‘What kind of time do you call this, young lady?’ The voice made me jump violently. Dropping the hem of my shirt, I reached for a weapon I didn’t have. Exhaustion and confusion blurred my vision for a moment. There was a figure sitting on my bed in a khalat. A khalat I recognised … because it belonged to Shazad, I realised after a moment. Only the person wearing it was a head taller than Shazad, at least, and had wider shoulders that pulled at the fabric enough to make some of the stitching pop. The face was hidden by a sheema, one blond curl escaping underneath to drop lazily over pale blue eyes.

Sam.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I hissed, glancing around nervously as I dropped down on the mat across from him. ‘Someone might see you.’

‘Oh, plenty of folk have.’ Sam lowered his voice to a whisper to match me. He loosened the sheema around his face. It was tied correctly this time; I could only guess his way of knotting it haphazardly like an infant had bugged Shazad as much as it did me. ‘But who’s going to notice another woman in here?’ He had a point. Women seemed to appear and disappear in the harem without anyone batting an eye. ‘Shazad’s idea. She didn’t think it was a good idea for you to get caught with a man in your bed. Although I don’t know if I have the figure to pull off this khalat.’ He cinched it around his waist with his hands, like he was trying to make it fit him properly.

‘Don’t worry, none of us can fill out a khalat the way Shazad can,’ I said. But there was something nagging at me. ‘Jin’s not back yet.’ It wasn’t a question. I didn’t even have to test the truth out on my tongue before saying it. Because if Jin were back, Sam wouldn’t be here alone.

Sam kicked back, lacing his hands behind his head. ‘This is the Rebel Prince’s missing brother I keep hearing about? He’s the one you wish was waiting for you in your bed right now, I gather.’ He winked at me.

I dodged the comment. ‘He wouldn’t make nearly so convincing a girl as you do,’ I said. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’

‘Oh, yes, just a little. Shazad did it for me.’ He preened a little.

‘She must like you. I’m usually the only person she does that for.’

‘She was worried about you after you missed meeting me by the Weeping Wall tonight.’ I’d missed my meeting time with Sam by a long way after I’d given up trying to escape the dinner. ‘In particular she was concerned you might – and these are her words – “do something typically Amani-ish” and get yourself caught. She’s got the entire camp packed up and ready to move again if I didn’t find you by dawn.’

Somewhere in the midst of dining with the Sultan I’d stopped feeling afraid of him finding out who I was. Sam’s words were a sharp reminder that I wasn’t risking only my own life. We’d been found once already.

‘I’ve been waiting for so long I was beginning to think she was right and that I’d have to take up the mantle of the Blue-Eyed Bandit permanently. And after being filled in on what “something typically Amani-ish” means, I’m not sure I’m up to the task. Did you really throw yourself under the hooves of a Buraqi? I’d lose a rib doing that.’

I rolled my eyes, letting the joke in his voice burn away some of the guilt. ‘If there was ever motivation to stay alive …’ I trailed off. I couldn’t exactly tell him that Shazad had been wrong to worry. I had, after all, nearly been trampled by a Buraqi, twice. And I had sat across from our enemy and discussed Ahmed over dinner that night. ‘You can tell Shazad I’m still alive. And I have free rein in the palace now. You should lead with that.’ I dropped down next to him. ‘Before you tell her that I missed our meeting because I was dining with the Sultan.’

Sam burst out laughing so loud I was worried he might wake someone. The harem had thin walls. ‘So what does a rebel talk to the Sultan about these days? Though my mother always said to keep politics away from the dinner table – so perhaps you just discussed the weather? Though, best I can tell, you only have one type of weather here.’

I could still taste the orange on my lips when I ran my tongue across them. I considered what the Sultan had said about the fact that he was trying to stop a war. A war Ahmed was helping to instigate. That giving over this information would help the Rebellion but might hurt Miraji.

‘The Sultan is going after Saramotai.’ I reached into my shirt and pulled out the map of the supply route. The drawing of Noorsham’s armour was wrapped around my upper arm. ‘Five hundred men are to leave Izman in three days, marching on the city through Iliaz.’ Sam stayed quiet as I pulled confidential information out of my clothes. Which was commendable, really. ‘There are too many to stop. Izz or Maz can get there ahead of the Sultan’s troops with a warning easily and evacuate everyone.’

‘Evacuate them where?’ Sam said.

‘I don’t know.’ I finally pulled the map of Izman out from the waistband of my trousers and leaned back, sprawling my aching legs across the bed of pillows so that they tangled with the hem of his borrowed khalat. ‘But it’s either get them out or someone talks Ahmed into letting Delila try to make a whole city disappear long enough to baffle the Sultan’s troops. Tell Shazad. She’ll know what to do.’

‘Seems like you already know what to do.’

I shrugged. I’d spent the last half a year listening to Shazad and Ahmed strategise. I’d picked up a few things. ‘There’s more.’ I laid out the movements of other soldiers for Sam, struggling to remember all the details from the war council. There were more travelling south into the territory that Ahmed had claimed. Sensing a weakness. But it was a diversion; Saramotai was the only city they were going to take back for now.