The servant had just reached for Loulie’s cup when Ahmed waved her away. “Please.” His eyes twinkled with mirth as he stole the bottle and poured the last cup himself. “Tonight, let me serve you.” He held the cup out, and Loulie fought to keep her expression blank when their fingers brushed. Her heart was beating so loudly it seemed a miracle no one else could hear it.
Conversation had thankfully not yet sparked between them when another servant came by and told Ahmed he had a guest asking for him. The wali came to his feet with a smile. “Please,” he said to their entourage. “Make yourselves at home.” He flashed them all a smile before striding away.
Omar sighed into his cup of wine. “Does that man know how to not smile?”
Loulie cleared her throat. She was resolved to avoid talking about the wali while he wasn’t here. Besides, now that he was gone, she had an opportunity to speak with the thieves alone. “Never mind the wali. I have something important I must discuss with you. It’s about—”
“The relic?” Aisha scoffed. “You will not convince me to give it to you.”
Loulie paused. Her eyes flickered to Omar, who watched her quietly. “It’s dangerous,” she insisted. “You saw what it was capable of.”
“Of course. How could I forget you trying to kill me?” He chuckled when she flushed. “I hope you remember that it was you who was possessed, merchant.”
Loulie was disgruntled. In the ruins, the prince had been afraid of the collar. And now the smug bastard was acting like he had been in control of the situation the whole time? She wanted to protest but realized she had no way of knowing if he or his thief had fallen under the ifrit’s spell. She had never found out what happened to them in the dune.
“It was lucky that your flaming blade did not burn my face,” Omar said. “Such an assault, even accidental, would have been difficult to forgive.”
Loulie pressed her lips together. Thank the gods for Qadir. His control over his fire’s heat—even from a distance—was astounding. But she could not tell the prince that when he thought her blade a mere relic. “Magic fire distinguishes friend from foe,” she murmured.
Omar raised his brows. “Impressive.”
Loulie cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I have a way of neutralizing the magic.” She glanced at Qadir, hoping he would jump in to assist her, but he was staring broodily across the diwan at the wali, who spoke animatedly with a band of musicians.
“Neutralizing?” The prince tilted his head. “Do tell.”
“No, don’t,” Aisha said sharply. Loulie did not miss the frown the prince cast in her direction. “There’s no point trying to convince me. I told you: I don’t plan on handing over the relic. It was found by my prince, and it belongs to him.”
Loulie narrowed her eyes. “If that’s the case, why do you keep talking as if it’s your decision to make?”
Loulie ignored the thief’s cutting look and calmly sipped from her wine as she considered her next words. She could keep down this path and try to get the prince on her side, or—
Sudden applause broke her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw that the diwan’s occupants were clapping for the musicians Ahmed had been speaking with. “Now!” the wali cried onstage, clasping his hands. “We have a very special performance!” A flurry of lively music broke out at his words, and the diwan was filled with the whistle of the nay, the beat of the riqq, and the dum of the tabl baladi.
The room vibrated with an intoxicating energy, the kind that inspired strangers to seek out dance partners. This was how Loulie found herself pulled into the crowd by a cheery young man who’d clearly had too much wine. She glanced back at Qadir, but he just watched her, amused, while Aisha and Omar retreated through the crowds.
Cowards. Loulie scowled. Fleeing before we could finish our conversation!
At first, she tried to run. But every time she fought the crowd, it pulled her back in. So she gave up and begrudgingly started to dance. Self-consciously at first, but then, as she became attuned to the rhythm of the melody, with more confidence.
The music became a current, carrying her through the steps of the debka and from one partner to the next. She was so immersed in the motions that she barely noticed her partners’ faces. It was not until she saw the flash of a familiar smile that she looked up and saw Ahmed bin Walid approaching. He swept toward her gracefully, clasping their hands—his left hand and her “good” one—and raising them above their heads before she could slip away.