Sure enough, the red arrow was pointing straight at the wall of sand, quivering as if with anticipation. Loulie eyed the dune warily. It was not rare for a relic to manipulate the space around it. The stronger the relic, the more powerful the manipulation. But—a dune?
She put her hand to the hill and startled when her rings warmed. Indecision seized her as she looked at the compass. She had never gone searching for a relic without Qadir. Had never left him without a way to find her. But…
I just need to grab the prince and get out. I’ll be back before Qadir returns.
She tucked the compass into her pocket and stepped forward. This time, the magic did not hide itself from her. The sand gave away, revealing an entrance that hadn’t been there before. Loulie stepped into the darkness and disappeared from the valley.
22
MAZEN
The corridor was glorious, shining from floor to ceiling with beautiful mosaics. Stone pillars held up a domed ceiling covered in decorative stained glass. Skull-shaped sconces hung from the walls and contained flaming white candles that made the tiled floor flash a brilliant cerulean blue. It was, despite its eeriness, the most beautiful corridor he’d ever seen.
Mazen had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten here.
He could vaguely remember seeing a dune. Digging into the dune. Falling into the dune. Once inside, screaming at the pitch black of the dune. He remembered panicking, beating his fists against dark walls in an effort to find the exit. But after that, his memory was a blur.
He took a deep breath as he turned to the cracked image on his right. He beheld a clustered, chaotic depiction of what he guessed were the seven jinn kings. One jinn was half bird and half man, sporting a human torso and legs but bird wings and a falcon head. Mazen wondered if it was a depiction of the jinn king imprisoned by Amir.
The second jinn was portrayed midspin, its features hidden behind a veil of mist. The third jinn held a skull in one hand and a scepter in the other; the fourth had fins sprouting from its back and scales shining on its flesh. The fifth: a jinn wearing a dara’a cut into two halves—one glittering with jewels and the other black and torn. The last two jinn were the strangest; one was crafted from wood and had flowers growing between its fingers, while the other was a fanged shadow with glittering red eyes.
Mazen stepped back at the sight of it, heart pounding in his ears. It reminded him of the shadow jinn. But… no. Surely she had not been a jinn king?
He stifled a nervous laugh and forced himself forward. Every footstep echoed too loudly in the silent hall, and the jinn on the walls seemed to follow him with their eyes.
Don’t panic. He plucked a dagger from Omar’s belt in the hope that it would make him feel braver. The ruins were so quiet he could hear the rustle of his clothing, the frantic pounding of his heart. Usually, even silence had a sound—some underlying cadence that went unnoticed until all other noise disappeared. But this absence was absolute. Unnatural.
Don’t panic. He forced himself to walk. And walk. And walk.
His stomach jumped into his throat when he again saw the image of the seven jinn. He knew it was the same because the stone was chipped in the same places. He wasn’t walking down an endless corridor—he was walking in place.
The fire nearby wavered. Mazen’s grip on the blade tightened. His muscles tensed, his breathing hitched, and he thought, Oh gods, please don’t let me be possessed please—
“Salaam.”
He turned and thrust the dagger forward. It sliced through nothing. The stranger was far enough away that the blade never even brushed her skin.
Mazen froze. He knew this woman.
Long hair that gleamed like polished wood, freckled olive skin, gold eyes flecked with uneven brown—Mazen lowered his blade. Those were his eyes. His mother’s eyes.
“Uma?” He blinked and somehow, impossibly, she did not disappear.
“Habibi,” she murmured. He flinched but did not pull away when she placed a hand on his cheek. Her skin was cold, so very cold. But her hand was so soft. When she pulled it away, Mazen felt as if she’d unwound some vital thread from inside of him. He blinked, and his mother wavered on the spot like a mirage.
“Uma—” His fingers swept through air.
“Habibi.”
He turned and saw her standing farther down the corridor, holding a lantern that glowed with the same garish light as the candles in the sconces. She gestured him forward, a soft smile on her face. “Follow me.”
He stepped forward. “Where are you going?”
But Shafia did not answer. She turned and walked away, and the flames in the sconces flickered and died as she passed them. Darkness nipped at Mazen’s heels. Inconsequential, it whispered. He shrank away from it and chased after his mother.