The city of Tiamat never stood a chance.
It took us almost two weeks of walking to get to the sea. It would’ve taken half that time if we hadn’t stopped quite so often.
When the Rebellion was somewhere near recovered from Eremot, we finally made ready to move. We packed as much as we could carry, as much as Sazi could spare, splitting it between the twins and the people who were on foot.
Finally we were as ready to leave as we were ever going to be.
But not all of us were leaving.
Tamid decided to stay behind. I’d known he wouldn’t be coming with us, but it was unsettling to walk away without him all the same.
‘You could still come with us, you know,’ I said on the morning we prepared to leave. ‘We could use someone to patch us up on the road.’ He was good at what he did. I’d watched him bandage Rahim’s bloody nose a few days past, when Jin had hit him in the face as they were demonstrating something to our new recruits. Ten days in Sazi and those two weren’t getting along any better.
‘I belong here, Amani.’ Tamid leaned heavily on his false leg on the unsteady ground of the mountain face. ‘I always have.’ I could tell his mind was elsewhere. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he said finally. ‘Go back there and …’ Die. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. ‘If you stayed—’
‘I have to go, Tamid,’ I cut him off. ‘I belong with them.’ I offered him a wan smile to take the sting out off the words. ‘I always have.’
He nodded. And I knew he understood without really understanding. The same way I understood he had to stay here even if I’d never really understand why he wanted to. So we just stood in silence on the mountain. Waiting until the moment our paths would take us far apart. Probably forever. It was early morning, and it was colder up here. A small shiver went through me. To my surprise, Tamid reached out and put his arms around me awkwardly. My one-time friend. If I was going to die in Izman, it was nice to know that we’d forgiven each other at least.
We all said our goodbyes. Some eyes filled with tears as families bid farewell to the men and women who had joined us. There were about three dozen of them in the end, adding to the hundred or so we’d rescued from the mines. A few of the people who had come out of Eremot had decided not to go any further with the Rebellion. They were too broken by the prison to fight any more fights.
‘Amani.’ Aunt Farrah stopped me as we turned to head down the mountain. I tensed. Whatever she had to say to me, she’d waited until the absolute last minute. Which couldn’t mean anything good. Shazad noticed and stopped next to me, like she was standing guard at my back. I was grateful for her. But Aunt Farrah’s face wasn’t full of venom this time. ‘Shira –’ I heard the pain it took her to say her dead daughter’s name – ‘she had a son?’
‘She did.’ I nervously adjusted the strap on the pack of supplies I was carrying. Aunt Farrah was more family to Fadi than the Rebellion was; she was his grandmother. She had more right to raise him than we did. But he was a Demdji, too. I couldn’t just hand him over to be raised here like I had been, ignorant of what I was. Like Noorsham had been, a bomb of sheer power waiting to explode. If she asked me for her only daughter’s child and I had to refuse her … well, then I might just be leaving her on even worse terms than I did last time. But still, I couldn’t stop myself from adding, ‘She named him Fadi. After her – our grandfather. Your father.’
‘If you—’ Aunt Farrah started, and then she bit off her own words, like she was struggling to get them out. ‘I’d like to meet my grandson someday, Amani … if that’s possible.’
I waited, but there was no threat, no demand, no belittling of me to get what she wanted. I hesitated before replying. ‘I don’t know—’ if I trust you with him. ‘I don’t know how things are going to turn out here. We’re at war.’ Chances are I’m not going to be alive to bring him to meet you.
Aunt Farrah nodded stiffly. ‘I know. But will you try?’
That I could give her. That was a promise I could keep. ‘I’ll try.’ I turned away quickly before I could see the hope spark on my aunt’s face, when I knew trying might not be good enough.
*
We headed down from the mountain and towards the railway tunnel that cut from western Miraji into the east, through the middle mountains. Haytham Al-Fawzi was anxious to reclaim his city. All of us were anxious to finish this war.
On the way, we passed through both Juniper City and Massil, the place where Jin and I had joined a caravan back when I was barely the Blue-Eyed Bandit and he was just a foreigner. Not a Demdji and a prince. I hadn’t known then that the Djinni they told the story of here, who’d flooded the sea with sand, was my father.
There, standing in the same pit in the middle of town where Jin had once fought to prove his prowess to the Camel’s Knees, Delila told the story of Prince Ahmed again, like she had in Sazi, images that matched her words spilling from her fingers. By the time she finished, we had another half dozen recruits. Most of them were young men and women who belonged to the crumbling city, but a few split off from their caravans to fall into step with us. Leaving their travelling clan wouldn’t be looked on well, but they were taking a chance and handing their lives over.
A day after Massil, we crossed through the railway tunnel that led from the desert into eastern Miraji. We started at dawn, moving as quickly as we could. We all knew that it wasn’t a good idea to wind up under the mountain in the dark. And we made it to the other side before night.
Barely. The sun was setting as we stepped out.
It had been months since we’d lost the rebel camp in the attack, but for a moment as we emerged on the other side of the mountain, I thought I wasn’t stepping out of a tunnel but through the secret door.
Instead of desert sands, the valley that stretched out below us was emerald with rolling fields of grass. This was another Miraji, a thousand miles away from the one I’d grown up in, it seemed. Trees hanging with the last of the summer fruits dotted the landscape between field after field, and the air smelled of rain. Abruptly, the twins were off, bursting into the shapes of two hawks and plunging down the valley, racing, their loud screeches filling the air.
South-eastern Miraji was dotted with farming villages, and we stopped in every single one we passed. In each village Delila told Ahmed’s story, and in each one new people joined us, packing up their supplies to fall in line behind the hero of Miraji, the Rebel Prince brought back to life. Before we’d made it far, the story had spread ahead of us, shape-shifting as it went.
They said Ahmed was chosen by the Djinn to save Miraji. He had been brought back from the dead and remade by the very hands of the creatures who had made us. He wasn’t wholly human in some eyes. As we passed through towns, people came out of their houses to pray to him, to call out to him, just to see him. And always, some joined up with us.
Those who could fight or who were able-bodied enough to be trained, Shazad allowed to come with us. The too old or too young, Ahmed asked to stay behind, not to give their lives for him, promising to fight for them.
And then there were the stories that Ahmed was invincible. That he had been resurrected by the hands of the Djinn and could not be defeated. I felt my hand drift to Zaahir’s knife without meaning to as I started to hear this repeated.
By the time we reached Tiamat, we were three times as many as we’d been when we’d left the mountains. We weren’t just a rabble. We were an army.
At midday, we stood on the slope that overlooked the bay of Tiamat. Shazad’s arms were crossed over her chest, surveying the city like she could take it apart brick by brick. Tiamat had walls, but we could walk through those easily. We had Delila, if we needed to hide. And we had the twins if we needed a way over the walls.
‘There’s not a chance the emir hasn’t heard we’re coming,’ Shazad thought out loud, her hair dancing backwards in the warm air off the sea as she considered our target. She almost looked like her old self after weeks of walking and fresh air and sun. ‘There’s not a chance they think they can hold against us either. He hasn’t even tried to bar the gates.’
‘No,’ I agreed, squinting down at the city below. We were almost there, and I felt a sudden burst of impatience as I saw our target. The ships we needed docked just beyond those walls. Ready to carry us to north. ‘So how about we just walk in?’
I suppose I expected Shazad to disagree with me. She didn’t.
We walked to the city as if we were invited, not invading. Haytham and Ahmed leading the way, with me and Shazad close behind and Jin protecting our backs. The twins kept watch overhead as hummingbirds, zipping back and forth, ready to shift to a more threatening shape. Rahim was left with the army just outside the walls. Reinforcements if we needed them.
No one stopped us at the gates of Tiamat, although plenty of people came out to gawk at us: the Rebel Prince, returned from the dead, walking side by side with their rightful emir, who had been taken away months ago. I’d never been in a city like this before. We marched through tidy, wide, well-paved streets, boxes of flowers and plants overflowing on to colourfully painted walls.
The emir’s grand house stood at the eastmost point of the city, a great square structure painted pale blue and overlooking the water. So close, in fact, that the sea breeze picked up the white flag that had been raised over its roof, whipping it out for us as we approached.
So Haytham’s brother had seen us coming. He was surrendering.
‘If someone surrenders, does that mean you can’t kill them?’ Haytham asked, squinting up at the flag over his home. He was older than us by a decade or so, though he looked even older from his time at Eremot. Curly hair grew shaggy across his brow. He had been trapped there longer than our people, and he bore marks I was sure would never go away. But there was a new lightness to him now he was back in his city again.
‘It is traditional not to,’ Shazad advised.
‘But then again, we’re big on breaking tradition,’ Jin tossed in, as we approached the doors of the house. I could sense him close behind me as we climbed up the clean white steps. When I turned back to look at him, his eyes weren’t on me though. They were fixed on the ships in the harbour just below. Jin and Ahmed has spent most of their lives on ships. There was an easiness in Jin’s stance I hadn’t seen in a long time, now we were so close to the sea.
We were wary in spite of the white flag as we entered the house. But there was no ambush inside the door. We ventured in carefully. Marble hallways spread out around us, vacant, and room after room was empty, except for the sea air stirring the curtains. There was no one here for revenge even if Haytham had wanted it.
‘He fled,’ Haytham declared, pushing open the door to a fine set of rooms. Those that belonged to the emir, I guess. The inside was turned over, as if someone had grabbed their belongings in a rush. His brother. ‘The coward.’
He must’ve heard that we were on our way. But I had the feeling it wasn’t news of our numbers or our weapons that made him flee. It was the news that the Rebel Prince had returned from the dead. We didn’t even have to fight with the tale of Ahmed preceding us.
That was the power of a legend.
*
We split up, starting a quick search of the house. Haytham’s brother couldn’t have got far. Shazad and I took the ground floor, while Haytham went looking for the servants who used to work in his household. If anyone had answers, it would be them.
Shazad made a face as she pushed open a door.
‘What?’ I asked, reaching for my gun already.
‘No, no.’ She stopped me quickly, opening the door fully. It gave way to a small courtyard, with a bubbling fountain set into the wall. And above that was a half-finished, multicoloured mosaic. It looked like a man’s face. ‘If ever I think it’s a good idea to put a six-foot-high portrait of myself in my home, will you promise to slap me?’
I snorted, relaxing my grip on my gun. ‘You know it’s dangerous for Demdji to make promises,’ I joked.
She was about to say something else when we both heard it. It sounded like a child’s cry. It was coming from just beyond the wooden doorway in the small courtyard. The lightness leached out of Shazad’s face as quick as anything as she set her hand on her sword.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. We’d fought many a fight together. I knew what she needed. I offered her a slight nod as she moved towards the door, drawing my gun. I took a deep breath as she exhaled.
Shazad shoved the door open abruptly, drawing her sword as she did, even as I moved forwards, covering her with my gun.
And then we both stopped abruptly.
Beyond the door was another small garden, crowded with cowering people. And they were far from threats. I counted about two dozen women and at least twice as many children, from about thirteen years old all the way down to babes in arms.
Shazad dropped her blade even as children in the garden started to cry and women clutched their children closer to their chests.
‘It’s all right!’ She held up her now empty hands. ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’
I knew them, I realised. The boy who was pressed behind his mother nearby – his name was Bassam. I had seen him once before, standing on the edge of a lake, bow in hand, as he came of age. His father’s hand had been on his shoulder.
They were the Sultan’s wives and children.
Leyla had said that the rest of the harem had been sent away as the siege approached. Sent to safety.
Tiamat had been safety. At least before we’d arrived.
‘We’re not going to hurt you,’ Shazad repeated even as I touched the knife that Zaahir had given me, hanging at my side.
Use this knife to take the life of another prince, and I promise you that your prince will live through the battle to take the throne.
A prince’s life for a prince’s life.
I thought he meant it as some brutal taunt, that I should kill Jin or Rahim, when he knew I never would. Some tainted offer of help that I would never get.
Except I had hung on to the knife in spite of that. And now, I was being presented with dozens of princes.
We’re not here to hurt you, Shazad had told them.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I pressed out of the garden, ignoring Shazad calling out behind me. Quickly I laced my way back to the street. I found the road to the sea easily enough, and soon I was standing at the docks, overlooking the ships and the terrifyingly endless water. I ripped the knife out of the sheath at my side and flung it through the air. I had good aim – it arced and landed in the waves, sinking far out of my reach. Taking away the chance I might do something stupid and desperate.
‘It’s no wonder you wanted to rescue him.’ I looked up, startled by the voice. There was a man behind me, his back against the wall, a small collection of coins by his grubby bare feet. ‘You’re so afraid of making the wrong choices, aren’t you?’
I glanced around, confused. But everyone else at the docks was going about their business without so much as glancing our way. The beggar couldn’t be talking to anyone other than me.
‘Do you want to know what I think?’ He paused and reached out a hand towards me, like he was begging for a coin. I found a loose half-louzi piece in my pocket and dropped it into his hands. ‘I think you’re selfish.’ He pocketed the coin quickly. ‘All those princes to choose from, who don’t mean anything to you, and you can’t even kill one of them to save thousands of your own kind when I handed you a way to do it.’ That was when he looked at me straight on, and I saw that his eyes were the colour of embers.
‘Zaahir.’ I recognised him, disguised in this new human shape. ‘What do you want?’
‘I wanted to know what you would do.’ He stood, gliding his back up the stone wall behind him. ‘But I’m also here to keep my promises,’ he said. As he spoke, his body shifted, morphing from the old beggar into a young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ahmed. ‘You wanted a way to put your prince on the throne, and I promised to give you one. Except that you just walked away from it.’
Jin told me once that coincidence didn’t have the same cruel sense of humour as fate. The Djinn, they had a cruel sense of humour, too – and enough power to open a mountain. To turn a boy into a wall of fire. To lead me here, across a desert, and give me exactly what I’d asked for: a way to keep Ahmed alive.
‘They’re children.’
‘So are you,’ he said. ‘Does it really matter whether a life lasts one handful of years, or two, or three?’ He was really asking me, I realised. He had been out of the mortal world as long as it had existed. He didn’t understand us at all. Didn’t understand the difference between being ten and being twenty and being a hundred. They were all young to him. ‘Would it be easier to kill him if he were a man?’ he asked. ‘No, that can’t be it, because then you could have killed the other two princes you travel with. But they are men you need. Each in his own way.’ When he smiled his face shifted again, this time turning to one that resembled Jin’s. ‘You’ve killed others before, daughter of Bahadur. Don’t deny it.’
‘Killing people to save—’ I cut myself off as a sly smile spread across the face that looked unsettlingly like Jin’s. ‘Killing people in battle is different.’
‘And this is a war. But if you insist, there is another gift I can give you.’
He moved quicker than I could see. He didn’t step towards me, just disappeared from the air where he stood, reappearing directly before me. I didn’t even have time to stagger back before he caught me, holding me tighter than any mortal thing could. It was more like being trapped in the stones of a mountain than being held by arms made of flesh and blood. ‘This is my new gift to you, daughter of Bahadur.’
He kissed me then, before I could pull away. He didn’t kiss me like a mortal man, either. But his mouth wasn’t stone; it was fire. My mouth was scalding under his. And then, just as quickly, it was over.
For a moment, as he pulled away, something changed in his face. The certainty shifted to the same bewildered madness I’d seen on his face in the mountain. I remembered something he had said. That I looked like her. The First Hero. He had lived with mortality as long as the other Djinn, but he had lived out of the world. He had not been blunted by time, nor by the deaths of thousands, the way they had.
‘What was that?’ I brought my hand to my mouth, but when I touched my lips, they were the same temperature they always were.
‘A gift, of life.’ His grip didn’t feel like warm skin – it felt like air and stone and fire. ‘You can’t keep it for yourself. But you can pass it on to one person, and I promise you that they will live to see old age.’
First he’d given me the chance to kill someone, and now he was giving me the chance to save someone with a kiss. To save Ahmed, if I wanted to.
Or I could save Jin. The selfish thought crept in faster than I could expel it.
And then I had another thought. Bilal. If I used it on him, we might be able to take Iliaz as bloodlessly as we had this city. I could give Bilal his escape from death after all.