Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(78)

So I waited, trying to ignore the itch below my skin to move, to do something, listening to the sounds of the fountain and the birds who populated this part of the palace, trapped here by clipped wings, just like the ducks in the pond. The sudden rattle of a door was as loud as a gunshot.

I reacted on instinct, plastering myself behind the pillar into the shadows. It didn’t matter who was coming; I couldn’t get caught alone. A fraction of a heartbeat later a door on the other side of the courtyard slammed open. The crack of the handle hitting the stone was so loud it almost covered the woman’s cry. I couldn’t ignore the itch any more. I peered around the pillar.

Two figures in Mirajin soldiers’ uniforms were dragging a girl between them through the door. She thrashed violently against their grip, screaming so loudly I was sure someone was going to come running. The birds, I realised, remembering that day in the menagerie, what Ayet had said – no one would be able to hear her screaming over the birds. My fingers twitched for a weapon. For a gun. For something to help. But my hands were empty and bound by the Sultan’s orders to do no harm. And even I knew I couldn’t take on two soldiers with no weapon.

Then they emerged into the sunlight and I saw the thrashing captive’s face.

Uzma.

Kadir’s wife. Who had made it her duty to humiliate me that day in court and had vanished into thin air afterwards. Uzma’s eyes were as blank as polished glass, like any spark that had ever lived behind them had been snuffed out. I knew exactly where I’d seen that same look before. Back at camp, on Sayyida after Hala rescued her from the palace. Only Sayyida had been a spy. What had Uzma possibly done to be tortured out of her mind?

They vanished around the corner, the screams fading quickly.

I didn’t move right away. I could feel myself torn between following them and staying out of trouble, just once in my life. Trailing two guards and a screaming woman was a surefire way to get myself caught. Besides, it might not be the best way to figure out what was going on. I glanced at the door where they had come from. It was almost definitely locked. But it might not be. It would be stupid and reckless to dart out into the open and risk getting seen regardless.

Well, it looked like I was stupid and reckless, then.

My feet carried me in one short burst across the courtyard. The dying sunlight bounced off the door strangely. As I got closer, I realised why. The door was made of metal. Only someone had painted it to look like wood.

And it was humming.

I stretched my fingers tentatively towards the door. I could feel the hum building like a pull underneath my skin as I inched closer. My fingertips grazed the door. It was like touching fire without getting burned: all of the power of it, none of the heat. Tiny needles started at my fingertips and travelled up, making my breath hitch and my heart race even though I was standing still.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed me and slammed me into the metal hard, sending pain shooting up my body, an explosion of feeling across every bit of skin that I had.

And then I was staring up into the cruel face of the Gallan ambassador. Behind him was Kadir. Before I could speak a word, the man drove a hand into my middle, pinning me still, knocking the air out of my lungs.

‘In my country,’ the Gallan ambassador said in his thick accent, ‘we hang demons’ children by the throat.’ His hand tightened on my windpipe, forcing me up straight. ‘But I don’t have any rope with me.’

God, the metal door at my back was starting to hurt now. I could feel my thoughts blurring and my vision going black as his hand tightened around my throat. My hands scrabbled uselessly against the back of the hand gripping my windpipe. There were a dozen things I should’ve been able to do to fight back against him. I could’ve clawed the soft spots inside his wrists, jabbed at his eyes, driven my leg into his groin. Except the Sultan had ordered me not to harm anyone. I was going to die. The panic started in earnest now. I was going to really and truly die.

And then suddenly I could breathe again. Air flooded back in a gasp as the hand released my throat. I wrenched myself away from the wall, falling to all fours. I knelt there for three long breaths, waiting to remember how to breathe. A crack like breaking bone sounded, and a cry of pain. I looked up in time to see Kadir reel back, clutching his nose.

Over him, blazing with the setting sun at his back, stood Rahim, his brother’s blood on his fist. The light blurred his features so I almost couldn’t recognise him. He looked like every hero I’d ever imagined from the old stories: the First Mortal facing death instead of running from it; Attallah outside the walls of Saramotai, outnumbered; the Grey Prince against the Conqueror. He didn’t look real.

And then he dropped to his knees across from me and he was human again. ‘Amani.’ He tipped my head back, checking me with the sure hands of someone who knew a battlefield injury. ‘Are you all right?’ I could see behind him now that there were two soldiers with him and they were holding the Gallan ambassador away from me. ‘Amani,’ Rahim pressed. ‘Talk to me or I’m taking you to the Holy Father.’

‘I’m fine.’ My voice came out scratchy but still mine. ‘I’m sure I have something to wear that’ll go well with the bruising.’ Rahim helped me to my feet. I touched my throat, sensitive where the ambassador’s fingers had tried to crush my windpipe.

‘Soldiers.’ Kadir had recovered enough from his broken nose to speak. He pulled his hands away from his face though blood was still gushing across his mouth. ‘Release the ambassador. Take my brother away instead.’