Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(106)

‘Ahmed—’

‘Amani.’ He grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, jolting me forward into a hug. I collapsed gratefully. Ahmed was a lot easier to believe in when he was flesh and blood in front of me. ‘Welcome home.’





Chapter 40

The ripples of the night before hit us one by one.

The events of Auranzeb were twisted by the palace before being spread among the people of Izman. The Sultan announced Miraji’s independence from foreign rule. Any country that threatened our borders would burn for it.

The announcement went on to say that in the fighting of the night Prince Kadir had been killed. He had died bravely in combat, killed by his own brothers, the Rebel Prince and Prince Rahim, who had turned on his family unexpectedly, along with Lord Bilal, who had escaped. Prince Rahim had been apprehended trying to flee like a coward. He would be cursed forever for killing his own blood. The Sultan was grieving his son. There was no news about an execution for Rahim. After what had happened at Shira’s execution I could see why the Sultan might not want to risk another public beheading.

There were going to be new Sultim trials. To choose a new heir to Miraji. The Sultan had told me the people never loved the throne so much as when princes were killing each other for it. He’d murdered his own son and now he was using his death to win the people back over from the Rebellion to the throne.

But we could use it, too. We would remind the city that the Sultim trials had already chosen an heir. Prince Ahmed.

In light of the recent events, the palace announced there would be a new curfew. The Sultan’s army of Abdals would patrol the streets. They could not be reasoned with or argued against. Anyone found on the streets between sundown and sunrise would be executed. It was for safety, the palace said. After all, only dark intentions belonged to the dark hours of the night. They didn’t say it was to hobble the Rebellion, but we all heard the meaning behind the words.

And we were hobbled.

It was strange, hearing it from the outside, after being on the inside for so long. We were operating blind again just when we couldn’t afford to. It was agreed that Imin would go back to the palace, to be our eyes.

‘Isn’t there another way?’ I knuckled my eyes tiredly as I went over it with the others. We were in Shazad’s father’s office. It had been set up as a war room of sorts. Not that much had needed to change for that. There was something comforting about it even though we could scarcely have been further from Ahmed’s pavilion back in the rebel camp. The walls were pinned with maps and notes. The map of Izman I’d stolen from the Sultan’s desk the night we’d eaten together was right in the middle. I recognised a lot of the rest as information I’d passed on from inside the palace.

Some of it Rahim had given me.

I’d escaped, but he was still inside. And we needed to know what was happening to him. So I felt a stab of guilt as I voiced my objection. ‘I’m not sure it’s smart to put another Demdji in the Sultan’s hands.’ Rahim had been my ally, but no one knew better than I did the risks of Imin getting found out.

Navid looked hopeful at my objection. He was sitting in a huge armchair in the corner, arms circled around Imin. She was wearing a petite feminine shape, small enough that she fit into her husband’s arms like she was a missing piece who’d belonged there all along. Her legs were tucked under her as she leaned against his chest comfortably, eyes closed. She was exhausted but awake. The night before had taken its toll on everyone. Hala was truly asleep in a corner. Jin was sitting on Shazad’s father’s desk, shirt flung over his back, as Shazad inspected the wound on his side.

‘You need to get this seen to properly,’ Shazad said to Jin. ‘Somewhere you won’t bleed all over my father’s study. Go find Hadjara.’ We’d lost our Holy Father in the escape from the Dev’s Valley. Until we had someone new, Hadjara was a decent seamstress.

‘If you don’t need me—’ Jin said, easing himself to his feet.

‘We’ve done fine without you so far, brother,’ Ahmed commented. It was a low blow. Shazad and I shared a look. This new tension that hung between Ahmed and Jin wasn’t good for anyone.

But Jin didn’t say anything as he brushed past me on his way to the door, fingers dancing across the back of my hand like he wanted to take it. ‘Don’t volunteer for anything stupid while I’m gone.’

‘We don’t have that many other choices that I can see,’ Imin said as the door closed behind Jin. ‘Unless someone else would like to reveal now that they’ve been sitting on a secret shapeshifting skill so I can take a break. Anyone? No? I didn’t think so.’

‘I’d offer, but I don’t think foreigners are all that welcome in the palace at the moment,’ Sam offered. He was watching Shazad. ‘And I don’t make a beautiful enough woman to pass in the harem very long. Amani can vouch for that.’

‘It’s true,’ I admitted. ‘He doesn’t have the cleavage to pull off a khalat.’ Shazad snorted.

‘Someone has to go,’ Imin said, uncurling herself from her husband’s grip, shifting easily from wife to rebel. ‘If I get caught I can always take poison before he gets his claws into me like he did Amani.’ I wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.

We stole a few hours of sleep after daybreak, when we were sure the palace was done feeding lies to the people and the rush of the night before had worn off. We were in Shazad’s home, which meant she had her own rooms inside the house. That was the moment it hit me in earnest that our old home was gone. Our tent was gone. The small space that we had shared for half a year and that had become as familiar as my bed in Dustwalk had ever been.