Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands #3)(60)

I struck a fresh match.

‘I was not sorry in the short life of my first guard. Especially when he told me that she had died. He told me my son was fighting in her place now, using the name of the First Hero as she had. I was not sorry in the lifetime of my next guard either, or the one who came after that. After a time, they stopped coming as often as they had. Then they stopped coming altogether. They forgot about me. Now it is only my so-called brothers who come to see me, when they remember. They bring me news. Bahadur was the last.’ His eyes scraped over me. ‘Bahadur never changes. He tries to hide his children, ever since the first one died. The princess with the sun in her hands who fell from the walls. He gives you all those eyes like hers….’ He trailed off. I didn’t know if he meant Princess Hawa or the First Hero now. ‘But he never can hide you, because he gives you all far too much power. He thinks it will help keep you safe. But all it does is make you burn too brightly and too quickly, and then you snuff out.’ The flame in my fingers wavered; it was burning low, but it had some life left to it. ‘He’s so desperate to protect you that he gets you all killed.’

‘The Bahadur you’re talking about sounds real different from the one I know,’ I said, trying not to sound bitter. I remembered my father watching me mercilessly as the knife plunged towards my stomach, ready to let me die. I remembered railing at him for letting my mother die and finding no remorse there. I remembered the stories of Princess Hawa, his first daughter, who had died long ago fighting in the war the Djinn were too cowardly to fight on their own. She’d received no help from him.

I had wanted to know why he couldn’t save them. I had my answer. Djinn who tried to save humans ended up here. Like this.

The Sin Maker smiled, like he could read some of what I was thinking in my traitor eyes. ‘Your father came to ask me if I was sorry. That was nearly two tens of years past,’ he said, like he was trying to decide how old I was. ‘Nearly.’

Nearly. But not quite. I could guess the true number. I was seventeen. So was Noorsham. Our father had come here for the Sin Maker’s penance and found our mothers instead.

‘You owe me gratitude, daughter of Bahadur.’

A small, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up in my chest. ‘Because your imprisonment made me?’

He rattled his chains conspicuously just as the light snuffed out again, leaving only his voice in the dark. ‘I might know a way to thank me.’

The silence in the cave was palpable as the matches in the box rattled together. I slid one of them over the sandpaper so I could see him again.

Truth was I wanted to release him. We were going up against an impossible barrier. We needed an ally like him. But I had to ask all the same. ‘Are you sorry?’

The Sin Maker got to his feet slowly, bringing himself to his full height as he faced me. ‘Have you ever been in love, daughter of Bahadur?’ I was suddenly keenly aware of the rope around my waist, stretching through solid stone back to Jin’s hand. I didn’t answer. ‘Is there anything you wouldn’t do to save them if you could?’

I was still silent. This time I really didn’t know the answer. I would take a bullet to hold on to Jin; I had once, and I had a scar to prove it. But the Sin Maker would have doomed the whole world for the First Hero. I didn’t know if I was selfish enough to doom the whole world for Jin. I didn’t know that I was selfless enough not to.

‘No,’ he said finally, watching me struggle. ‘I’m not sorry.’

‘How would you like to be freed anyway?’

I had the satisfaction of catching him off guard. The Sin Maker tilted his head to the side just a little. ‘And why would a daughter of Bahadur the noble do that?’ he asked warily.

I ran my tongue across my dry lips before finally settling on the part of the truth I wanted to tell. ‘There are some people I care about, and there’s a good chance they’ll die if I don’t get to them soon. I want to save them.’ Like you wanted to save her. It hung unsaid between us.

‘So it’s a trade you want? My help for my freedom?’

‘Something like that.’ I could already see him burning a little brighter. But for once, I had the advantage on him. I might not have been alive as long as he had, but I had lived in the world with mortality a whole lot longer. And I knew centuries of stories about making deals with Djinn. Only the gifts given willingly by Djinn ever brought good. The rest – cheated or bargained out of them – brought ruin. One misplaced word brought disaster instead of fortune. One slippery, undefined turn of phrase left all the room the Djinn needed for us slower, stupider mortals to slip off the edge.

The Sin Maker hated me. I could see it written all over him. He hated me because I was mortal, because I existed through the sacrifice of a hero he had loved long, long ago. And I was the child of one who had chained him up. He wouldn’t give me anything willingly. Not even in exchange for his freedom after centuries. And if he tried, I couldn’t win. I couldn’t outsmart him. ‘You’re thinking that you’ll trick me,’ I said, stilling the thoughts roiling in his mind. ‘That I’ll try to bind you to me, to give you orders. But I don’t want to do that.’

‘What do you want then, daughter of Bahadur?’

‘I don’t want to fight you.’ I wanted to rest. I was tired. I was wrung dry by this war. By leading. By everything. ‘I don’t want to play games where I weigh every word I say to check for loose footing and you prod at them to find the cracks to slip through. So here’s my offer: I want you to agree to do what I want.’