Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands #3)(90)

‘And what is it that I want?’ I asked.

‘You want to live,’ Zaahir said simply. I felt the chasm of fear I’d been trying to look away from all these weeks open inside me anew. And even in the dark I could tell he was smirking. Because we both knew he was right. More than anything, that was what I wanted. He turned the ring so that it caught the light from the camp, drawing my eye. It was a bronze band with a single bauble mounted on it. But when I looked closer, I saw that it wasn’t a gemstone or a pearl. It looked like glass, and inside there was a shifting, colourless light. ‘You want to release Fereshteh’s soul and stay alive. Fereshteh’s endless fire has to go somewhere. But you don’t need to burn. It can be contained inside this ring. All you have to do, once you are near enough to the machine, is smash the glass on this ring. And all that immortal energy, it will not lash out and annihilate you like an insect in the path of a fire. The ring will draw the fire instead. Absorb it like water dashed across the sand. Instead of swelling up to drown you. And you, little Demdji, you can live.’

It still felt like a trick. I knew enough stories of the Djinn to know that if it seemed too good to be true, then it probably was. But it was too late to stop the jump of hope in my chest that came with his words. And as I stared at the ring, I could feel the hope seducing me.

I thought of being in Eremot with Zaahir. The way he had simply touched the Abdals and their light went out. It had been like watching their spark get sucked into a greater fire. I remembered how he had reached out a hand and Ashra’s Wall had shattered harmlessly. He had some power over Djinni fire that I didn’t understand.

And Zaahir was right. I didn’t want to die. It didn’t matter how far I’d come across the desert. A part of me would always be that selfish girl from Dustwalk bent on surviving.

My hand closed around the ring. And then suddenly, like a shadow disappearing into the night, Zaahir was gone.

And I was holding my salvation in my hand.





Chapter 36

It didn’t take me long to find Jin. He was on the edge of camp, where he’d pitched his tent, as far as he could get from Ahmed without giving himself over to the desert completely.

His eyes were closed, and a bottle of something dangled loosely in his fingers. He didn’t hear me, or if he did, he didn’t care. He didn’t even look up when I sank down next to him. His head tipped back against the side of his tent, eyes closed.

‘So, are you planning on finishing the whole bottle, or are you going to share?’

His eyes snapped open. A long silence stretched between us as I turned my head so that our gazes met. Until finally he handed me the booze. I took a swig and made a face. ‘You couldn’t find something better?’

‘Two weeks in Iliaz and you’re suddenly an expert on fine wine?’ His tone was light, but his eyes never left me, looking for answers to why I was here.

‘I’m just saying –’ I took another swig – ‘I know we’ve got something better than this around here.’

‘Yeah, well, the good liquor is being saved to drink to victory tomorrow.’ Jin prised the bottle out of my hands, taking a swig. I read a whole lot in that silence. That there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow for a whole lot of people. But we were all acting like this might not be our last night alive. And now that included me. ‘So, Blue-Eyed Bandit.’ He didn’t look at me when he spoke again. ‘Did you just come to torture me, or is there another reason you’re here?’

‘Why?’ I challenged, watching him carefully, my blood racing in my ears. I knew what I’d come for. I just didn’t know if I was ready to say it yet. ‘You don’t want me here?’

‘You already know what I want, Amani.’ Jin’s voice carving out my name was low and rough with feeling, and it shattered the last of my pretence, sinking a hook into my chest and pulling me towards him.

We’d kissed a hundred times before. But this felt different somehow. This felt like the first time all over again, when he’d pinned me up against the side of a train carriage that shook around us like it might fall apart at any second, as we clung to the only other thing in the world that seemed sturdy, both of us on that train rushing ahead into something we didn’t wholly understand. When everything in me had seemed to come alive under his hands. When he turned me from a spark into a fire, and I didn’t know how anyone could have enough power to do that to me.

My lips grazed his just slightly, like a match, seeing if it would strike. He tasted like cheap alcohol and gunpowder and desert dust and, somehow, still of salt air. That first kiss and every kiss since hung between us. The desperate ones, the angry ones, the joyful ones. And now this one, a whisper of my mouth over his, a question. We might all be dead tomorrow. But we might not. And right now, we were alive.

‘I’ve decided,’ I said, my mouth against his, ‘that I’m not going to die tomorrow. I reckoned you might be interested in knowing that.’

It was a fragment of a story. Of what had passed between me and Zaahir in the desert. But it was enough. For now. And I felt him exhale, like some great weight had been lifted off him, a second before his arms went around me. They circled me completely, crushing me to him as his mouth claimed mine.

The match caught between us, and we turned from kindling into an inferno.

The bottle fell out of my hands, spilling the wine into the sand. I was lost in him. I didn’t know how I could’ve made any other choice but him. It would have been impossible. I slid my hands under his shirt, across his back, up his spine. I anchored him to me, my fingers digging into his bare skin. I didn’t just want him. I needed him.