Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands, #2)(93)

The dawn had also found the streets littered with bodies. A whole lot of them were wearing uniforms. According to Sam, Shazad had run a flawless strategy even if it was in city streets instead of a battlefield. And even if some of her troops thought they were just looting and burning, she’d managed to nudge them carefully one way or another, leading them like soldiers even if they didn’t know it.

Still, even though we’d won more than we’d lost, there was a nervous edge among the rebels. If there was ever a time for the Sultan to turn his new Djinni army out against us, it was now.

But it’d been three days and no immortals walked the streets yet. This was still a war among humans. And Demdji. And tonight I was about to get back to the side I belonged on.

The servants of the harem had dressed me in Mirajin colours. White and gold. Like the army. Only I looked like a different kind of soldier. The white glowed pale and rich next to my desert-dark skin. The cloth clung to my skin like a lover’s fingers, ending in a hem heavy with golden stitching that climbed upwards, scattered with pearls. I imagined walking past Kadir’s wives, and them grabbing at my khalat like they did at the pearls underwater. My arms were bare from the elbows down, except where golden bracelets rattled heavily at my wrists. In the burnished light, the gold powder that had been dusted over my whole body made it seem like the sun lived under my skin.

They had clucked over my shorn hair before finally resigning themselves to running sweet-smelling oils through it so that it stayed straight. They wove my hair through with strands of pure gold, threads of it that mixed in with the black and caught the light. I found it hard to care about my shorn hair any more. Whatever anger I’d ever had at Ayet left me when I saw her curled up on the floor of the prison, dead-eyed. She’d fought and she’d lost and I felt sorry for her.

When they were done they crowned me with a tiny circlet made of miniature gold leaves with pearls as berries. My mouth had been stained darker gold.

Every woman from the harem who was being allowed into the party was dressed in the same colours I was, Mirajin gold and white. But I was blinding. Like some untouchable gold sculpture that had been crafted to place in a palace and be admired. There was nothing of the desert girl left. I looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen myself, but unnatural, like a stranger.

But I knew who I was. I was still a rebel.

And tonight we were going to strike a real blow.

‘Announcing’ – the call came from the other side of the door – ‘the flowers of the harem.’ A hush fell over the crowd, expectant. The doors swung open. The girls around me rushed forward like children towards a new gift. I was jostled as I followed at a slower pace. I imagined for the guests it was like watching birds burst free from their cages, a surge of white and gold as we were released among the people.

The gardens were seductive in the late afternoon light. Fountains bubbled happily among guests in their finest clothes, music twisting its spell with the smells of jasmine and sweet food. High above us the sky was strung with golden ropes from one side of the garden to the other; small glass decorations hung from them, catching the light. When I craned my head back I saw they were crystal birds hanging from the golden wires. A servant passed me with a tray of soft cakes dusted in white powder. I took one and shoved it into my mouth, tasting the sugar exploding on my tongue as it melted there. I tried to savour it, but it dissolved quickly, until only the memory was left between the tip of my tongue and the top of my mouth.

I heard whispers go up in the crowd as we passed. The Albish queen’s eyes swept over one of the girls, who was wearing a sheer muslin dress that showed a whole lot more of her than you’d expect, and glanced away in disgust, smoothing her hands over her own full, heavy skirts.

I ignored her, my eyes darting around for faces I knew, for Shazad or Rahim. I caught the Sultan’s gaze through the crowd. Some of the revellers looked like they’d already started celebrating like the next dawn would never come. But not our exalted ruler. He was as sharp as anything. He raised a still-full glass to me in greeting before his attention was pulled elsewhere. I let out a long breath. I couldn’t look suspicious. I took a slow route around the gardens instead. Like I wasn’t looking for anyone at all.

Rahim found me before I could make it very far. ‘I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you tonight by my exalted father.’ He was wearing a crisp white dress uniform and a sword at his side that didn’t look decorative to me. ‘There are a fair few foreigners around and apparently even after nearly getting you killed once I can still be trusted.’

‘Once I lost someone a hand during an ambush.’ It’d been early days in the Rebellion. After Fahali, before getting a bullet to the stomach. ‘It was my fault. When Ahmed sent me out again in a similar raid, I asked if he was really going to trust me. He said I was a lot less likely to make the mistake a second time than someone else was to make it the first.’

‘Well, let’s hope that’s the only thing my brother and my exalted father have in common. On that note, let’s go find your rebellion.’ He extended an arm to me. I held up my gold-dusted hands apologetically. ‘Ah,’ he dropped his arm. ‘Of course: look but don’t touch.’

We walked side by side through the glow of the garden. On a night like this, it would be easy to forget we were celebrating the Sultan’s coup. Two decades ago to the day, he had allied with the Gallan and taken our country by force. The sun had gone down with Sultan Oman’s father on the throne. Dawn had found him dead in his bed, and the palace packed with Gallan uniforms. The Sultim was found face down in a garden, like he had tried to run. Many of the Sultan’s other brothers met the same fate. He couldn’t afford any challenges to the throne. He’d left only the women and the brothers who were younger than him alive … Twenty years ago tonight the palace had been full of death and blood; now soft lights and music drifted through the walls and the buzz of conversation seemed to lull us all away from any memories of that night.