Maybe someone has gone back on a bargain.
But this storm didn’t seem like the djinn who had bargained with me. When I met him, he seemed emotionless, confident. This was the storm of bitter anger.
It raged down on the tiny valley village until rivulets of water ran through the streets and along the edges of the caravanserai. They had protection against flooding—heavy rains would devastate valley towns such as these. But if the rain continued as it was there would be problems.
“Do you need a room?”
“Pardon?” My head shot up, meeting her kind eyes.
“You and your companion. There’s only one room left. And with the way things are going you might want to take it because we are going to be inundated with travelers heading to Basral.”
I stared at her. We thought we would wait out the storm here, but a chance to get dry and change my clothes from the sopping mess I was in would be welcome.
“Yes. We’ll take it,” I said, not letting myself dwell on what that meant.
“Of course. I’ll have Attaf bring up some of the mutton nihari we have on the fire. It’s good and will warm you.”
“Do you have another kurta?” I asked, clinging to my sodden clothes. “Or anything to get dry in?”
“He’ll bring some things up for you and your friend.” The woman leaned in close to me. “I’ll also send some pakaal tea as well,” she said, her voice low. “In case you need it.” I felt my face turn red hot at the mention of the herbal tea used to prevent pregnancy, but she swept away before I could respond.
The woman looked up as Maz stepped through the door, rainwater dripping from his shoulders. He wore his sherwani again when we ran from the palace, and the woman’s mahogany eyes went wide as she took him in.
“Sahib.” She bowed her head. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize the emperor’s man was here, I would have had a servant take your horse.”
“It isn’t an issue,” Mazin said smoothly.
I was struck by how much older he seemed since I came back. I was only gone a year, and yet his shoulders filled the entrancewaywith a presence he didn’t possess before I was arrested. Or maybe I just never noticed it before.
“I got us a room,” I said hastily.
Mazin blinked.
“To warm up,” I said, my cheeks heating. “And to get out of these clothes.” I gestured to my wet kurta.
Mazin looked down at me, then his eyes shot up just as fast.
“I mean, to change into dry ones.”
My face was so hot I wanted to throw myself into the raging storm and never come out again.
“Of course,” he responded, clearing his throat.
The woman behind us smothered a laugh. If possible, I grew even more embarrassed because I’d forgotten she was still there. I didn’t even want to bring up the contraceptive tea she’d offered.
“Your room is upstairs, to the left, sahib.” She handed Mazin the key. “Your food and extra clothes will be along shortly.” She nodded to us, then shuffled to the kitchen.
We proceeded up the stairs in silence, walking past the travelers in the dining room watching the storm through the windows with awe on their faces.
Dark clouds were raging above Basral, swirling in a frenzy of violence. We were safe inside for now, but how long until the emperor came after us? How long until the djinn dogged my steps?
I continued up the stairs, stepping into the vacant room slowly, my stomach dropping with a lurch when Mazin closed the door behind us. The fire was lit, and I moved closer to it, rubbing at my freezing skin to bring feeling back into it. I turned around and stopped at the sight of the bed sitting in the middle of the room.
The silence stretched out between us, thick with anticipation.
A knock sounded at the door, which startled us both. A small man, presumably Attaf, bore a very large tray of food in one hand, and dry clothes and towels in the other.
“Simple clothes, sahib, but they are dry and warm.” Attaf hustledin, placing the tray on the small table by the fire and the clothes on the end of the bed. “And Badeea makes the best nihari outside of Basral. You won’t be cold after this.”
