“Fool,” she said with a smirk as she slid the silver into her pockets.
The theft improved her mood somewhat as she passed into Dhyme’s poorest district, through streets filled with litter and sewage. She had not been lying when she told the prince she needed a new horse, but there was another, more important errand she needed to run first.
As she moved deeper into the quarter, she became aware of its pungent scents, of the odors of rotting food and manure that lingered in the air. The smell always took her by surprise, no matter how often she came to this place, and she had to remember to hold her breath as she made her way toward the abandoned neighborhood that was her destination.
She encountered a beggar as she was making her way through the run-down thoroughfares: an old man with empty eyes. Aisha slid a coin from her pocket and tossed it to him.
The beggar gasped as the silver bounced off his knee and rolled into a wall.
“Gods bless you,” he called in a raspy voice as she walked away.
A few more turns, and she found herself at the dead end she’d been looking for. There was nothing but a cracked, plastered wall in front of her. Or so it would seem to most people. There was a fissure in the wall where it met the corner, and Aisha squeezed herself through it to get to another alley. She passed through several other hidden passages known only to her and forty others, and then she finally reached the boarded-up house she’d been looking for.
Dust coated the walls and floors, rising to cloud her vision as she made her way through abandoned rooms to a creaking staircase. At the landing was a door, which she knocked on in a particular fashion. She waited one heartbeat, two, and then she entered.
The first thing she saw when she stepped inside was the shelf on the back wall: a resting place for ornaments both bizarre and mundane, shiny and dull. A handful of relics worth a small fortune, hidden in Dhyme’s poorest quarter.
Aisha’s eyes flickered to the single open window in the abandoned home. A man stood beside it with his arms crossed, watching her. He regarded her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Aisha,” he said in his usual monotone.
“Junaid.” The name came out a sigh. She had not been certain he would be here. Dhyme was Junaid’s hunting ground, but he was rarely in the city. As the thief was the fastest rider in their band, Omar often depended on him to make time-sensitive deliveries.
The scrawny, middle-aged thief settled on the floor, tucked his bony legs beneath him. “I heard of your mission by hawk.” His lips lifted in a smile. On his sunken face, it looked like the grin of a dead man. “And I heard about the slaughter in the wali’s manor. I assume you’re here to tell the story so that I may deliver it to our king?”
Aisha nodded. Omar had not asked for reports, but he expected them.
She stripped the story down to its barest facts—she was not keen on sharing the details of her defeat. The older thief listened intently, reacting only when Aisha mentioned the collar’s ability to manipulate the dead.
His eyes gleamed with wonder. “So she is still alive,” he murmured.
“The jinn?” Aisha crossed her arms. “It’s more alive than any relic I’ve seen.”
“Perhaps because it is a jinn king’s relic. I imagine those would be more powerful.” Junaid looked thoughtful. “There is a tale around these parts about an undead jinn queen, no? Perhaps the collar you found belongs to her.”
Aisha frowned. He was referring to the Queen of Dunes, a cautionary tale meant to discourage children from wandering the desert alone. She had not thought to connect the jinn in the ruins to an old campfire story, but Junaid’s theory made sense.
“So where is it?” Junaid leaned forward. “Where is this king’s relic I am to deliver?”
“With the merchant. The idiot prince gave it to her after the fight. If it disappears, they’ll know I stole it.”
Junaid blinked at her. “And?”
Aisha scowled. “And it’s already hard enough to keep their trust. The last thing I need is for them to start becoming suspicious of us. Suspicious of Prince Mazen.”
When Junaid continued to stare at her placidly, she shook her head and said, “Deliver this promise to our king: tell him I will bring him the relic at journey’s end. He trusted me to watch the prince. He can trust me to watch a relic.”
Never mind that the relic had made her forget herself. That the thing had made her look like a fool twice. She would not let it happen again. She was stronger than any jinn—king or not.
Junaid rose with a sigh. His knees cracked as he straightened. “Fine. I am but a humble messenger. I will deliver your words to Omar.” He walked past her to the door and picked up a bulky bag she had not noticed. She assumed it was filled with Dhyme-made weapons to be delivered to Omar. She was amazed Junaid’s thin body didn’t crack beneath its hefty weight.