Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(117)

‘This is a rescue,’ Shazad said from behind me, framed in the doorway, one arm braced against the roof of the carriage. ‘Obviously.’

‘You got us an army,’ Jin added as I sliced the ropes around his arms free. ‘Now how do you feel about leading it?’

Rahim glanced over his shoulder uncertainly between us. The impossibly beautiful general, a half-Xichian prince he didn’t yet know was his brother, an impostor Blue-Eyed Bandit, a Demdji with purple hair dyed black toying nervously with an illusion of a flower, another doing nothing to hide the gold of her skin. I didn’t have to imagine what he was thinking. I’d been in his place eight months ago. His gaze finally landed back on me.

‘Welcome to the Rebellion,’ I said. ‘You get used to it.’

*

We moved as quickly as we could back through the darkened and deserted streets of Izman. The Abdals patrolling the streets in a steady chequerboard rhythm might not be called by the commotion, but that didn’t mean we were going to make ourselves a moving target. We caught Rahim up in interrupted whispers as we worked our way back towards Shazad’s home.

We told him that Leyla was safe.

That we were going to take the army from Lord Bilal by force.

That he was going to help us do it.

Rahim didn’t even blink. Maybe rebellion ran in the blood of the Sultan’s sons. Maybe it ought to be called treason. Whatever it was, we were going to use it to take the throne.

Shazad’s house was quiet when we pushed through the kitchen door. It was late, I supposed. But still, something about the quiet needled at me. The tension of returning from a mission was missing.

Ahmed waiting to make sure we were all coming home alive. Waiting for his sister.

Imin waiting for Hala.

My senses had reached a fever pitch by the time we were climbing the stairs at the end of the tunnel into the garden. I was on the last step when my boot hit something that rolled away with a familiar ping. A bullet. It skittered into the silent garden and then vanished.

A feeling of wrongness hit me a fraction of a second too late. I heard the click of two machine cogs slotting together. The whirr of metal pieces working, spinning faster and faster, and then snicking into place. That was the only warning I had before the illusion disappeared.

Chaos bloomed as the serene front dropped away. Bodies littered the ground, rebels mostly, only one or two men in uniform, weapons still in hand. The corpses sprawled across shattered tents, staining the ground red. Survivors were shoved back against the walls, bound by their hands. They were on their knees with soldiers gathered around them. Ahmed. Imin. Izz and Maz. Navid. Tamid. All still alive, at least.

And facing us was a whole host of Abdals.

They had created the illusion, I realised. They didn’t just have Noorsham’s power to destroy. They were as powerful as Demdji. And leading them …

‘Yes, Amani.’ The Sultan smiled Jin’s smile at me. The one that meant trouble. Like he could read my mind. Out of the chaos around him, our bound and dead rebels, one figure emerged. Leyla unbound. And unafraid. She was wearing a jacket that looked like it belonged to the Sultan over the same clothes she’d been wearing since Auranzeb. That trapped-animal look in her eyes was gone. She wore a satisfied smirk instead as her father spoke.

‘It was a trap.’





Chapter 47

I pulled out my gun, already knowing it was too late. Two dozen guns clattered to attention, ready to shoot us if they had to. Shazad and Jin had weapons drawn, spoiling for a fight.

They would die; they both would. I could see it now. We were all trapped. Me, Jin, Shazad, Rahim, Delila, Hala, and – I looked around for Sam. He was gone. Nowhere to be seen. We were surrounded. We were outnumbered. But that wasn’t going to stop them from going down fighting.

‘Stand down!’ Ahmed ordered from where he was kneeling. ‘Everyone stand down, weapons down.’

I could see Shazad struggling with every fibre of her being against the order as Jin’s hand opened and closed on the gun in the corner of my vision. But my attention belonged to the Sultan. His eyes were locked on me. I could almost hear him. That weighted, reasonable voice that made me feel like we were all just children acting out. You know how this ends if you fight, Amani.

‘Do as he says,’ I said. ‘Weapons down.’ I tossed my gun to the ground. The iron left my skin with a sigh of relief.

Finally Shazad’s swords clattered to the ground noisily. Jin’s gun followed. I was unarmed. But I wasn’t helpless. The Sultan might have choreographed this, but there was something he wasn’t expecting.

Somewhere at the edge of my awareness, beyond the city walls, I reached for the desert.

‘Very wise.’ The Sultan nodded to Ahmed, tied and trapped. ‘You know, it never ceases to amaze me how ironic the world can be. That the son who is most like me is the only one who wants to denounce me.’

‘Well, that’s just not true.’ Rahim stepped between me and his father. I used the shield of his body to shift my hands a tiny bit. I tried to pull without my arms, without any sweeping movements. I pulled from deep down in my gut, the part of me that had kept me alive against all odds until now. It came with a shooting pain in my old wound.

‘I’d denounce you in a second, Father.’

Far away, the desert surged up in answer.

‘That’s why you’re on that side of Father’s guns and I’m on this one.’ Leyla finally spoke. Her shy, lilting voice, which had always sounded sweet, took on a different tone now as it bounced around the walls of the garden. Gone were the wide, tear-filled eyes. ‘I’m the one who didn’t betray my family.’