prince Omar had been all cocky smiles as he led her around the diwan earlier that evening, introducing her to guests she’d never wanted to meet. The nobles had gaped at her like she was some treasure on display, cooing over her dress and waggling their brows at her.
Loulie hated them, all of them.
It had been a small relief to escape the nobles tonight, to have been given permission by the sultan to spend the last night before her terrible journey here in Dahlia’s tavern.