Mazen shook his head. “No one. I cannot risk sharing this secret.”
“What about the Midnight Merchant? Do you not think she would be more willing to travel with you if she knew your true identity?”
Mazen’s heart twisted with guilt. He hated lying to Loulie al-Nazari, but what choice did he have? She despised the sultan. If she found out Mazen’s secret, what was to stop her from using it as blackmail against his father? If that happened, the sultan would never forgive him.
Mazen liked Loulie, but he feared his father more.
Hakim nodded solemnly when Mazen told him this. “Then I alone will keep an eye on Omar.” He frowned. “It bothers me that he would put his own personal business before the sultan’s. And that he would send you on such a dangerous journey.”
It was bothersome, but not surprising. As a child, Omar had dared Mazen to do all sorts of dangerous things, only to laugh when he injured himself.
“I have marked the most well traveled routes on the map.” Hakim handed it to him. “The fastest route will take you through Dhyme and Ghiban.”
Mazen smiled wryly. “Ah yes, exactly what I need: cities full of people to act for.”
Hakim said nothing, only stared at him quietly, his bright eyes shadowed in the dim firelight. Mazen clutched the map to his chest, heart suddenly tight. He had no right to lament his trickery in front of his brother. His brother, who was trapped here because of him. “I’m sorry, Hakim.” The apology came out whisper thin.
Hakim blinked. “For what?”
Mazen gestured feebly around the chamber. At the towering stacks of tomes, at the maps pinned atop each other on the walls because there was no space. If it weren’t for him, Hakim would be out in the desert drawing his maps. Instead he sat here, a prisoner, handing Mazen the key to his escape.
The shadows on Hakim’s face shifted when he smiled, drawing dark crescents beneath his eyes that made him look much older than his twenty-five years. “I told you before: you owe me no apologies. Besides, now is not the time for them.”
Mazen swallowed the knot in his throat. No, now is the time for goodbyes.
Hakim stood and embraced him first, and it was all Mazen could do to return it without trembling. When Hakim drew away, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “May the stars guide your path and the gods keep you safe. And remember, Mazen.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “When in doubt, there is no better person to be than yourself.”
Mazen forced himself to smile. “I would never hope to be anyone else.”
He did not tell his brother that on this journey, he would be useless as himself. And that, deep down, he’d begun to fear this would always be the case.
18
LOULIE
Typically, Loulie’s departures from Madinne were quiet affairs. She and Qadir would rise with the sun, share chai with Dahlia, and then head out on horseback with their supplies in the bag of infinite space and the compass in hand.
Today was different. Today, everyone in Madinne was here to watch her leave. Or so it seemed. Loulie had never seen the thoroughfares so crowded. She’d known she had a reputation, but she had never expected this many people to know of her. It was strange that they were still enchanted by her, even though she looked far from mysterious standing upon the sultan’s hastily erected stage in her midnight-colored robes. Normally, she left Madinne in her brown shawls; there was no reason for her to draw attention to herself in the desert.
But now here she stood—the elusive Midnight Merchant, revealed at sunset.
Rasul al-Jasheen, the merchant, stood by the edge of the stage, trying to catch her gaze. Loulie ignored him. He had gotten her into this mess, and she would not forgive him for it.
She faced the crowds as the sultan’s speech came to a close. Their applause pulsed like a heartbeat in her body and thudded painfully through her head. Her stomach churned, and she could not tell if it was a consequence of the alcohol from last night or her own anxiety. Everything was too loud, too bright. The cheering was the worst—it was proof these people approved of her journey, and that they would not forgive her if she fled.
On the sultan’s command, Loulie mounted the chestnut-brown mare waiting at the head of the procession. She forced herself to sit upright as he came to her side with well-wishes that were clearly sugarcoated threats. Though she refused to do more than acknowledge him and his sons, her eyes lingered on the youngest prince as he turned away.
“Prince,” she said beneath her breath. “The jinn attacks were not your fault.” She had been meaning to say that to him ever since their conversation in the courtyard.