By the time she’d come to the end of her account, her mind was fuzzy with pain. Still, she forced herself to focus so she could ask the questions whirring through her mind. “What happened to the relic?”
Qadir grimaced. “The high prince’s thief refuses to hand it over. She believes that because the prince located it, it belongs to him.” His frown deepened. “I do not know how, but we must find a way to take it back. It is… special.”
He pulled his hand away, and where the terrible gash had been there was now a faintly glittering scar. Loulie knew she would have to bind the wounded hand again after she cleaned it; she could not let the prince and the thief see it healed so soon.
“Shukran,” she mumbled as she ran her thumb over the sensitive skin. “For healing my injury.” She looked up and caught his eyes. “And for helping me in the ruins.” Even from a distance, he’d been watching over her.
Qadir simply nodded as he turned to the window, eyes locked on the stars hanging in the ebony sky. Loulie knew that if she let him, he would sit there all night, stargazing. It was what he did every time he wanted to avoid speaking with her.
She pushed off her covers and threw her legs over the side of the bed so that she could face him. “Are you going to tell me why the relic is special? Does it have something to do with it belonging to the Queen of Dunes?” Even the name was a question.
Qadir sighed. “Meaningless titles aside, yes, the jinn you ran into in the ruins is an ifrit who specializes in death magic. It is what allowed her to influence the movements of the ghouls.”
Loulie probed her injury and flinched at the dull pain that shot through her limbs. She could feel Qadir’s eyes on her. “And the song she sang?” she asked softly.
“It is an old song.” His eyes dimmed as he leaned back in his chair, away from the fire. “A nostalgic song, one passed down by jinn who call Dhahab their home.”
Home. She had felt that insatiable longing for it in the ruins. She wondered if the reason she had seen her father was because he was a manifestation of what home meant.
“I never knew it had the power to possess people.”
Qadir smiled wanly. “The ifrit did not use lyrics to ensnare you. She used magic.” The smile faded. “That is why the ifrit are dangerous: their manipulation is subtle but powerful. Worse, they can possess people from a distance, through just their relics.”
“And what happens when we somehow manage to take this relic back from Aisha?” Loulie paused. “What if the ifrit possesses her before we can get it back?”
“The relic seems to have gone silent for now, but yes, time is of the essence.” He crossed his arms. “Once we have the collar, I will keep it until we figure out what to do with it. As a jinn, I am immune to ifrit possession.”
“And you call me cocky.” She regretted the words immediately after saying them.
But, much to her surprise, Qadir gave her—well, not a smile, exactly, but the edges of his lips had curled into something vaguely resembling one. “I know my limitations, unlike you.” He turned to the lantern, and the light dimmed. Qadir faded into shadow, and then he disappeared. Loulie spotted him curled around the base of the lantern in his lizard shape. He rested his head against the metal and closed his eyes.
“There’s a hammam at the end of the hall,” he said, his voice a whisper. “You should wash your hand, then get some sleep.”
Loulie groaned as she slid out of bed. She had nearly made it to the door when she stopped, eyes on her healing hand. “Qadir? You heard the tale of the Queen of Dunes; do you think the ifrit in the relic is the queen from the story?”
Qadir spoke softly into the darkness, as if afraid of being overheard. “Who knows? Humans make up tall tales all the time, but even lies stem from a kernel of truth.”
It was a dubious answer, a very Qadir answer, and it did little to assuage her worries. Well, she thought as she opened the door. At least now I can worry in earnest.
26
LOULIE
When Loulie woke, Qadir was reading a letter that had arrived for her that morning. She knew even without looking that it was an invitation to the wali’s residence. Ahmed bin Walid was a man of habit; he and Loulie executed the same song and dance every time she came to Dhyme. The only difference was that this time, she had not alerted him to her arrival.
Great. She rubbed at her sleep-crusted eyes. Now my reputation really does precede me.
“Ahmed?” she asked Qadir.
He crumpled the note in his fist. “Ahmed,” he confirmed. “There’s to be a social gathering in his diwan tonight.”