‘Announcing’ – the voice rang out through the courtyard again – ‘Prince Bao of the Glorious Empire of Xicha.’

I felt that tug of something that reminded me of Jin.

A small crowd of Xichian men stood at the top of the stairs. They were dressed in bright clothes that looked as foreign as anything I’d ever seen the Gallan wear, but entirely different at the same time. I’d seen the occasional Xichian dress on Delila, but there wasn’t a single woman among them.

A green-and-blue robe was draped over the narrow frame of the man at the head of the party. The six men around him were of similar builds. They reminded me of Mahdi and the rest of Ahmed’s scholarly set.

Except for one figure at the back. He wasn’t taller, but his shoulders were broader than those of the scholarly-looking men that surrounded him, and he held himself like he was ready for a fight.

My mouth went dry.

Instead of snapping, the string tugged harder. I took a step forward without meaning to, trying to get a closer look. Through the crowd, among the mass of people, his face swung straight towards me. Like we were tied together by some invisible bond. Like we were the needles of the paired compasses.

Jin’s eyes found mine. I was wrong. He didn’t have his father’s smile. Because that troublemaker curve to his mouth was all ours.

Chapter 36

There was an entire garden between us and we were on enemy ground. One mistake, one false move could cost the whole Rebellion. And still it took everything in me to keep my feet grounded. Not to obey that tug.

It was more painful than any order the Sultan had ever given me.

Jin leaned in and whispered something to the Xichian man next to him as they descended the steps into the garden. The man nodded, turning to say something back. The crowd shifted, and he vanished. I battled my instinct to move towards him. To fight my way through the crowd and damn the Sultan watching me.

I started to move slowly towards where I’d seen him disappear. Or as slowly as I could with my heart beating out the rhythm of gunfire. I dodged around foreigners in strange clothes, Mirajin folksin fine colours, dangerous men in uniforms. Only I couldn’t see him. I’d lost him. Again.

‘Amani.’ His voice by my ear sounded exactly the same way it had the last time I’d seen him. In the desert. On the run. Breathless from kissing me in the tent.

When I turned around he was so close I could’ve reached out and touched him. Only if there was one surefire way for us to both die as gruesome a death as the bronze men around us, that would be it.

His eyes travelled the length of me, from the top of my perfectly combed head all the way to my bare feet. I was suddenly more keenly aware of my appearance than I’d been all night. That I was a golden-glowing girl, not wearing a whole lot, who’d been polished like the other harem girls for the express purpose of being looked at by other men but not touched. The other Xichian man with Jin was doing exactly that, his gaze snaking across every piece of uncovered skin I had. But Jin didn’t seem to notice that I was painted gold and on display as if to taunt him.

‘You cut your hair,’ he said finally. It was such a thing for him to notice, among everything else. The clearest wound I wore in the open of everything that had happened in the walls of the harem.

‘Not deliberately.’ It was too much to explain to him now everything that had happened. But Jin could read some of it on my face. In the two-word answer.

‘Amani, did they—’ He stopped himself. Did they hurt you? stalled there. I knew why. If someone had hurt me and he hadn’t been able to stop it, I didn’t know what the chances were that he’d forgive himself. ‘Are you all right?’

Now, that was a heavy question. ‘I’ll live.’

His face changed, hand curling into a fist at his side. And when he spoke again his voice was low and urgent. ‘I swear to God, if he’s hurt you, Amani, I will make him suffer for it.’ I didn’t have to guess who he was. The Sultan.

‘You don’t believe in God.’ It was all I could think to say.

His hand twitched forward, like he wanted to pull me to him, away from everything else happening around us. ‘Then I swear to you.’

I had to ball my hands together to not reach for him. I remembered being little, my arms shaking from the effort of holding up a rifle too heavy for a ten-year-old. All I wanted in the entire world was to let the gun drop. To release my hands and let it fall. The effort of holding it up was too much. It was tearing into my muscle.

But staying alive depended on me holding that rifle up. Learning to shoot.

I kept my arms where they were. Shaking with effort.

‘Jin,’ I said as low as I could in Mirajin. ‘It’s not safe for us to talk.’

‘I really don’t give a damn about safe or not.’ His voice was low and sure. And for a moment I thought he really might grab me. Just take my hand and run us both out of there. Then he remembered himself; the gesture turned into a bow as he stepped out of the way of the man behind him. It was one of the Xichian men, trailing him like a shadow. ‘I’m the translator for Prince Bao tonight, of the Xichian Empire. So long as we talk through him, we’ll be fine.’ The man inclined his head, oblivious, saying something in Xichian.

‘What happened to his other translator?’ I asked through what I hoped was a deceptively polite smile.

‘He came down with a bad case of broken ribs this afternoon.’ Jin winked at me over the prince’s head, which was still bowed in front of me. ‘The prince has a weakness for beautiful women so it wasn’t all that hard to steer him over to you. Say something back, as if I’ve been translating to you.’ o;Announcing’ – the voice rang out through the courtyard again – ‘Prince Bao of the Glorious Empire of Xicha.’

I felt that tug of something that reminded me of Jin.

A small crowd of Xichian men stood at the top of the stairs. They were dressed in bright clothes that looked as foreign as anything I’d ever seen the Gallan wear, but entirely different at the same time. I’d seen the occasional Xichian dress on Delila, but there wasn’t a single woman among them.

A green-and-blue robe was draped over the narrow frame of the man at the head of the party. The six men around him were of similar builds. They reminded me of Mahdi and the rest of Ahmed’s scholarly set.

Except for one figure at the back. He wasn’t taller, but his shoulders were broader than those of the scholarly-looking men that surrounded him, and he held himself like he was ready for a fight.

My mouth went dry.

Instead of snapping, the string tugged harder. I took a step forward without meaning to, trying to get a closer look. Through the crowd, among the mass of people, his face swung straight towards me. Like we were tied together by some invisible bond. Like we were the needles of the paired compasses.

Jin’s eyes found mine. I was wrong. He didn’t have his father’s smile. Because that troublemaker curve to his mouth was all ours.

Chapter 36

There was an entire garden between us and we were on enemy ground. One mistake, one false move could cost the whole Rebellion. And still it took everything in me to keep my feet grounded. Not to obey that tug.

It was more painful than any order the Sultan had ever given me.

Jin leaned in and whispered something to the Xichian man next to him as they descended the steps into the garden. The man nodded, turning to say something back. The crowd shifted, and he vanished. I battled my instinct to move towards him. To fight my way through the crowd and damn the Sultan watching me.

I started to move slowly towards where I’d seen him disappear. Or as slowly as I could with my heart beating out the rhythm of gunfire. I dodged around foreigners in strange clothes, Mirajin folksin fine colours, dangerous men in uniforms. Only I couldn’t see him. I’d lost him. Again.

‘Amani.’ His voice by my ear sounded exactly the same way it had the last time I’d seen him. In the desert. On the run. Breathless from kissing me in the tent.

When I turned around he was so close I could’ve reached out and touched him. Only if there was one surefire way for us to both die as gruesome a death as the bronze men around us, that would be it.

His eyes travelled the length of me, from the top of my perfectly combed head all the way to my bare feet. I was suddenly more keenly aware of my appearance than I’d been all night. That I was a golden-glowing girl, not wearing a whole lot, who’d been polished like the other harem girls for the express purpose of being looked at by other men but not touched. The other Xichian man with Jin was doing exactly that, his gaze snaking across every piece of uncovered skin I had. But Jin didn’t seem to notice that I was painted gold and on display as if to taunt him.

‘You cut your hair,’ he said finally. It was such a thing for him to notice, among everything else. The clearest wound I wore in the open of everything that had happened in the walls of the harem.

‘Not deliberately.’ It was too much to explain to him now everything that had happened. But Jin could read some of it on my face. In the two-word answer.

‘Amani, did they—’ He stopped himself. Did they hurt you? stalled there. I knew why. If someone had hurt me and he hadn’t been able to stop it, I didn’t know what the chances were that he’d forgive himself. ‘Are you all right?’

Now, that was a heavy question. ‘I’ll live.’

His face changed, hand curling into a fist at his side. And when he spoke again his voice was low and urgent. ‘I swear to God, if he’s hurt you, Amani, I will make him suffer for it.’ I didn’t have to guess who he was. The Sultan.

‘You don’t believe in God.’ It was all I could think to say.

His hand twitched forward, like he wanted to pull me to him, away from everything else happening around us. ‘Then I swear to you.’

I had to ball my hands together to not reach for him. I remembered being little, my arms shaking from the effort of holding up a rifle too heavy for a ten-year-old. All I wanted in the entire world was to let the gun drop. To release my hands and let it fall. The effort of holding it up was too much. It was tearing into my muscle.

But staying alive depended on me holding that rifle up. Learning to shoot.

I kept my arms where they were. Shaking with effort.

‘Jin,’ I said as low as I could in Mirajin. ‘It’s not safe for us to talk.’

‘I really don’t give a damn about safe or not.’ His voice was low and sure. And for a moment I thought he really might grab me. Just take my hand and run us both out of there. Then he remembered himself; the gesture turned into a bow as he stepped out of the way of the man behind him. It was one of the Xichian men, trailing him like a shadow. ‘I’m the translator for Prince Bao tonight, of the Xichian Empire. So long as we talk through him, we’ll be fine.’ The man inclined his head, oblivious, saying something in Xichian.

‘What happened to his other translator?’ I asked through what I hoped was a deceptively polite smile.

‘He came down with a bad case of broken ribs this afternoon.’ Jin winked at me over the prince’s head, which was still bowed in front of me. ‘The prince has a weakness for beautiful women so it wasn’t all that hard to steer him over to you. Say something back, as if I’ve been translating to you.’

Tags: Alwyn Hamilton Rebel of the Sands Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net