“Listen to yourself. You hardly sound like the Midnight Merchant.”
Loulie laughed. A hollow, bitter sound. “The Midnight Merchant you know is gone. I may as well be a celebrity now.” She focused intensely on the inside of her empty cup; it was the only way to keep her frustrated tears at bay.
What was she doing confiding in Dahlia? She’d never broken down in front of the woman, never let her see any of her insecurities. Dahlia may have been a generous landlord and a shrewd confidante, but Loulie took great pains to hide the more sentimental parts of her personal life from her. The less vulnerable she was with someone, the easier it was to leave them behind.
That was why, even with Ahmed, she’d—
Loulie cut the thought off with a growl. Damn that man for sneaking into my thoughts as soon as I let my guard down. She ignored Dahlia’s raised brow and turned her mind to more productive musings. She wondered, not for the first time, where Qadir was. Though he’d assisted her in the diwan, he’d been missing since their separation at the Night Market three days ago.
“A person’s reputation is determined by how they interact with others,” Dahlia said as she set another bottle down on the shelf behind her. She was cleaning them with a rag, as was her habit when she couldn’t sleep. Normally, all the tables would be occupied at this time, and the tavern would be full of customers sharing wine and snacks. But after the incident at the souk, all of Dahlia’s patrons had vanished. It was likely they’d decided to lie low after the purge.
“The Midnight Merchant does not converse with uppity nobles.” Loulie slammed her cup on the table. Then she did it a few more times, because it made her feel better.
Dahlia groaned. “Oh for gods’ sake…”
It was at that moment that the tavern’s front door opened and a man stepped inside. Loulie whirled, half expecting one of the sultan’s guards. But it was not a soldier.
It was Qadir, standing before them in all his unimpressed glory.
He raised a brow. “Who is this sorry drunk?”
Dahlia smirked. “I don’t know, but I have half a mind to throw her out.”
Loulie straightened. Too fast. The world blurred, and she had to steady herself against the counter before she could focus on Qadir. “Where have you been?”
He sighed as he slid onto the stool beside hers. “A hearty salaam to you too.” His gaze grew frosty when he saw the gown she was wearing.
“A present from the sultan,” she said. “I’m sure the customers will love it; they won’t be able to tear their eyes away.”
“Which is exactly why I should burn it,” Qadir said.
Dahlia just snorted. The tavernkeeper had no idea Qadir really could burn the dress with just a snap of his fingers. She slid one last bottle onto the shelf before turning to them with her hands on her hips. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. Burn out the lanterns when you’re done.”
Qadir dipped his head. “Tesbaheen ala khair.”
Dahlia responded only with a yawn before heading upstairs, leaving Loulie and Qadir alone. Loulie felt the urge to throw her arms around his neck and cry into his shoulder. She waited for it to pass before she repeated, “Where have you been?”
“Watching from a distance. I know about the quest.”
Loulie thought about the rooms she’d wandered into, and of the lanterns that lit those rooms. Qadir could watch her from those fires if he chose to; fire magic was his affinity, after all. Short of shapeshifting into a lizard, there was no other magic he could perform.
“And what do you think?” She mindlessly spun the cup between her hands. “About the legend and the lamp?” She looked up. “About what comes afterward?”
Qadir stole the cup before she could twirl it across the wood again. “I think it is useless to worry about a future not set in stone. As for the lamp—have you tried asking the compass where it is?”
Loulie set her chin on the table with a sigh. “It exists. I asked the coin and the compass.”
“Then it can be obtained.”
“And you have no qualms about handing an imprisoned jinn to the sultan?” She paused. “Do you know anything about this lamp?”
“Me?” Qadir shrugged. “Nothing. I was not in the human world that long ago. But if your sultan’s story contains even an inkling of truth, it is likely the jinn he is looking for is an ifrit.” His lips quirked at her puzzlement. “Ifrit are what we call the seven jinn kings in our land. It is a title bestowed upon beings of fire who are powerful enough to use various magic affinities.”