Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(83)

And then, suddenly, silence dropped like a stone in Shira’s rooms.

I held my breath. Trying to count out heartbeats as the silence stretched. Waiting. Waiting for it to be broken by something. A shout. An accusation. A midwife stepping out to let us know that Shira hadn’t survived.

It was a baby’s wail that ended it.

I let a sigh of relief escape. It wasn’t even all the way out of my lungs before there was another scream.

Not Shira’s this time.

I moved like a shot for the door, tearing it open. Shira was collapsed in a heap of sweaty hair and bloodied cloth, clutching a small swaddled bundle to her chest, her knees pulled up around the baby, like she could protect it. The three women around her were staring like they’d been turned to stone. A fourth was slumped against the wall, hands clasped over her mouth, shaking.

I took another step forward, until I could clearly see the small bundle Shira was holding. The baby didn’t have Sam’s blue eyes. He had blue hair. Like Maz’s hair. A bright violent blue. Like the hottest part of a flame.

This wasn’t Sam’s son. It was a Djinni’s. Shira had given birth to a Demdji.

Suddenly Leyla and Rahim weren’t the most important people to get out of here. ‘Shira.’ I dropped by her side. ‘Can you walk?’

Shira finally lifted her eyes from the baby. ‘I can run if I’ve got to.’ Whatever polish the city’d given to her accent, it was gone now. She sounded Dustwalk through and through. She pushed herself off the bed slowly, but without so much as shaking. I’d never seen Shira look so impressive before. She’d had an air about her when she stood as the Sultima, in her fine clothes and unearned arrogance. But that was different from the fierceness she wore now, wrapped in a ruined khalat and sheets, holding her son.

‘Let’s go, then.’

The lack of guards in the harem had made Shira scared for her life since she conceived, but it might be what saved her life now. There was no one to stop us as we pushed our way out of her rooms. Mothers, sisters, wives, sons, servants – they all gaped mutely, unsure of what to do. Though I was sure somebody’d had the sense to run for help.

We didn’t have much time. But we had some. My heart was racing.

‘Shira.’ I glanced around a corner. It was a quiet garden thick with flowers, and empty now. We were close to the Weeping Wall. I just prayed that Sam would be there to help us when we got there. ‘I need to know. What did you hold over Ayet all these months? What did you have that kept her away from you?’

Shira stumbled, and I caught her. ‘I’ll tell you if you get me out of here alive,’ she joked. Even now, with death on her heels, Shira was still the bargainer of the harem.

‘Shira, please.’

‘A husband,’ Shira said finally. ‘Another husband, outside the walls of the harem. She put poison in his food after he broke two of her ribs. She bribed her way though her … inspection.’ She tried to put it delicately. ‘A few words of truth in the Sultim’s ear and I could’ve made her disappear. Silk rope around the throat in her sleep and disposed of in the sea. That’s how they go when the Sultim wants to make them disappear quietly.’ I clung to the words. I had to get to Ayet before she got to Kadir. I had to let her know I could ruin her in return if she tried to blow my cover.

We were almost at the Weeping Wall. So close to freedom.

I heard the familiar click of pistol holsters against belts. The sound of boots hammering into the ground.

It was moments before we were surrounded by men in uniform with the Sultan and Sultim with them.

Kadir shoved his way through the ranks. He surged towards Shira. I started to move between the Sultim and my cousin. But two soldiers grabbed him first. Kadir started to fight them. ‘Stand down. She’s my wife. And a liar and a whore.’ He was struggling. ‘It is my right to do with her as I see fit. And I am going to make her bleed for her treason.’

Shira shifted her child against her chest, staring down Kadir, as fearless as I had ever seen her. ‘I did this to stay alive. Because you are a vicious, stupid, impotent man.’

Kadir lunged for her. The Sultan gave a flick of his wrist and Kadir was pulled back by the soldiers again. ‘Take my son somewhere he can regain a level head.’

‘My wife—’ Kadir started, but the Sultan cut across him.

‘This is business for rulers. Not petty husbands.’

I could hear Kadir’s protests as he was dragged across the garden.

‘You know what the penalty is for violating your marriage vows, Shira.’ The Sultan’s voice was calm as they disappeared. I had an image of a moment like this, fifteen years ago: Delila being carried away as the Sultan wrapped his hands around Ahmed’s mother’s throat.

‘Kadir will never father a child. He can’t. And I reckon you know that, too, Your Exalted Highness.’ Shira pulled herself up straight. ‘I did what I had to do for our country.’

‘I believe that some part of you thinks that you did,’ the Sultan said. ‘I always liked you, Shira; this is a shame. You were cleverer than most. I’ve heard that you like to strike bargains. I have one last one for you. Your son’s life, in exchange for the name of the Djinni who fathered him.’

‘Shira—’ I warned. But it was too late.

‘Fereshteh.’ She raised her chin in defiance, oblivious that she had just given the Sultan another Djinni’s true name. ‘He told me he would make me the mother of a ruler. A true prince. A great Sultan. A greater Sultan than Kadir could ever hope to be.’