Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(109)

‘Where are we on finding a Holy Man we can trust?’ Shazad asked, leaning her knuckles on the table. ‘Someone to cut the iron out of Amani?’ I knew what the words cost her. In the months since Bahi had died, I didn’t know if I’d truly heard Shazad talk so plainly about Holy Fathers. Not even when I’d been shot through the stomach. But then again, I had been unconscious for most of that.

‘More or less exactly where we were the last three times you asked me that,’ said Sam. He was on edge. ‘Holy Men are largely in the pockets of your Sultan. They’d all sell you out in a heartbeat sooner than they’d help you.’

And Tamid couldn’t be trusted not to stick a blade in me either, given how he felt about the Rebellion.

‘Can’t we take a chance?’ I rubbed my finger along my forearm, worrying at the piece of metal below there. I wanted to claw it out of my skin myself.

‘No,’ Jin said without hesitation, speaking for the first time. Everyone’s head swivelled towards him. Jin didn’t tend to speak up at war meetings, unless he had something that needed saying. Which meant folk tended to listen. Only there was an uneasiness among the rebels now. He hadn’t disappeared on just me. He’d abandoned the whole Rebellion. ‘We’re not taking chances with you.’

‘So either we find someone,’ I concluded, ‘or I’ve got to walk into the palace more or less defenceless.’

‘Welcome back to being human,’ Shazad said. ‘I’ll get you some guns.’

*

‘Sam.’ I caught him as the kitchen emptied He was peeling an orange stolen out of one of the baskets hanging from the ceiling. ‘I need your help.’ I stopped speaking as Shazad brushed past me, calling out to someone quickly about the weapons supply. That earned me a raised eyebrow from Sam.

‘Something your general can’t help you with?’

I lowered my voice as I pulled him into an out-of-the-way corner. ‘I think I know somebody who might be able to help get the iron out of my skin. Not a Holy Man. A woman. My aunt.’

Sam paused, orange wedge halfway to his mouth. ‘The woman who drugged you and kidnapped you and sold you to the harem? Yes, she seems very trustworthy.’

‘Please, Sam, I need help. You walked in and out of the harem at will for months. You have no idea what it’s like to be in there and feel powerless to leave or defend yourself.’ I tugged up my shirt, showing the scar on my hip, the same one I’d shown him the first time we met. ‘This happened even when I had my power. If I have to, I’ll walk into the palace again without it, but I’m twice as likely to get killed doing that and you know it. But I’d take just about any risk not to. Now, will you help me?’

Sam considered, peeling off another piece of the orange. ‘How much?’

‘How much what?’

‘How much are you going to pay me to find your oh-so-very-trustworthy aunt?’

My shoulders sagged. ‘Really? After all this, you want to keep pretending you’re doing it for the money?’

‘Why else would I be doing it?’ he asked. ‘I’m a bandit, remember?’

‘Because you want to be something more than that,’ I said finally. It had been a gamble. A guess. But the way it fell off my tongue so easily I was sure I was right. I’d watched Sam walk through walls with injuries for this rebellion. Walk into Auranzeb as a traitor to his own people for this rebellion. He wasn’t doing this for money any more. ‘That’s why you’re still here.’

‘That’d be an awfully stupid reason.’ Sam scratched his eyebrow. I stayed silent. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’





Chapter 42

As it turned out, the Hidden House wasn’t all that hidden. It was a bathhouse at the intersection of two twisting streets lined with colourful awnings in the middle of Izman. To me, they looked exactly like every other street we’d passed through on the way there. The city was an immense maze, and if it wasn’t for Ahmed gently nudging me around twists and turns, I’d have gotten lost sooner than I’d ever been in the desert.

As we got closer, steam heavy with the smells of flowers and spices curled out of lattice windows, sliding its fingers into my hair, taunting me with memories of the harem. Ahmed gave me a small nudge, indicating I should look up. As I did, the name finally made sense. All the buildings in this corner of Izman seemed to stand an even three storeys tall. The Hidden House stretched up two storeys higher than any of the others around it. And the roof was shielded by canopies of vines and desert flowers that tumbled down the walls, hiding it from prying eyes.

Shazad had picked this place for the meeting with Lord Bilal. Except she’d told him to meet her elsewhere first. With no guards and no weapons. It was up to Shazad to meet him there and bring him here. We were taking our precautions. We were asking him to put an awful lot of faith in us.

Jin had gone first, out in the open, to see if he drew any attack and to sweep the place for traps. Ahmed and I followed, looking like an ordinary couple walking the streets of Izman instead of a prince and a bodyguard with a gun secreted in the folds of her khalat. But we made it as far as the house without incident.

Ahmed pushed open the door and let himself in. At a desk a girl’s head darted up. ‘Well, if it isn’t our Rebel Prince.’ She flicked a book shut and shot me a look. ‘You can take your finger off that trigger – you’re safe here.’ I hadn’t even realised I’d been gripping my gun. I eased my finger off. But I didn’t reholster it. ‘Your brother is on the roof,’ the girl said to Ahmed.