The prince angled his head and smiled. “Shukran. Safe journeys, al-Nazari.” He followed after the sultan and his brother. She blinked, startled by his curtness and the lack of sincerity in his voice.
She tamped down her irritation as she guided her mare forward, fighting dizziness as the world lurched. Prince Omar and his frowning thief, Aisha, were waiting for her, along with Qadir, who rode atop a broad stallion with his bow and quiver strapped to his back. Loulie was surprised to see the shamshir from their rooms sheathed at his hip.
“Feeling sentimental, are we?” She grinned. “And here I thought the shamshir would only ever be a pretty display.”
He turned as she approached. “It would be foolhardy to venture into the desert without a blade, no?” His eyes twinkled with humor. “It was collecting dust on the wall; I figured I may as well bring it with me in case I finally had a reason to use it.”
Hopefully there will never be a reason. Loulie held back a sigh as she joined him.
Qadir leaned back in his saddle, nodding toward the townsfolk. “I had no idea you were so popular in the land of the living.” His eyes skimmed the screaming, cheering crowds.
“You make me sound like a ghost.”
“Or a legend.” Qadir caught her eye.
She sighed. “And here I thought I was living a simple, humble life.”
He turned away with a snort. Loulie looked at him out of the corner of her eye, considering. There was a lot she still needed to ask him. About the lamp, the journey, and…
The cutthroats. She had not forgotten the shadow jinn’s warning. That in order to seek revenge, she would need to close off her heart. Those words had to mean something. And she would discuss them with Qadir as soon as they were able to steal a moment alone.
But who knew when that would be? Even now, she could feel Prince Omar smirking at her. She had never felt so great a desire to slap a smile off someone’s face.
She looked past Omar at his thief: a tall, graceful woman with dark braided hair that brushed the small of her back. Loulie felt insignificant beneath her glower, like a beetle being crushed beneath the heel of a boot. She was certain she had never been in worse company.
At least I still have Qadir. She held on to the thought as they started forward.
Her headache built into a painful throb as all around them the crowds hooted and trilled. Children waved decorative streamers from rooftops, women ululated and cheered, and men threw copper coins that glittered on the thoroughfares. The sultan’s soldiers stood sentinel at the edge of the road, stoically watching the proceedings while they kept an eye on the masses.
Though Loulie was accustomed to crowds, this was the most people she had seen together in one place, and the sight nearly made her freeze up. But then she remembered Dahlia’s words: A person’s reputation is determined by how they interact with others.
Loulie’s identity was a thing crafted from mystery, and she intended to keep it that way. She forced herself to straighten in her saddle and lift her head. She’d nearly made it to the souk entrance when a familiar voice called her name, and she turned before she could help it. Rasul al-Jasheen was pushing past people as he waved at her.
He drew close enough to touch her. “I had no choice,” he said. Loulie said nothing, though her hands trembled on the reins. Rasul’s eyes darted back and forth, seeking guards who were already approaching. “It was my tribe. I could not—could not risk them.”
Her heart beat so wildly she could barely hear herself think. Tribe. The word sounded like home and heartbreak. If she had been able to save her tribe all those years ago by destroying the lives of others, would she have done what Rasul had?
“Do not disobey him,” Rasul murmured as he stepped away. His green robes blended into the vibrant hustle and bustle of the souk, and between one blink and the next, he was gone.
Loulie was shaken when she turned to the gate. Her gaze wavered again, without her permission, and she saw Dahlia standing at the outskirts of the crowd, bulky arms crossed as if in defiance, amber eyes narrowed against the sun. The minute their gazes caught, Dahlia placed a hand over her heart and bowed.
Loulie loosed a soft breath and nodded back.
Goodbye, Dahlia.
“You’re sure about this?” the tavernkeeper said.
Layla grinned. “Completely. You told me I had to earn my keep somehow.”
Dahlia scoffed. “What I said is that I don’t take in freeloading orphans. Your errand running is more than enough payment. I never suggested you wander the desert looking for relics that may or may not exist. How do you even plan on finding these things?”