Traitor to the Throne (Rebel of the Sands 2)

What followed was the longest, most awkward minute of my life as Leyla reattached Tamid’s leg. Everybody was trying their hardest not to look at anyone else. The sound of mechanisms clicking together punctuated the silence as Leyla worked. When she was finally, mercifully done, Rahim practically dragged her out of the room, remembering me at the last second. ‘Amani, I’ll come back and get you.’

Tamid and I didn’t speak as Leyla followed her brother out. The awkwardness stretched between us long after their footsteps had faded.

‘I’d love to be able to storm away, but, you know.’ Tamid tapped on his leg, below the knee. A hollow sound reverberated back. I winced. ‘It seems like you ought to be the one to leave. Out of respect.’

‘Tamid—’

‘Do you want to know how I lost my leg, Amani?’ Tamid cut me off.

‘I know how.’ I remembered that last dark night in Dustwalk clearer than any of the hazy days that came before.

‘No.’ Tamid slammed his hand down against the table underneath him. I might’ve flinched if I wasn’t so used to the sound of gunfire aimed at me. ‘You don’t. You saw Naguib shoot me and then you left. You weren’t there while I lay screaming in the sand. You weren’t there when Shira started striking bargains, saying she could help find you. That she knew you better than almost anyone, that she knew where you’d go. Better than almost anyone.’ His hands shook as he clenched them into fists. ‘You didn’t see them tear me away from my mother to take me with them, too, on the off chance I might be useful. You weren’t with me on that train that rattled its way to Izman.’ I had been on that train. I’d seen Shira on that train. I’d kissed Jin on that train. Not ever imagining Tamid might be on board, too.

‘Naguib said he’d left you to bleed out in Dustwalk. I thought you were dead, Tamid.’ The words I’d comforted myself with for months since that day sounded like a poor excuse now he was standing in front of me in the flesh.

‘So did I.’ His right hand was a fist against his thigh now. ‘I thought I was dead while I writhed in agony and when I got here and the Holy Father said it was infected. That it would have to come off. You weren’t here when they sawed off my leg, Amani. But now you are. Let me guess: you want my help. You want me to tell you which little metal bump under your skin is the one you need to cut out to escape.’ My fingers pressed so hard against the metal on my arm I wondered if it would bruise. Tamid knew me well enough to read my silence.

He pushed himself off the edge of the table. I pretended not to notice the slight wince as his freshly oiled leg hit the ground, or the way he steadied himself for a fraction of a heartbeat before he started to work his way around the small space, tidying up even though it was already spotless. Straightening bottles so the labels all faced out in a perfect line, making them clink with every twist. He slammed a door shut that led towards a small side chamber, where I could see a bed. ‘You’re predictable as anything. You know, back in Dustwalk, you always figured I didn’t sleep all that well. But that wasn’t true. It was just that, if I knew you’d gotten a beating, I’d lie awake waiting for you to crawl through my window asking for something.’

I hadn’t known that. I swallowed the tears that were welling up in my throat. ‘I don’t believe you hate me as much as you want me to think you do.’

‘How do you figure?’ Leyla had left her tools behind, and he started lining those up. He sounded disinterested.

‘Because if you really hated me, you’d have turned me over to the Sultan as a rebel by now.’ I saw the truth of it as soon as I said it. ‘Instead, you pretended not to know me the day I got here. You’ve been helping the Sultan a whole lot of other ways.’ This truth came out like an accusation. It was easier to accuse him as a rebel against an enemy than as a girl against an old friend. ‘You gave him the knowledge he needed to control Noorsham and to control me. And enough first language to capture a Djinni. But you didn’t give me up.’ I saw him wince at the mention of the Djinni. I seized on it. He might not care enough about me any more to help, but I knew Tamid. If you cut him he’d bleed holy words. ‘He’s going to be able to kill a whole lot more people with a Djinni on his side, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘And that’s all right with you, is it?’

‘Do you mean because it’s unholy, or because of how I feel—’ Just for a second his fingers slipped, sending a small circular instrument skidding off the table and to the ground. ‘Because of how I felt, about you?’

How did you feel about me? But that wasn’t a fair question when I already knew the answer. I saw it now, written all over him.

‘He’s our Sultan, Amani. Our job is to obey, not to question.’

‘You don’t believe that.’ A simple truth slipping out. I retrieved the metal tube off the floor and handed it back to him. ‘Not you who went to prayers every single day. You don’t believe keeping a Djinni prisoner is the right thing.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I think. I’ve scoured the books in the Sultan’s library and I couldn’t find the words to release a Djinni, only to bind one—’ He caught himself, looking at me straight on now. He ignored the metal tube I still had in my hand, refusing even that peace offering.

‘You only know the words to bind them, not to release them?’ I imagined my father trapped under the palace forever as we mortals did what we did best: died, and then forgot about him, trapping him there for all eternity. followed was the longest, most awkward minute of my life as Leyla reattached Tamid’s leg. Everybody was trying their hardest not to look at anyone else. The sound of mechanisms clicking together punctuated the silence as Leyla worked. When she was finally, mercifully done, Rahim practically dragged her out of the room, remembering me at the last second. ‘Amani, I’ll come back and get you.’

Tamid and I didn’t speak as Leyla followed her brother out. The awkwardness stretched between us long after their footsteps had faded.

‘I’d love to be able to storm away, but, you know.’ Tamid tapped on his leg, below the knee. A hollow sound reverberated back. I winced. ‘It seems like you ought to be the one to leave. Out of respect.’

‘Tamid—’

‘Do you want to know how I lost my leg, Amani?’ Tamid cut me off.

‘I know how.’ I remembered that last dark night in Dustwalk clearer than any of the hazy days that came before.

‘No.’ Tamid slammed his hand down against the table underneath him. I might’ve flinched if I wasn’t so used to the sound of gunfire aimed at me. ‘You don’t. You saw Naguib shoot me and then you left. You weren’t there while I lay screaming in the sand. You weren’t there when Shira started striking bargains, saying she could help find you. That she knew you better than almost anyone, that she knew where you’d go. Better than almost anyone.’ His hands shook as he clenched them into fists. ‘You didn’t see them tear me away from my mother to take me with them, too, on the off chance I might be useful. You weren’t with me on that train that rattled its way to Izman.’ I had been on that train. I’d seen Shira on that train. I’d kissed Jin on that train. Not ever imagining Tamid might be on board, too.

‘Naguib said he’d left you to bleed out in Dustwalk. I thought you were dead, Tamid.’ The words I’d comforted myself with for months since that day sounded like a poor excuse now he was standing in front of me in the flesh.

‘So did I.’ His right hand was a fist against his thigh now. ‘I thought I was dead while I writhed in agony and when I got here and the Holy Father said it was infected. That it would have to come off. You weren’t here when they sawed off my leg, Amani. But now you are. Let me guess: you want my help. You want me to tell you which little metal bump under your skin is the one you need to cut out to escape.’ My fingers pressed so hard against the metal on my arm I wondered if it would bruise. Tamid knew me well enough to read my silence.

He pushed himself off the edge of the table. I pretended not to notice the slight wince as his freshly oiled leg hit the ground, or the way he steadied himself for a fraction of a heartbeat before he started to work his way around the small space, tidying up even though it was already spotless. Straightening bottles so the labels all faced out in a perfect line, making them clink with every twist. He slammed a door shut that led towards a small side chamber, where I could see a bed. ‘You’re predictable as anything. You know, back in Dustwalk, you always figured I didn’t sleep all that well. But that wasn’t true. It was just that, if I knew you’d gotten a beating, I’d lie awake waiting for you to crawl through my window asking for something.’

I hadn’t known that. I swallowed the tears that were welling up in my throat. ‘I don’t believe you hate me as much as you want me to think you do.’

‘How do you figure?’ Leyla had left her tools behind, and he started lining those up. He sounded disinterested.

‘Because if you really hated me, you’d have turned me over to the Sultan as a rebel by now.’ I saw the truth of it as soon as I said it. ‘Instead, you pretended not to know me the day I got here. You’ve been helping the Sultan a whole lot of other ways.’ This truth came out like an accusation. It was easier to accuse him as a rebel against an enemy than as a girl against an old friend. ‘You gave him the knowledge he needed to control Noorsham and to control me. And enough first language to capture a Djinni. But you didn’t give me up.’ I saw him wince at the mention of the Djinni. I seized on it. He might not care enough about me any more to help, but I knew Tamid. If you cut him he’d bleed holy words. ‘He’s going to be able to kill a whole lot more people with a Djinni on his side, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘And that’s all right with you, is it?’

‘Do you mean because it’s unholy, or because of how I feel—’ Just for a second his fingers slipped, sending a small circular instrument skidding off the table and to the ground. ‘Because of how I felt, about you?’

How did you feel about me? But that wasn’t a fair question when I already knew the answer. I saw it now, written all over him.

‘He’s our Sultan, Amani. Our job is to obey, not to question.’

‘You don’t believe that.’ A simple truth slipping out. I retrieved the metal tube off the floor and handed it back to him. ‘Not you who went to prayers every single day. You don’t believe keeping a Djinni prisoner is the right thing.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I think. I’ve scoured the books in the Sultan’s library and I couldn’t find the words to release a Djinni, only to bind one—’ He caught himself, looking at me straight on now. He ignored the metal tube I still had in my hand, refusing even that peace offering.

‘You only know the words to bind them, not to release them?’ I imagined my father trapped under the palace forever as we mortals did what we did best: died, and then forgot about him, trapping him there for all eternity.