Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands #3)(77)

So Haytham’s brother had seen us coming. He was surrendering.

‘If someone surrenders, does that mean you can’t kill them?’ Haytham asked, squinting up at the flag over his home. He was older than us by a decade or so, though he looked even older from his time at Eremot. Curly hair grew shaggy across his brow. He had been trapped there longer than our people, and he bore marks I was sure would never go away. But there was a new lightness to him now he was back in his city again.

‘It is traditional not to,’ Shazad advised.

‘But then again, we’re big on breaking tradition,’ Jin tossed in, as we approached the doors of the house. I could sense him close behind me as we climbed up the clean white steps. When I turned back to look at him, his eyes weren’t on me though. They were fixed on the ships in the harbour just below. Jin and Ahmed has spent most of their lives on ships. There was an easiness in Jin’s stance I hadn’t seen in a long time, now we were so close to the sea.

We were wary in spite of the white flag as we entered the house. But there was no ambush inside the door. We ventured in carefully. Marble hallways spread out around us, vacant, and room after room was empty, except for the sea air stirring the curtains. There was no one here for revenge even if Haytham had wanted it.

‘He fled,’ Haytham declared, pushing open the door to a fine set of rooms. Those that belonged to the emir, I guess. The inside was turned over, as if someone had grabbed their belongings in a rush. His brother. ‘The coward.’

He must’ve heard that we were on our way. But I had the feeling it wasn’t news of our numbers or our weapons that made him flee. It was the news that the Rebel Prince had returned from the dead. We didn’t even have to fight with the tale of Ahmed preceding us.

That was the power of a legend.

*

We split up, starting a quick search of the house. Haytham’s brother couldn’t have got far. Shazad and I took the ground floor, while Haytham went looking for the servants who used to work in his household. If anyone had answers, it would be them.

Shazad made a face as she pushed open a door.



‘What?’ I asked, reaching for my gun already.

‘No, no.’ She stopped me quickly, opening the door fully. It gave way to a small courtyard, with a bubbling fountain set into the wall. And above that was a half-finished, multicoloured mosaic. It looked like a man’s face. ‘If ever I think it’s a good idea to put a six-foot-high portrait of myself in my home, will you promise to slap me?’

I snorted, relaxing my grip on my gun. ‘You know it’s dangerous for Demdji to make promises,’ I joked.

She was about to say something else when we both heard it. It sounded like a child’s cry. It was coming from just beyond the wooden doorway in the small courtyard. The lightness leached out of Shazad’s face as quick as anything as she set her hand on her sword.



She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. We’d fought many a fight together. I knew what she needed. I offered her a slight nod as she moved towards the door, drawing my gun. I took a deep breath as she exhaled.

Shazad shoved the door open abruptly, drawing her sword as she did, even as I moved forwards, covering her with my gun.

And then we both stopped abruptly.



Beyond the door was another small garden, crowded with cowering people. And they were far from threats. I counted about two dozen women and at least twice as many children, from about thirteen years old all the way down to babes in arms.

Shazad dropped her blade even as children in the garden started to cry and women clutched their children closer to their chests.

‘It’s all right!’ She held up her now empty hands. ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’

I knew them, I realised. The boy who was pressed behind his mother nearby – his name was Bassam. I had seen him once before, standing on the edge of a lake, bow in hand, as he came of age. His father’s hand had been on his shoulder.

They were the Sultan’s wives and children.

Leyla had said that the rest of the harem had been sent away as the siege approached. Sent to safety.

Tiamat had been safety. At least before we’d arrived.

‘We’re not going to hurt you,’ Shazad repeated even as I touched the knife that Zaahir had given me, hanging at my side.

Use this knife to take the life of another prince, and I promise you that your prince will live through the battle to take the throne.

A prince’s life for a prince’s life.

I thought he meant it as some brutal taunt, that I should kill Jin or Rahim, when he knew I never would. Some tainted offer of help that I would never get.

Except I had hung on to the knife in spite of that. And now, I was being presented with dozens of princes.

We’re not here to hurt you, Shazad had told them.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I pressed out of the garden, ignoring Shazad calling out behind me. Quickly I laced my way back to the street. I found the road to the sea easily enough, and soon I was standing at the docks, overlooking the ships and the terrifyingly endless water. I ripped the knife out of the sheath at my side and flung it through the air. I had good aim – it arced and landed in the waves, sinking far out of my reach. Taking away the chance I might do something stupid and desperate.

‘It’s no wonder you wanted to rescue him.’ I looked up, startled by the voice. There was a man behind me, his back against the wall, a small collection of coins by his grubby bare feet. ‘You’re so afraid of making the wrong choices, aren’t you?’