Ahmed clapped his hands, quieting them. “At ease! We don’t need the high prince to have a good time.” He waved a hand, and the servants waiting in the wings laid out a feast. Loulie’s stomach growled as they set down plates of halloum and pita, bowls of baba ghanoush and fattoush, skewers of chicken and lamb shish tawook, and dolmas stuffed with rice and onions.
“Please, let us eat and talk! You are in good company tonight.”
Loulie was happy to oblige. Without Omar bin Malik there, she was apparently the most interesting person, and the hunters asked her constant questions. They asked her about her goods and her travels, her bodyguard—Loulie snorted when they called him mysterious—and her history. She told them an echo of the truth, a flimsy but interesting half lie.
Then, when they’d devoured the food and moved on to dessert, she showed them her relics. There were only a few—she had sold most of them in Madinne’s Night Market—but there were enough to sate their curiosity.
“How in the world do you find enough relics to sell them?” This question came from the scarred hunter as plates of baklava and kunafah were served. Loulie declined the latter and took two plates of the first. Baklava was her favorite, and the treats prepared at Ahmed’s manor were some of the best she’d ever had.
She turned to the hunter and, speaking around mouthfuls of honey and dough, said, “I’m afraid that’s a trade secret.”
“Hmm.” Another hunter—Snub Nose, Loulie called him—thoughtfully ran the sleeping beads through his fingers. “Why sell them at all when you could have the most valuable collection in the country?”
“Collections are a hobby.” Loulie raised a brow. “I run a business.”
Besides that, what point was there in gathering enchanted items that would simply sit on her shelves and collect dust? It was the relics’ uses that made them valuable—and which allowed her to make a living. A forbidden collection would gain her nothing.
The irritable young hunter cocked his head. “Isn’t what you’re doing illegal?” He glanced at Ahmed, and as if on some invisible cue, the other hunters looked at him too.
Loulie scowled. “I can speak for myself, shukran.” Still, she glanced at Ahmed, curious about his response. She was taken aback by the steeliness of his gaze.
The look did not go unnoticed by the others. The irritable hunter frowned. “Ahmed?”
“Is something amiss?” said another hunter.
Ahmed blinked. He had the look of someone coming out of a dream. “Mm? Oh, no. I apologize; I was a prisoner to my thoughts.” He smiled, but it was only a halfhearted twitch of his lips. “We were talking about relics, yes? Collecting and selling them as if they were tools?”
Loulie frowned. “They are tools.”
“Do you truly believe that?” The wali’s feeble smile disappeared. “Have you at all considered, merchant, that your business capitalizes on suffering?”
His barbed words made her flinch. Relics were items that had been enchanted by jinn and forgotten in the desert. Where was suffering involved?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.” She felt a twinge of unease as she slid away from the wali, wary of the blankness that had settled across his features. She had never seen that look before. Unthinkingly, she clasped her hands—and cringed when she felt the heat of her rings through her bandages.
Ahmed laughed. A soft, humorless chuckle. “Of course you do not.” He turned his attention to the circle. “Tell me, friends.” His lips twisted into a sharp, slanted smile—an awful, foreign grin that made Loulie’s blood freeze. “Do you kill jinn because you hope to steal their magic? Or do you do it for the blood? For the thrill of the kill?” He held up a hand. “No, do not speak. The answer does not matter.”
Loulie stared at the wali, nonplussed. Who was this grinning stranger sitting before her?
A seed of fear took root in her chest as she watched the hunters reach for concealed knives and weapons. Instinctively, her hand went to the compass in her bag—her guiding relic. “Sayyidi?” she said softly.
He set a hand on his scarf, smiled. “Hello again, jinn killer. Would you like to sing with me?” He began before she could respond, singing a song she recognized. A nostalgic song, Qadir had called it. But to Loulie it sounded like a lamentation for a never-ending, fruitless journey.
She was only vaguely aware of the singing. It was becoming difficult to focus. She recognized the voice of one of the hunters. Saw something flash through the air—a blade, perhaps—but then her vision was gone and there was only her heartbeat, growing louder and louder, and it was strange because it almost seemed as if it were coming from the compass and…