Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(89)

I stepped through the curtains and got my first good look at Izman since the day I’d arrived. The balcony was half-shielded by a finely carved wooden latticework screen so that we could see the city without the people of the city seeing us. It overlooked a huge square, twice the size the rebel camp had taken up in the canyon. And it was filled to bursting. News of the execution of the Sultima had spread quickly. People were crowding to see a harem woman die for giving birth to a monster. It was like something out of the stories, but they were going to witness it.

The crowds jostled for a view around a stone platform that sat directly below the balcony. Looking down on it from this angle, I could see the stone wasn’t as smooth as it would look from below. It was carved with scenes from the darkness of hell. Men being eaten by Skinwalkers, Nightmares feeding off a child, a woman whose head was being held aloft by a ghoul with horns. That would be the last thing anyone led to the executioner’s block would see.

That was the last thing Shira was going to see.

I almost missed Tamid. He stood in the shadows of the corner looking miserable. Shira and Tamid had barely ever traded a word at home, no matter how small Dustwalk was. I got the feeling they would’ve hated each other if they had. But it occurred to me that Shira and Tamid had made it out of Dustwalk together. They had survived. They had survived what I’d done to them. They’d been together when I’d left them behind. That had to mean something.

‘It was a mistake to arrange this execution without consulting me, Kadir.’ I caught the edge of the Sultan’s conversation as I brushed by. He was furious. ‘The city is already restless. You should dispose of her in private. Like you did her child.’ Hala had succeeded in convincing the Sultan that the harem had watched Kadir murder Fadi. Good. He was safe.

‘She is my wife.’ Kadir sounded violent, even in the face of his father’s calmer anger. ‘She is mine to do with what I please.’

Kadir spotted me as he spun away on his heel from his father. A nasty smile spread over his face. ‘You’ – he shot the order to Imin – ‘you’re dismissed. Go find somewhere else to be.’

I sensed the other Demdji tense behind me. But he couldn’t refuse. He sketched a quick bow before ducking out.

‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Kadir sidled across the balcony towards me. My eyes darted for the Sultan, inadvertently, looking for help. But his attention was elsewhere. Rahim was nowhere in sight, either. Tamid was watching us. But there’d be no help from him. Even if he didn’t hate me, he was no match for a prince.

Kadir’s hand found the small of my back like he thought I was some puppet and he could pull all my strings. He shoved me past two of his wives, who were watching from behind the lattice screen, hiding from the crowd, out into the open at the edge of the balcony, where I was exposed. A few eyes from the crowd drew up towards us as we appeared.

‘You tried to help her get away.’ Kadir leaned into me, the pressure of his body forcing me against the railing, trapping me between him and open air and the sight of my cousin below. I could feel every inch of my body that he was touching fighting back against the feeling of him pressed to me. I hated more than anything that I couldn’t fight back. His breath was hot on my neck as he spoke. ‘And now I want you to watch her die.’

I didn’t need him to make me watch her die. No matter what happened, I would give her that. I wouldn’t do it for Kadir. I’d do it for Shira. Because whatever else she was, she was my flesh and blood and she deserved that much from me. She deserved a whole lot more, in fact. But this was all I had to give.

A roar came with Shira’s appearance onstage. Some of it was jeers, but those were drowned out quickly.

She had been right not to change, I realised now.

Shira in her silks and muslins and jewels and fine make-up looked like nobility. But as she was now, dressed in a plain white khalat, she looked like a desert girl. She looked like one of the crowd she was facing, not something out of the palace. Folk were cheering for her, I realised, not for her head.

When she stepped up onto the stone, she was still shaking, her naked feet barely holding her up.

The restless crowd settled enough to listen as the executioner started to announce her so-called crimes. Shira stood with her head held high, back as straight as an iron bar. A light breeze picked up her hair. It was long and loose around her shoulders and it moved enough to expose her neck. The wind seemed to draw her eyes up. She tilted her head back, spotting me and Kadir on the balcony easily. She ignored her husband, locking gazes with me instead. There was a slight curve to her mouth. That was the only warning I had.

The executioner was still reading. ‘For treason against the Sultim—’

‘I am loyal to the true Sultim!’ The words burst out of Shira’s lips, startling the executioner into silence. ‘The true Sultim, Prince Ahmed!’ Her words stirred an answer in the crowd. ‘He was chosen by fate at the trials! Not by the hands of his father! A father who himself defied our traditions! I know the will of the Djinn, and they are punishing these false rulers. Kadir will never be able to give our country an heir!’

A rush of pride swelled in my chest. The Sultan had been right. It was a mistake to execute her in public. Kadir had given his legendary Sultima the biggest stage in Miraji to spill all their secrets on. She was one girl, seconds away from death, and she was using her last breath to do more than a rain of pamphlets from a Roc could. Even if they silenced her now, this story would spread all over Miraji and get grander with every retelling.