“I take it your dinner went well?”
Omar shrugged. “If by ‘well’ you mean exasperating, then yes.”
“Is that not the usual experience?”
“It’s different for my brother. The nobles like to flatter him, thinking it’ll get them closer to the sultan. But me? The snobs are too scared to do more than kiss my boots.”
Aisha caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye: not the bangle, but a shard of silver Omar was idly turning over in his hands. She recognized his crescent earring immediately. “You forgot to give that to your brother? Isn’t it an important part of his disguise?”
Omar stiffened, curled his fingers over the crescent. “My likeness is more than convincing. He does not need the earring.” There was a forlornness in his gaze when he spoke, a vulnerability that made Aisha uncomfortable.
She forgot sometimes that his earring was the only thing he had left of his mother. That while she at least had memories of those she’d lost, the prince would never be able to recall the mother who had died bringing him into the world.
“No,” she said after a few moments. “I don’t suppose anyone outside of Madinne would think to look for it.” Her eyes fell on the bangle. “That thing, on the other hand, is impossible to miss. Are you certain no one will notice it?”
She didn’t miss the way his shoulders sagged at the change in subject. He reached up to click the earring into his earlobe. “Let them notice. My brother wears flashy trinkets all the time; what’s one more? Although…” He looked at her, and there was a silent question in his eyes.
“No,” she said simply. “I’m not the one in disguise. I don’t need any relics.”
“It’s easier to kill jinn with their own magic, you know.”
“I’ll kill them with a blade or not at all.” The thought of using relics—of using jinn magic—made her stomach churn. Self-righteous politics be damned. She wasn’t killing jinn for any gods. She was killing them for revenge. And she would cut off her own hands before she won that revenge with the twisted magic that had ruined her life in the first place.
“Stubborn as always.” He surveyed her quietly. Aisha recognized the blank look on his face; it was the expression he wore when he was sizing someone up.
She crossed her arms. “Having second thoughts about staying behind?”
“Never.” He smiled. “I can trust you to see this through to the end?”
“Of course.”
“You promise not to die?”
She scoffed. “A thief steals lives. They do not have their life stolen from them.”
“Well said.” Omar tucked the bangle into one of the pockets of his robe and stood. “I’m afraid I must excuse myself. I have to help my brother pack before you all depart tomorrow.” He paused. “Mazen owes me his secrecy, but you’ll help him keep character, I hope?”
“I’ll try my best, but no promises.” She rested her head against the window with a sigh. “I see why your father keeps him locked inside. He’s an easy target.”
“Which is why I’m depending on you to protect him.” He grinned. “I owe you, Aisha.”
Aisha flapped a dismissive hand. She had never cared about earning or trading favors.
Omar put a hand to his chest and bowed. “Until the morrow.”
After he’d departed, Aisha glanced down at the patchwork of scars on her arms. At the flowers she had tattooed across them like armor. She did not believe in mourning the past. But the present—that was something she could change for the better with her blade.
The city was the prince’s arena. Hers had always been the desert.
And she was looking forward to returning to it.
17
MAZEN
Mazen’s adventure had yet to begin, but he was already tired of it. Walking through the halls in his brother’s body and flashing his condescending smile at others was taking its toll. He hated the way the servants looked at him with fear in their eyes. Gods, even the nobles were nervously talkative around him.
But no response was worse than the Midnight Merchant’s. While the others averted their gazes, she glared right at him. Mazen knew she hated him. He couldn’t fault her—not after his father had ordered him to shadow her last night. Mazen blamed Omar; his brother had thought it wise to test their disguises, so Omar had gone to last night’s celebration as Mazen and Mazen had gone as his brother. He hated that he had been so convincing.