A tension I hadn’t even realised was there fled her body as I spoke, a fear she’d been holding deep in her bones since the first time I’d seen her in the baths. Had she looked at me that day, my Demdji eyes, and understood that she was going to be done for on the day she gave birth? Before I knew the harem, I might’ve asked why she’d taken the risk of lying with anyone other than her husband. If she was really stupid and arrogant enough to think that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Ahmed and Delila’s mother. Of every other harem woman who had ever strayed into another man’s arms. But I’d seen enough since entering the harem to know there were other ways to die here. Ayet was proof of that.

‘Why didn’t you try to sell me out to the Sultan in exchange for your own life?’ It slipped out. I never believed anyone ever did anything that wasn’t for themselves before the Rebellion. And there were parts of me I couldn’t shake from before the Rebellion. The parts that kept me alive. ‘You know who I am. You knew your life was all but forfeit. If survival in the harem is one big game, why not play your last piece?’

I knew the look she gave me from days together in the Dustwalk schoolhouse. The one she saved if you said something particularly stupid in class. The one that made sure that you knew not just that you were stupid but that she was a whole lot smarter than you. ‘The Sultan doesn’t make trades. Everyone knows that. He hasn’t traded anything since he traded Miraji’s freedom for a throne. That’s a mistake you only make once. He takes instead. And he would’ve taken the knowledge of your treachery from me and then we would’ve both been dead. And I want one of us alive. I’d rather it be me, of course, but you’ll have to do.’ A slight smile appeared on her face at her own joke at death’s doors. But it was gone quickly. ‘When I’m gone I want you still around with your idiotic idealist rebellion to gut the Sultan and Kadir.’ The more she talked, the more her accent leaked out through the cracks. Our accent from the Last County. ‘I hate them and I hate what they did. And I almost succeeded in taking their throne, too.’

‘Wait.’ I cut her off before she could chase her own thoughts too far away from me. ‘What do you mean you almost took their throne?’

‘Fereshteh promised.’ She said it with the certainty of a child repeating something she truly believed. Who didn’t understand that promises were just words. But Fereshteh was a Djinni. If it was dangerous for Demdji to make promises, how bad was one from a real live Djinni? A thousand stories of Djinni promises granted in horrifying torturous ways tumbled towards the front of my mind.

‘I figured out that the harem was an unwinnable game, early on. The only real way to win is by becoming the mother not just to a prince but a Sultim. Only Kadir can’t sire any princes. And Fereshteh was just there, in the harem gardens one day. Like he’d stepped out of a story and into my life to save me. And he said that he could give me a son. And just like that I had a way to win the unwinnable game. To survive past Kadir losing interest in me in his bed and become the Sultima.’ Her eyes were far away. ‘And when I touched him he turned from fire to flesh. And he asked what I would wish for our child.’

‘What do you mean, what you wished?’ My mouth had gone dry.

Shira’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, like she’d been startled from the edge of drifting to sleep. ‘He said he could grant me a single wish for his child. Every Djinni can.’

‘Shira.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘You’ve heard the stories as well as I have. A wish from a Djinni—’

‘In the stories men steal wishes. They trick and lie and cheat for an easy way to change their fortunes. That’s why the Djinn twist them. Thieves don’t prosper from wishes. But if the wish is given freely …’ Then there was no need to twist it. They could really give someone their heart’s desire.

‘You wished for more than a prince.’ But my mind wasn’t wholly with Shira any more. It was racing across the sands back to Dustwalk. To my own mother. If she’d been given the chance to wish for anything, what had she wished for me? What great boon had my father granted to me? ‘You wished for your son to be Sultan.’

‘The only way to win the game.’ Shira tipped her head back against the cold stone wall, a small sigh slipping through her lips. That was when the tears started to come. ‘I wished to be the mother of a ruler. I wouldn’t have to scrape to survive any more. I could have everything I ever wanted.’ A Djinni’s word was truth. If Fereshteh had promised Shira that Fadi would be Sultan one day, what did that mean for Ahmed? ‘But I lost.’ Tears rolled down her face. I’d never seen Shira cry before. It looked unnatural on her somehow.

‘Shira, do you want me to go?’

‘No.’ She didn’t open her eyes. ‘You’re right. Nobody wants to die alone.’

I expected to feel grief. But all I found inside was anger. And suddenly I was furious. And I didn’t know who I was angry at. At myself for not getting her out quickly enough. At her for being stupid enough to get caught. At the Sultan for doing this to both of us.

‘I should have wished for something else,’ she said finally as the tears stopped. When she opened her eyes again there was a fire there I’d never seen in her. One I suddenly realised had been there all along. Back in Dustwalk when I thought I’d been the only one who wanted to get out as badly as I did. In the harem when I thought I was the only one hiding something. She’d just veiled it a whole lot better than I had. ‘Tell me that you’re going to win, Amani. That you’re going to kill them all. That you’re going to take our country away from them and that my son will be safe in a world that doesn’t want to destroy him. That’s my real wish. Tell me that.’