Traitor to the Throne

by Alwyn Hamilton

  Chapter 5

  ‘What is it?’ Imin appeared at my elbow.

  ‘I—’ I stumbled over my words, trying to pull my mind out of the past. There were other women in the desert named Zahia. It was a common enough name. But she’d looked at me like she knew me and said my mother’s name. And that wasn’t all that common.

  No. I wasn’t a restless, reckless girl at the end of the desert any more. I was the Blue-Eyed Bandit, and this was a rescue. I nodded towards the unconscious figure on the ground. ‘Can you carry her?’ My voice was steadier than I felt.

  Imin, still wearing the shape he’d fought in, lifted the unconscious woman off the ground as easy as a rag doll.

  ‘This is ridiculous, Amani,’ Mahdi hissed, pushing through the crowd of freed women as I followed Imin out of the cell. They didn’t look so good, but they were alive and standing on two feet. ‘Freeing people is one thing, but you want us to escape while carrying someone out?’

  ‘We are not leaving her behind.’ I’d made the mistake of leaving someone in need behind to save myself before – my friend Tamid, the night I’d fled Dustwalk with Jin. I’d been scared and desperate and frantic. I’d taken Jin’s hand without thinking, and I’d left Tamid to bleed out in the sand. I’d left him to die. I couldn’t undo what had happened that night. But I wasn’t the girl from Dustwalk any more. I could make sure nobody got left behind again.

  ‘Who knows how to use a gun?’ I asked the group of women. No one moved. ‘Oh, come on, it’s not that hard. You point and shoot.’ Samira’s hand went up first. A few more followed her lead nervously. ‘Take them off the bodies,’ I ordered, swiping one for myself. I flicked the chamber of the gun open; the slightest touch of iron instantly made my power slip away. But there was a full round. I flicked it shut again and tucked it against my hip, careful not to let any part of it touch my skin. I didn’t strictly need a gun. I had the entire desert. But it was always nice to have options. ‘Let’s move.’

  *

  It was after dark and the streets of Saramotai were empty. A whole lot emptier than they ought to be this soon after nightfall.

  ‘Curfew,’ Mahdi explained in a low whisper as we moved. ‘The peasant usurper’s way of keeping the population under control.’ He didn’t need to say peasant with quite that much disdain, but I wasn’t about to come to the defence of Malik after he’d taken Saramotai by force and corrupted Ahmed’s name.

  Curfew was going to make things a whole lot easier or a whole lot harder. Right in front of the prison the road split. I hesitated. I couldn’t remember where I’d come from.

  ‘Which way to the gates?’ I asked in a low voice. The women following us stared at me with huge, terrified eyes. Finally, Samira loosed her arm from Ranaa’s grip and pointed silently to the right. She almost managed to hide the fact that she was shaking. I kept my finger on the trigger as we pressed forward.

  I hated to admit that Mahdi was right, but we weren’t exactly inconspicuous sneaking out of the prison trailing dozens of wealthy-looking women in torn khalats. And I wasn’t counting on the women I’d given guns to – they held them like baskets to market instead of weapons. I had my suspicions that Mahdi could talk someone to death, but otherwise he was useless. And carrying the unconscious woman who’d called me by my mother’s name made it more than a little difficult for Imin to fight if we ran into trouble.

  I supposed I’d just have to keep us out of trouble, then. That wasn’t exactly my strong suit.

  Still, we didn’t meet with any resistance as we passed quietly through the deserted streets of Saramotai, retracing my steps from earlier in the day. I was just starting to think we were going to make it, when we rounded the last corner and two dozen men with rifles looked up at us.

  Damn.

  They were clustered around the city gates in gleaming white-and-gold uniforms. Mirajin uniforms. And not the makeshift ones of the guards who’d blundered into the prison and to their deaths. Real ones. Which meant they were the Sultan’s men. On our side of the desert for the first time since Fahali.

  I let out the most colourful Xichian curse Jin had taught me as my gun leapt into my hand on instinct. I knew it was too late, though – we were caught. One of the women behind me panicked, and before I could stop her she was gone, darting towards the maze of city streets like a frightened rabbit looking for cover.

  I’d watched birds of prey hunt. The rabbit never made it.

  A shot went off. Another chorus of screams behind me. And a cry of pain, cut off by a second bullet.

  The woman was sprawled on the street, blood mixing with dirt. The bullet had torn straight through her heart. No one else moved.

  I kept my finger steady on the trigger. Two dozen guns were up and pointing at us. I just had the one. No matter what anybody had heard about the Blue-Eyed Bandit, it wasn’t actually possible to take out two dozen men with one bullet. Or even with my Demdji gift. Not without someone else getting shot.

  ‘So this is the legendary Blue-Eyed Bandit.’ The man who spoke wasn’t wearing a uniform. Instead he was dressed in a gaudy blue kurta that he’d paired with a badly matched purple sheema. He was the only one who didn’t have a rifle pointed at my head.

  So Malik, the usurper of Saramotai, had returned.

  I was dimly aware of Ikar, perched at his watchpost above the gate, legs dangling as he craned over the scene. ‘I’d just been informed you were gracing our city with your illustrious presence.’

  He used awfully big words that didn’t seem all that comfortable in his mouth. His hollow face was skeletal in the buttery glow of the lamp. I’d grown up in a desperate place; I knew the look of someone who’d been ravaged by life. Only instead of lying down and taking his fate, he’d decided to take someone else’s fate from them instead. I could guess that the kurta on his back was the emir’s. He had the shape of someone who’d worked and scraped and wanted and suffered, dressed in the clothes of someone who’d never known true want. My finger twitched on the trigger. I was itching to shoot something, but that wouldn’t get us out alive.

  The small contingent of Sultan’s men shifted nervously, looking at me, like they were trying to decide whether I really was the Blue-Eyed Bandit. It looked like stories about me had made it all the way to Izman.

  ‘And you’re Malik,’ I said. ‘You know, I’d heard when you hanged that lot of people, you did it in the name of my prince. But it looks to me like your loyalty lies elsewhere.’ I gave the soldiers a mock salute with my free hand. ‘Not so much a revolutionary as an opportunist, by the look of things.’

  ‘Oh, I believe wholeheartedly in the cause of your Rebel Prince.’ When Malik smiled in the light of the lamps held by the nearby soldiers, he looked like he was baring his teeth. ‘Your prince calls for freedom and equality in our desert. I’ve spent my whole life bowing to men who thought they were greater than me. Equality means I should never have to bow again. Not to the Sultan, not to the prince, and not’ – he turned and spat towards Samira, making her flinch under his sudden attention – ‘to your father, either.’ The movement dashed light and shadow across the walls of Saramotai. Two huge figures hewn into the stone flanked the gates on this side: Hawa and Attallah, joining hands across the curve of the arch.

  I hadn’t seen them on my way in, not with my back to them. I wondered what they would think if they knew that the city they’d fought so long to save from the outside had rotted from the inside.

  Paint had long since faded off the stone, though I thought I could make out the red of Attallah’s sheema. And I’d swear Hawa’s eyes were still flaked with blue.

  ‘I’m making my own equality,’ Malik said, pulling my attention back to him. ‘What does it matter if I’m raising up the low or bringing the folk up on high to their knees, so long as everyone winds up with their feet in the same dust? And she’ – he pointed at Ranaa – ‘is going to buy our freedom.’

  ‘Your feet aren’t in the dust.’ Samira pushed Ranaa behind herself protectively. S
he was doing a mighty fine job of hiding her fear. There was nothing but hate in her as she stood between the man who’d already killed most of her family and the one tiny piece of it left. ‘You’re standing on the backs of the dead.’

  ‘The Rebel Prince will lose this war.’ One of the Sultan’s soldiers stepped forward. ‘Malik is a wise man to see it.’ The words sounded forced and false, like it pained him to pander to Malik. ‘The Sultan has agreed to give Saramotai to Lord Malik when he reclaims this half of the desert. In exchange for the Demdji girl.’ The Sultan might want another Demdji to replace Noorsham, but I wouldn’t stake a single louzi that he was willing to give up part of the desert for her. Malik was just stupid enough to think that the Sultan would keep his promise.

  ‘You’re outnumbered.’ That had never mattered much to me before. ‘Drop the gun, Bandit.’ Malik sneered.

  ‘There’s only one man who gets to call me that,’ I said. ‘And you’re not near as good-looking as him.’

  Malik’s temper snapped faster than I expected. The gun that had stayed so arrogantly by his side was out and in his hand in the space of a breath, pressing to my forehead in the next. Behind me I felt Imin shift forward, like he might try to do something. I held up a hand, palm flat, hoping he would take the hint and not get us both killed. From the corner of my eye I saw him go still. The women from the prison were watching the scene unfold with huge terrified eyes. One of them had started crying silently.

  It would’ve been nice if the bite of an iron barrel next to my skin was unfamiliar. But this was far from the first time I’d been threatened like this. ‘You’ve got a smart mouth on you, anyone ever tell you that?’ That wasn’t a first, either. But telling him that didn’t seem all that smart.

  ‘Malik.’ The soldier who’d spoken stepped forward, looking like his patience was wearing thin. ‘The Sultan will want her alive.’

  ‘The Sultan is not my master.’ Malik’s face had turned savage. He pushed the gun harder against my skull. I could feel the barrel of the pistol pressing between my eyes. My heart quickened instinctively, but I fought down that fear. I wasn’t going to die today.

  ‘You just cost me twenty fouza,’ I sighed. ‘I made a bet I could make it out of this city without anybody threatening to kill me, and thanks to you, I’ve just lost.’

  Malik wasn’t smart enough to be worried that someone with a pistol between her eyes was talking back instead of crying and cowering. ‘Well’ – he pulled back the hammer on the pistol – ‘lucky for you, you’re not going to be alive long enough to pay up.’

  ‘Malik!’ The soldier stepped forward again, his irritation falling away now. Seemed they had only just figured out they were dealing with an unstable man. By some unseen signal from their captain the weapons were shifting, away from the women behind me, towards Malik.

  ‘Any last words, Bandit? Maybe you’d like to beg for your life?’

  ‘Or …’ A voice seemed to float out of midair by Malik’s ear. ‘Maybe you would?’

  Malik tensed visibly, in that way men did when they were in danger. It was a stance I’d become intimately familiar with in the past half a year. A thin bead of blood ran down his throat, even though it seemed like there was nothing around him but air.

  The tension in my shoulders finally eased. The trouble with having invisible backup was that you never knew exactly where she was.

  The air shimmered as the illusion cast by Delila dropped, leaving Shazad standing where there’d been nothing a moment before. Her dark hair was tightly braided to her head like a crown, a white sheema hung loose around her neck, and her simple desert clothes looked expensive. She was everything that Malik hated and she had him helpless. She looked dangerous, and not just because one of her blades was pressed to Malik’s throat, but because she looked like her deepest wish was to get to use it.

  Finally, and far too late, fear dawned slowly across his face.

  ‘If I were you,’ I said, ‘now’d be the time I’d drop that gun and start reaching for the sky.’

  Chapter 6

  I was so close to Malik, I could see his face vacillating between despair and desparate action. He chose the second one. But I was faster than his stupid brain could work. I dropped to my knees a second before the gun went off, the bullet burying itself harmlessly in the wall behind me. Malik hit the ground next to me a second later, a new red necklace from Shazad’s sword gracing his throat.

  But we weren’t done yet.

  ‘That took you long enough,’ I said to Shazad, rising to my feet as I whipped my hands up. On the other side of the walls of Saramotai, the desert surged in answer. After using nothing but a handful of sand down in the prison, the power of having the whole desert at my fingertips was almost intoxicating.

  ‘I see you managed not to get yourself shot this time.’ Shazad whirled to face the remaining soldiers as I did the same. ‘You still owe me those twenty fouza, though.’

  ‘Double or nothing?’ I offered over my shoulder as we met back to back.

  The captain was already giving orders to the confused soldiers, recovering awfully quick considering a new enemy had just appeared out of thin air.

  ‘Delila!’ Shazad called an order of her own. ‘Drop our cover.’

  The illusion lifted like a curtain before a show. Suddenly half the Sultan’s men who’d been standing a moment earlier were crumpled on the ground, and our rebels were in their place, weapons drawn. Behind them was Delila, face still round with innocence, her purple hair that came from not being wholly human falling into wide, frightened-looking eyes. She dropped her hands, shaking with effort and nerves. She was scared but that wasn’t stopping her.

  ‘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 un
derstand 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.