Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(13)

‘Navid!’ From behind me, Imin spotted him instantly among the crowd of rebels.

A tall, desert-built man, Navid was one of our recruits from Fahali. We hadn’t been trying to recruit people there, but after the battle it was hard to stop them joining up. Navid was one of the best. He was tough as anybody would need to be to survive this war we were fighting. And as earnest as you needed to be to think we stood a chance. He was hard not to like. But it still surprised me that Imin loved him.

Navid’s eyes went wide with relief as he spotted Imin, recognising his beloved no matter the shape. It was a moment of distraction, his defence lowering in his relief that Imin was alive. I saw it, and so did the soldier on his right.

The desert poured over the edge of the walls of Saramotai, cascading around the carving of Princess Hawa, knocking soldiers off their feet. I wrenched my arm up, flinging a burst of sand towards the soldier who would’ve killed Navid, knocking him down, and startling Navid’s attention back away from Imin.

‘Watch your back, Navid!’

I was already turning away. The sand turned into a hurricane around me. I swung one arm down, crashing sand across a soldier’s face as he lunged for Delila, pushing him away from her. A shout came from behind me. I spun in time to see a soldier lunging for me, sword up. I started to gather the sand into a blade in my hand but I was too slow. And I didn’t need to. Steel screamed against steel. Shazad’s blade landed a breath away from my throat, kissing the soldier’s weapon. The blood that would’ve been all over his sword pulsed noisily through my ears. In one move that was too quick for me to see, he was on the ground.

‘You ought to take your own advice.’ Shazad tossed me a spare gun.

‘Why would I need to watch my back when you’ve got it?’ I caught the pistol a moment too late to shoot. Instead I slammed the handle straight into the face of the nearest soldier, the blow cracking up my arm, blood from his nose spurting across my hand.

The fight would be short and bloody. There were already more soldiers on the ground than standing. I fired. And now there was one more. I turned, already looking for my next target.

I didn’t see exactly what happened next. Only splintered moments.

Another gun at the edge of my vision as I raised my own weapon. Exhaustion making me sluggish. Making my mind slow to understand what I was seeing.

That the gun wasn’t pointed at me.

It was pointed at Samira. And the soldier already had a finger on the trigger.

Everything happened then in the same second.

Ranaa moved, swinging herself in front of Samira.

His gun went off. So did mine.

His bullet tore through green khalat and skin mercilessly.

One split second and it was over. The fighting was done as quick as it had started. In the silence all I heard was Samira screaming Ranaa’s name as the little Demdji’s heart pumped out her blood onto the street, the tiny sun in her hand dying with her.





Chapter 7

Ahmed was waiting for us at the entrance to camp.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Our Rebel Prince might not have the pretences of most royalty, but he didn’t usually wait for us like a wife whose husband had stayed at the bar one drink too long, either.

‘Delila.’ He took a step out towards his sister, leaving the cover of the archway. Shazad checked the canyon walls for danger on instinct. The location of the camp was still safe as far as we knew, but if our enemies ever found out where we were, the top of the canyons surrounding us gave any attackers a clean shot with a rifle. At least one person had to care for Ahmed’s safety, even if he wasn’t going to do it himself. He didn’t even seem to notice Shazad’s concern; all his attention was on his sister. ‘Are you all right?’

A part of me wanted to tell Ahmed that he ought to have enough faith in us to bring his sister back in one piece. But then again, my shirt was now more red than white, which didn’t exactly scream Everything’s fine! Probably better to not draw attention to myself just now.

It was my blood. My attacker’s blood. Ranaa’s blood.

We’d tried to save her. But everyone could tell it was too late. She died quickly in Samira’s arms.

People die. I tried to remember that. It was what happened on missions. She wasn’t the first, and unless we managed to kill the Sultan tomorrow and put Ahmed on the throne, she wasn’t going to be the last. This is the cost of starting a war, said a nasty voice in my head that sounded too much like Malik.

Only she was a Demdji. We’d never lost a Demdji in the fighting before. Or a child.

This was the Sultan’s fault. Not ours. He’d let the Gallan across our borders and let them kill Demdji in the first place. And he was the one hunting our kind down to use as weapons now. It was his fault she was dead. But we were still alive – me, Imin, Delila – and we weren’t going to become another Noorsham. We were going to topple him before he could find another Demdji. I’d make sure of that.

‘I’m fine.’ Delila squirmed as her brother checked her over for injury. ‘Really, Ahmed, I’m fine.’

Shazad gave me a significant look that she hid behind the guise of scratching her nose. After half a year I could read Shazad like an open book. This one meant we were about to be in trouble.

So we hadn’t exactly had permission to take Delila with us. But we’d known we’d need help if we were going to get past Saramotai’s impenetrable walls. We’d also known that if we asked Ahmed if we could take Delila on a mission he’d say no. So we just hadn’t asked him. It wasn’t technically disobedience if we’d never been forbidden from doing it. Even though we both knew that excuse would fly just about as well as either of us could.