A NEW DAWN. A NEW DESERT.

We call for Sultan Oman Al-Hasim Bin

Izman of Miraji to step down from his throne and stand trial for treason.

Sultan Oman is accused of these crimes against Miraji and its people:

Subjecting his country to unfit foreign rule in the form of the Gallan army

Untried execution of parties accused of violating Gallan law

Persecution of his own people without just cause

Persecution of Mirajin citizens for unproven Djinni magic in their bloodline

Oppression of working citizens through unfair wages

Enslavement of women across Miraji

The list went on.

We demand the traitorous Sultan Oman be separated from his throne for his crimes and that his rightful heir, Prince Ahmed Al-Oman Bin Izman, true victor of the Sultim trials, be allowed to ascend in his place and return this desert to its rightful glory.

If he does not comply and surrender the throne, we will seize it on behalf of the people of Miraji.

A NEW DAWN. A NEW DESERT.

The Rebellion had come to Izman.

I read it over again. I was so absorbed I didn’t notice anyone near me until I felt the hand on the back of my neck. I started to spin, but Uzma had already darted up behind me, quiet as a shadow, unclasping the khalat where it was fastened at the nape of my neck.

The fabric came undone, slithering off me towards the ground. I grabbed at it, letting Ahmed’s sun slip to the ground, but too late to keep my body totally hidden.

Uzma’s nasty little eyes took in my body, judging it, finding it wanting in every possible way with one glance.

‘Now, that is a nasty scar. Did the tailor Abdul not stitch you together right?’ She meant the one on my right hip, where the bullet had gone through in Iliaz. My fingers were still fumbling with the clasp at my neck to tie the khalat back up. I could feel my skin burning under her mocking gaze. ‘It all makes sense now. Let me guess: you’re a whore who got pregnant, and they had to try to cut the thing out of you.’

I gave up on the clasp without the servants to help me and reached up to knot the loose ends of fabric together. Uzma took a smirking step toward me as I struggled. One of the pamphlets crumpled under her bare foot, Ahmed’s sun wrinkling.

‘How about you step away from her.’ The voice was iron and silk and wholly familiar. ‘Before I knock you back.’

Shazad wasn’t armed. But she looked as dangerous as she would’ve been with both her blades drawn as she stepped between me and Uzma. I tugged the knot tighter at the base of my neck. When I looked up, the smirk on Uzma’s face flickered.

Shazad leaned forward, forcing Uzma to stagger backwards. ‘My apologies,’ Shazad said in a tone that didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘That may have sounded like a suggestion. It wasn’t. Go.’

Uzma took two steps back, heading straight for Ayet, who was watching from the shadow of one of the pillars. Then Izz screamed again and both of them disappeared, fleeing for cover. Leaving me facing my best friend amid the chaos of the rapidly emptying courtyard.

‘I told you about watching your back.’ Shazad said.

‘I told you I knew I could count on you to do it for me.’ I longed to embrace her, but there were too many people around still. I could explain it away if we were caught talking but embracing might be harder. I had to be satisfied with plucking at the ornate sleeves of her khalat. ‘I reckon you’re the only person I know who can look that intimidating while wearing something with quite so many flowers on it.’

Shazad flashed me a messy smile. ‘All the better to be underestimated in. Come on.’ Shazad grabbed my hand, glancing around quickly. ‘We’re getting out of here. Now.’ She started pulling me towards the gates. Nobody was looking at us as Izz screamed, passing over the palace again. The Sultan had vanished and everyone else was running for cover. It was a good chance to get out. ‘This is supposed to be a distraction?’ I gestured at the pamphlets littering the ground underfoot.

‘Things can be a distraction and serve the cause at the same time.’ Shazad was still pulling me towards the gate. ‘Can you walk any faster than this?’

My mind caught up too slow. I pulled Shazad to a stop. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I could outrun a Buraqi. I’m trapped.’ I filled her in as quickly as I could, as chaos reigned around us still. The iron under my skin, and one piece of bronze, allowing the Sultan to control me.

Shazad’s face darkened as she listened. She took it in with the same sharpened focus she always had when things were serious. ‘So we cut it out of you.’

‘I know I’m not as clever as you but that did cross my mind,’ I deadpanned to her. ‘It could be anywhere and I’m as likely to bleed out as anything if you start sticking knives into me.’

‘I’m not leaving you here,’ Shazad argued.

‘You don’t have a choice right now,’ I said. ‘Shazad—’ I was long on things I wanted to say to her and short on time. Soon enough, the chaos Izz had created was going to die down and someone was going to notice us. There was only one thing that mattered. One last piece I hadn’t told her. ‘The Sultan has a Djinni.’

Shazad opened her mouth. Then closed it. ‘Say that again.’

There wasn’t a whole lot Shazad couldn’t do. She could command armies; she could form strategies that she could see play out eight steps ahead of anyone else. She could fight and maybe even win a war that we were outnumbered and outgunned in. But there was outgunned and then there was fighting a gun with a stick. If the Sultan had even one Djinni, that wasn’t anything an army of mortals could stand against.