Traitor to the Throne

by Alwyn Hamilton

  ‘I was in Izman.’ She suddenly busied herself, pulling bottles out of the Holy Father’s trunk, checking them over with a quick, practised eye. ‘I went there to find my fortune. I was there for nearly seventeen years.’ She uncorked one without a label to sniff the contents, carefully avoiding meeting my eye.

  I didn’t like that she was here. It didn’t seem right that in this whole huge sprawling desert we would find each other somewhere neither of us was ever meant to be. It seemed like the world had bent itself over backwards trying to push us together. Had I done this? I raked my mind for the things I’d said in the days Jin and I had walked across the desert, when I’d still thought I was going to wind up in Izman. Had I told some truth by accident? Before I’d known I was Demdji and that I couldn’t lie – before I’d understood how dangerous it was to speak truths about the future, that it would twist the universe to make them true? All I’d have to have done was tell Jin I was going to find my aunt and the universe would rearrange the stars to make it so. And give me some kind of poisoned version of the truth.

  Or was this just dumb luck?

  Her nervous fingers finally settled on a bottle. She tipped out something thick and foul-smelling onto her fingertips and dabbed it across my wound.

  ‘So how come you left Izman?’

  ‘Because fortune is a funny thing.’ I waited, but it seemed that was all the explanation I was going to get for how she’d wound up in Saramotai. ‘Though I must admit I didn’t think it was going to lead me to being imprisoned by a revolutionary who wanted to overturn the world order.’

  ‘Malik wasn’t ours,’ I argued, wincing against the pressure of her fingers on my collarbone.

  ‘Do you hand pick all your followers?’ She pressed a little harder on my wound than she needed to. ‘He did things in your prince’s name; that’s enough for me. He nearly killed me doing it, too. You know, some of this desert didn’t ask for a rebellion that might get us killed.’ She pulled away from me, wiping her fingers on a cloth. ‘But I suppose, as the Holy Father in Dustwalk would have said, Fortune and Fate.’

  Three words and I was standing back in the prayer house in Dustwalk all over again, being preached to. That was an old expression the Holy Father used when times were hard. Fortune and Fate. It meant that fortune and fate weren’t always the same.

  I understood that better than anyone.

  ‘Here.’ My aunt Safiyah dusted her hands off quickly, pulling out another of the bottles from the Holy Father’s chest. ‘Take this for the pain. It’ll help you sleep.’

  It was her accent, mingled with those words, talk of sleep and medicines, that drew the memory out of the corner of my mind.

  Tamid.

  It hit me like a blow to the chest.

  I’d pushed down all thoughts of him for months now. But it was as if she’d summoned him here, with her Dustwalk accent, the tiny bottle of medicine in the dim light, the sick longing for people I used to know. He was the only friend I had before this place and the Rebellion. Who used to stitch me up and sneak me things until the pain went away.

  Who I left to die in the sand.

  Was this how truth-telling myself to my aunt would twist around on me? Reminding me of who I was before Ahmed’s rebellion? Of the people who’d suffered and died because of things I did?

  All of a sudden, taking something that would send me to sleep and away from that memory seemed awful tempting.

  But before I could take the bottle, the entrance to the tent flapped open violently. My head snapped around. My first thought was that Jin had followed me here. But through the lingering haze of drink I saw two figures silhouetted in the light of the lamp, against the backdrop of the dark outside. Jin would have come after me alone. And they were tangled together like two drunk wedding revellers looking for some privacy, stumbling into the wrong tent.

  Then they shifted, and the light caught the knife.

  I was on my feet in a heartbeat even as I heard a voice I knew well choke out my name.

  It was Delila.

  Chapter 9

  The figures staggered backwards out from the tent. But it was too late to run. I was already on my feet.

  ‘Stay here,’ I ordered Safiyah, swiping up a knife as I went.

  ‘Stop!’ The order came at me as I burst out of the sick tent after them. Before I could see clearly. Before I even recognised the second figure holding Delila hostage. Dark hair flopping over his proud brow, his eyes panicked in a way I’d never seen before. Surprise staggered the strength in my voice. ‘Mahdi?’

  He was holding Delila around her waist. A knife was pressed across her throat so hard he’d already drawn blood. I could see it running in a fresh trickle down her skin and under her khalat, staining it.

  ‘Don’t come any further!’ He was shaking hard.

  ‘Mahdi.’ I kept my voice level, even though my mind was making a mad dash for an explanation. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m saving her.’ Mahdi’s voice rose frantically. I checked how far we were from the wedding. Too far for anyone to hear him, no matter how loud he got. ‘I’m saving Sayyida. Raise your hands where I can see them!’

  I kept eye contact with Delila as I did what he said, desperately trying to tell her it was going to be all right. I was not going to let her die here.

  ‘What’s in your hand?’ he called out, urgently.

  The knife.

  ‘I’m letting it go,’ I said, keeping my voice level. I unclenched my fist and let it drop. It planted blade-down in the sand. ‘I’m unarmed now.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Mahdi pulled at Delila, and she whimpered. He was frantic, manic – and that knife was awfully close to her throat. ‘You’ve got an entire desert around you.’

  He wasn’t wrong. I could have him down in a handful of seconds if I wanted. But I couldn’t make sure that knife didn’t go through Delila as he fell.

  ‘Mahdi.’ I spoke carefully, the same voice I’d use to soothe a skittish horse. ‘How exactly do you think sticking a knife to Delila’s throat is going to help Sayyida?’

  ‘She’s a Demdji!’ He spat out the words like it was obvious. ‘Some people think that it’s having part of a Demdji that cures ills. But they’re wrong. That’s just peasant superstition. A few pieces of purple hair aren’t going to bring my Sayyida back.’ He was unbalanced. He was desperate. He had a knife to Delila’s throat. I’d never wished more that I could move the desert without needing to move my body. I tried anyway, tugging at the edge of the sand with just my mind. It crept along reluctantly before sagging back down. I needed help. ‘I’ve read books. Whosoever takes the life of a Demdji shall have their life in equal measure.’ He recited like it was holy text even though I knew it wasn’t anything I’d ever heard preached.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I had to buy some time. Enough to think of a distraction.

  ‘It means Sayyida can survive if she kills Delila. I’d trade any Demdji’s life for Sayyida’s. In a heartbeat.’

  There. Something behind him. A flash of movement in the moonlight. It darted silently from one shadow to the next. In a moment, as he passed from one tree to another, I got a clear view of him.

  Jin.

  I caught myself just quickly enough to flick my eyes back to Mahdi before he could notice where I was looking. He’d followed me after all. And he had a shot at getting us all out of here without bloodshed if I could just hold Mahdi’s attention long enough. I didn’t need a distraction. I was the distraction.

  ‘And then what?’ I had to give Jin a chance to get close to him. ‘What’s your plan? Ahmed would never forgive you for killing his sister – you must know that.’

  ‘I don’t care about Ahmed.’ Mahdi’s accent was becoming more grating the more frantic he got. ‘This whole rebellion is going to hell on a fast horse, anyway.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure we’re not the ones going to hell in this situation,’ I said. Jin was only ten paces behind him now. Close enough so I
saw the corner of his mouth pull up at my barb, even though his eyes never left his sister.

  ‘Even you can see it, surely.’ Mahdi didn’t seem to hear me. He was leaning forward, desperately, like he could convince me, too. Like I might step aside and let him past. ‘Ahmed has bitten off more than he can chew. Saramotai is just the beginning – there will be other uprisings, and the war with the foreigners will end and the Sultan will destroy us. Ahmed is too weak to hold this whole country. We can’t save everyone. So I’m saving someone I can.’

  Jin was close now. Too close. The moonlight hit him as he left the cover of the trees, sending a spike of shadow across Mahdi’s path. Mahdi’s eyes went wide as he spun to face this new threat. His blade bit into the soft skin of Delila’s throat with the sudden motion, drawing blood.

  Delila screamed.

  The time for distraction was done. I flung my arm in an arc, exploding a burst of sand right into Mahdi’s face, blinding him as Jin darted forward. His hand latched over Mahdi’s, twisting the knife away from Delila’s neck. It changed course, plunging toward Jin’s chest instead. I whipped my palm flat, and the sand shifted below Mahdi’s feet, throwing him off balance, the knife sailing harmlessly by Jin’s shoulder.

  Mahdi went down, his fingers snapping like dry kindling in Jin’s grip, the knife falling from his hand. He hit the sand with an agonised cry, even as Jin caught Delila.

  And then it was over. Delila collapsed into Jin, sobbing, a smear of blood from her neck darkening his desert-white shirt. His eyes met mine over his sister’s head.

  So much for avoiding him.

  Chapter 10

  The stitched sun in the crown of the pavilion glowed dimly in the lamplight. It wasn’t enough to fill the whole of the pavilion, and the dark seemed to press in around the five of us.

  Me, Shazad, Hala, Jin, and Ahmed.

  There should have been more of us. If Bahi was alive. If Delila wasn’t being patched up by my aunt. If Mahdi wasn’t a traitor now locked up and under guard. If we hadn’t all agreed Imin should be given one night away from the Rebellion for the wedding.

  ‘You should have killed him outright, if you ask me.’ Hala’s eyes were far away, but I knew she was talking to me.

  ‘No one did ask you,’ I retorted. All I could think of was the fear in Mahdi’s eyes as he held Delila, shaking. Reasoning with me for Sayyida’s life because he was too proud to beg. ‘You trying to tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if Imin was the one dying in that tent?’

  ‘No.’ Hala’s voice was low, in that threatening way she got sometimes when it came to her sibling. ‘I’m trying to tell you that it just as easily could have been Imin. Or you, or me, or the twins. Every single one of us risks our life every day for selfish people like him and this is how they repay us.’ Selfish was what this desert did best. I knew that better than anyone.

  ‘Love makes people selfish,’ Jin said, so softly I almost believed I wasn’t meant to have heard it. A sudden hot, angry rush rose up in me. But before I could snap anything back, Hala spoke up again.

  ‘I don’t believe half of what’s been done to me was for love. Unless you want to count love of money.’ Hala raised her left hand into the light pointedly, with its missing two fingers. ‘Why should the rest of us suffer just because Amani seems to get to pick and choose who gets to live based on how she feels that day?’

  ‘Hala, that’s enough,’ Shazad warned.

  But Hala ignored her. ‘You seem exceptionally good at putting the rest of us in danger. Today it’s Mahdi. Last time you seemed to think your brother’s life was worth more than everyone else’s in this desert. How long before another burned-out crater appears where a city used to be? Or he finds us and turns another one of us to dust like Bahi? Or maybe someone will manage to hunt him down like they did Imin and they’ll take his eyes and he can die slowly when you could have given him mercy.’

  I went at her like a bullet from a gun.

  Shazad was between us in a second. Before I could get to Hala, before Hala could conjure some horror in my mind in retaliation.

  ‘I said, that’s enough.’ She held me back, arms on my shoulders, bracing me as Hala sneered at me over her shoulder. I strained against her, but familiar hands grabbed me, dragging me back away from the fight. Jin. I didn’t bother to fight as he pulled me against him easily. The familiar heat of his body as my back met his chest.

  ‘Stop. You know you don’t really want to fight her, Amani.’ He spoke in my ear, low enough so that I was the only one who heard him. So that his breath stirred the hair at the nape of my neck. Everything in me wanted to lean back into him, feel his heartbeat against my spine, and relax back into his presence. But I stilled before I could, forcing myself to pull away from him. To put air between us.

  ‘Let me go.’ His grip loosened as he felt my body lock up below his touch. I shook him off and his hands dropped away. I could still feel the heat of his palms lingering on my upper arms. Like burn marks. Except Demdji weren’t supposed to burn so easily.

  ‘Everyone in this tent has people we’d turn the world inside out to protect.’ Shazad turned to Hala. ‘This is not about blood or love. This is about treason. Mahdi has committed a crime against us, and there is judgment to be passed.’

  Ahmed hadn’t said a word yet. But now we were all looking at him.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘My father would choose execution.’

  ‘It’s what your brother would choose, too,’ Jin said from behind me. He’d retreated a safe distance from me. Even without looking at him I was keenly aware of him.

  ‘You’re advocating revenge?’ Ahmed said. ‘An eye for an eye?’

  ‘It’s not an eye for an eye,’ Jin said. ‘Delila is still alive. Thanks to Amani. So I’m only advocating for one eye.’

  Ahmed’s fingers drummed along the map. ‘It doesn’t seem to me that a Sultan should hand out rulings out of spite.’

  Mahdi’s words whispered into my mind. Too weak to hold this whole country.

  Jin took a step towards Ahmed. ‘Our sister—’

  ‘She’s not your sister.’ His hand slammed against the table, bringing silence instantly. None of us had ever heard Ahmed lash out at Jin like that. Even Shazad drew back, her eyes flicking between the two brothers. Like she might have to hold one of them back, too. Jin and Delila might not share any blood – not like she did with Ahmed through their mother, or like Jin and Ahmed did through their father – but they’d been raised together. Jin had never called Delila anything but his sister and Delila considered both princes her brothers. But Ahmed was the one who tied them together. ‘And it’s not your decision. It’s mine.’

  Jin tightened his jaw. ‘Fine. While you make your decision, I’ll go watch over your sister. Like I watched over her after my mother died. My mother who saved your life, lest we forget. And who died while you were here playing saviour to the country that enslaved her and tried to kill your sister.’

  ‘Everyone get out.’ Ahmed never took his eyes from his brother as he gave the command. ‘This conversation is between me and my brother.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Jin pushed open the tent flap in one violent movement. ‘We’re done here.’ The night air spilled into the pavilion behind him, pouring the light from Ahmed’s tent across the sand like a beacon.

  That was when the gunshot came.

  The whole world seemed to slow around us as we stood frozen, our minds struggling to catch up. A bullet was buried in the middle of the table, embedded a hair’s breadth to the left of Ahmed’s hand. Straight above it was a hole in the canopy, right through the yellow of the fabric sun.

  Shazad reacted first. Grabbing Ahmed by the front of his shirt, she wrenched him to the ground and under the table a second before the next gunshot sounded. Then another one.

  Jin grabbed me at the same moment, sending me sprawling, knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, and a stab of violent pain tore through my right shoulder. I cried out. Not a bullet, tho
ugh. I knew what that felt like. Jin shielded me with his body as bullets tore through the flimsy canvas of the tent.

  Sayyida.

  The idea hit as hard and sudden as a bullet to the brain. The timing was too perfect. She hadn’t ‘escaped’ with Hala. She’d been bait. A trap. They’d followed her straight back to us.

  Screaming started outside, followed by more gunfire. Another bullet struck near us, sending up a spray of sand dangerously close to where Jin and I were. The soldiers were shooting blind, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to hit us.

  I reached for my power, but it danced tauntingly out of my grasp. I felt something cold against my hip. I twisted to get a better look. My shirt had ridden up, and the iron of Jin’s belt buckle was pressing into my bare skin, stripping me of my Djinni half. We both winced as another bullet slammed into the table above Ahmed’s and Shazad’s heads.

  ‘Jin.’ The fall had knocked the air out of my lungs, and there was a shooting pain in my right arm, like it might be broken. It was hard to talk with Jin’s solid weight on top of me. ‘Belt buckle,’ I finally gasped, my chest burning.

  Jin understood. He shifted quickly away from me. I felt the iron leave my skin. And suddenly the panic wasn’t a roaring sensation trapped in my chest any more. It was pouring out of me. Into the desert. Into the sand.

  I called the desert into a storm.

  I felt it rise in the sands outside, picking up strength as it went. I pushed it as far from us as I could, to the edges of camp, but sand whipped at the torn walls of the tent all the same. I closed my eyes and let the desert work itself into a frenzy. The gunfire stopped, faltering under the force of the whirlwind even as it crashed into the side of the pavilion, lifting it from the ground, carrying it away like it was nothing.