‘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, though. 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.

Outside, the sandstorm had whipped the camp’s fear into chaos. Rebels were rushing to tie sheemas around their faces as others gathered supplies or tried to calm horses. Everybody knew what our evacuation plan was. But it was one thing knowing it, another trying to execute it in the dead of night with bullets tearing through the air.

I fought for better control. I tried to breathe as I rose onto my knees. The gunfire had come from above. That meant they were on the walls of the canyon. I shifted, pushing my hands outward, pushing my power towards them, creating a shield from the gunfire as best I could.

As the sand moved, I saw the first rebel’s body. Fresh red blood was spilling out of the bullet wound in his chest. I felt my control slip and grabbed at it again.