Even so, he was not reckless, keeping himself pasted to the stone wall of the little building. He shimmied along the wall, feeling the heat from the sun-baked stone sear him through his shirt.

  He’d entered the realm, and sought out the nearest of the homes along the edge of the village, snatching a few items from the clotheslines, feeling a pang of guilt at the theft from his own people. He made a note to reimburse the owner when he’d completed his mission. Then, dressed in the loose trousers and shirt, he’d been more comfortable knowing his casual peasant garb would have aided him in remaining under the radar.

  Now, he slid along the heated stone as he approached a nearby window. Slowly, he rose to peer over the exterior sill to scan the inside of the hut. The wheelhouse was little more than an encasement to protect the wood and ancient metal of the water-wheel, with only the city workmen entering when the maintenance schedules rostered the checks for rust and rotten wood.

  And they were unlikely to be working at the hottest hours of the day.

  But Saleem refused to botch his entrance to the palace by being careless. One never knew when one would find an intruder attempting to make his way into the palace.

  At that, Saleem snickered.

  The inside of the house appeared deserted, and strangely decrepit, swirling the worry within Saleem’s gut again. He crouched low and duckwalked to the door where he laid an ear against the warm wood, just in case.

  Again, the coast seemed clear and he turned the lock and slipped into the welcoming cool blanketing the inside of the hut. A table sat against the wall just beside the window and on the other side was the wheel, churning the water slowly.

  Saleem studied the dank, dark interior and understood now what had gotten his nerves jangling—the hut had been allowed to wallow in a state of disrepair.

  He shook his head at the thick layers of dust coating the table and the floor, to reveal nary a footprint—which confirmed the wheel hadn’t even been oiled or serviced in months. Cobwebs hung from the eaves, thick and shivering with dark little shadows, both living and dead.

  Saleem hurried closer to the wheel, studying the bolts for rust, and the wood for swelling, and was glad to find neither an issue. Thankfully, prior fastidious maintenance had ensured the wheel would take far longer to begin to fall apart, and for that he was thankful.

  Still, the wheelhouse’s abandonment was not a good sign and Saleem had to wrack his brain to come up with a possible reason why anyone would have neglected its maintenance. Where were the soldiers and the workmen?

  Who was overseeing the city?

  3

  The Djinn Underground

  Two weeks ago, Caves of Zemamra, Palace of Temara

  Saleem slipped behind the waterwheel and entered the dark tunnel. He paused for a moment, suddenly aware that the walls around him dripped with water, something also unusual as the city maintenance crew dedicated to working on the secret tunnel system should’ve been taking care of leaks and rockfalls—even if either of those were unlikely due to the solidity of the stone.

  The further he went into the tunnel that would take him deeper into the ancient Caves of Zemamra—the more certain he became that his theory was correct—the citizens of the capital had been evacuated, sent elsewhere for reasons he was determined to uncover.

  His concern at the moment though, was that the tunnels may not be intact. Around him, the stone walls gleamed with moisture and as he stepped forward, his feet splashed into puddles of water that had collected along the floor.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth about what had happened to his city and his people. Then he laughed to himself, thinking it was a little stupid that he should be the one concerned about the people when his brother had been left here with the responsibility to protect them.

  Saleem pulled his wrap close around him now, more in an effort to support his anxieties than to keep himself warm. He stepped further into the cave system, leaving the weak light from the wheelhouse, and darkness closed in around him.

  He allowed himself to draw his magic to his fingers to create a small ball of fire in the palm of his hand. He kept it at a low ebb, concerned that the bright light may alert any guards that may have been put on duty in the tunnels.

  His instinct told him that since nobody knew about the Caves of Zemamra—not even his brother—that it was unlikely there would be any security in place, but he wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

  Saleem crept forward, his thoughts a combination of curiosity and confusion. What was it really that Division 7/Omega was after? Why hold his mother captive and then take over Mithras?

  He had to admit that he was still furious with his mother; she had refused to share the details with him. She knew far more than she was telling him, which didn’t make sense at all. If she were trying to protect him and his brother, she hadn’t done a really good job of it after all.

  And, he was still curious as to how Mel had managed to locate his mother, how she’d been able to circumvent the protection the queen had put around herself, because Aisha, Saladin Warrior and Djinn Mage, was adept enough with magic to be able to cloak her presence in the Ether.

  Had Omega nullified that protection? Or had Aisha made the choice to let Mel in?

  It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to track the queen, least of all a being who didn’t happen to be djinn. And Saleem’s mother’s power was strong enough to have hidden herself from her own son—who only happened to be the next most powerful djinn alive—for all the months he’d spent searching for her. Which left a huge question regarding the tracker’s abilities.

  What did Saleem not know about the SoulTracker he’d fallen so hard for?

  Did she herself even know the extent of her powers? Because that was the real crux of it. The only way Saleem would’ve found his mother was if his power had been greater than hers. Was that why the queen had entertained Mel, had not turned the tracker to embers when she’d ripped a hole in the powerful protection spell?

  Was that why Aisha had given Mel more respect than Saleem had expected her to? Though his mind had been filled with thoughts of Mel, he hadn’t been blind to her strange ability. Still, he hadn’t let on to her that what she had achieved hadn’t been the standard operating procedure for her as a tracker.

  When the time came, he would have that conversation with her because she had to know. She’d have to come to terms with her new skills, and learn to hone them fast if only to protect herself.

  Saleem felt rather stupid having been so ignorant for so long. He supposed he had no one else to blame but his mother because she’d aided Omega—and Division 7 who was turning out to be an organization with far greater power and reach than he or anyone else he knew was aware of. And the djinn queen had aided them merely in helping to hide herself from her son—which meant there was more going on than met his eye.

  And his mother was dead center of it.

  Now, he cleared his mind and forced himself to focus on his progress. The cave systems that would take him toward the royal suites from the main perimeter wall were extensive and narrow, and snaked beneath the grounds of the palace and the residence itself, meandering like a multi-headed serpent.

  The passages were ancient, carved into the bedrock by djinn warriors centuries ago, and had been used as an underground route by slaves as they escaped the chains of one of the most cruel rulers in Mithrasian history. Much of those details were what most djinn considered ancient lore, and had been cast to myth and fable, so thankfully, knowledge of the tunnel system had been kept a secret, privy only to the rulers who knew the value of an escape route in an emergency.

  And of course, those who could read the ancient texts.

  Saleem’s father, King Kassim, had worked on the maintenance of the system himself, determined to ensure that the occupants of the palace were not the only citizens to have a way out. The king extended the network, ensuring that every city level had access to the tunnels, though he kept that knowledge private and had only passed it on to Saleem because the prince had been nosy enough to discover its location of his own accord.

  Saleem remembered the shock on his father’s face when his son had fallen into the caves at a weak point in the system while investigating an access-point he had read about in one of the ancient texts in which he’d had his nose buried for months, determined to discover what it said—probably more so because he wasn’t allowed access to those ancient tomes in the first place.

  It was likely only the fact the fourteen-year-old prince had managed to translate the text himself, that had helped him avoid a whipping. His father had been so impressed with Saleem’s understanding of the ancient language that he had brought his son onto the project, eventually allowing him to oversee various sections of the job.

  Toward the end, Saleem had often looked after the tunnel maintenance himself—which proved only how much his father had trusted him.

  But, thoughts of King Kassim only made Saleem sad and upset. He pushed away the memories of his late father and focused on making his way toward the palace.

  He moved through the tunnels slowly and carefully; he had come this far and the last thing he wanted to do was to alert Division 7/Omega of his presence—he really wished he knew exactly who was in charge of this coup.

  The first entrance Saleem reached wasn’t the one he intended to use—it exited in a passage out near the palace kitchens—but he checked it in any case. He couldn’t be sure the entrances to the royal suites were still intact, and it was possible he’d find himself in need of another access point.

  Or an exit, should the need arise.

  On closer inspection, Saleem stiffened, focusing on a shadowy portion of the steel-gray rock. He studied the darker spot on the cave wall—which turned out to be a convergence point of a network of fine lines covering the surface of the stone.

  Saleem sucked in a breath that tasted of horror and disbelief.

  The lines proved to be cracks…hundreds and thousands of them, all creating a fine web that covered the surface of the stone walls—something which should have been impossible as the rock of the Caves of Zemamra was similar to the EarthWorld obsidian, so hard that only a powerful djinn’s fire could damage it.

  The rock’s strength was the reason the tunnel system had taken so long to be constructed as it was only the most powerful of the djinn that could be employed to break and carve the stone.

  Which meant the state of the walls that Saleem was staring at now, should have been impossible. Cracks like these could only be created in stone if the earth was shaken so hard that even solid rock was unable to withstand it.

  Which made absolutely no sense because an earthquake, or an eruption large enough to shatter the tunnels’ rockface this deep within the ground, would have destroyed the palace above and possibly the city itself. And, if not total destruction, then the kind of damage Kamsin would have needed years to rebuild.

  The further Saleem went, the more confused he became, and the more he began to wonder what was really going on in Mithras. What he was seeing around him was worrying enough without the coincidence of his mother’s captivity at the hands of Omega.

  More and more unanswered questions.

  4

  Welcome Home, Brother!

  Two Weeks Ago, The Royal Suites, The Palace of Temara

  Five minutes later, Saleem found himself at the first entrance which would’ve led him to his brother’s suites—it turned out to be a crumbled mess. He ignored it and walked on, crossing his fingers that he’d at least find one entrance still intact.

  The second access point, which would’ve led to his mother’s personal suites, also turned out to be in bad condition, though thankfully only partially crumbled. The narrow entrance was strewn with a hip-high pile of rocks and rubble, debris from what appeared to be a rock-fall.

  He supposed he could still use the tunnel beyond the pile of stones as the path and the walls appeared to be intact. Saleem didn’t have time right now to investigate further, but was determined to return to make a better assessment of its condition. He knew the value of having an alternate route, should he need an escape plan.

  Saleem found himself crossing his fingers as he approached the entrance toward the caves that would take him to his own rooms. The goddess Alat must have been looking out for him because the threshold and walls turned out to be in fairly good condition. Perhaps the bedrock here was more resilient, providing strength against whatever seismic energies had damaged the stone further out.

  Still covered in webs of fine cracks, but intact. Satisfied that the route to his quarters was in good condition, he continued further down toward the entrance to the royal family’s main living area.

  King Kassim had been quite insistent that the royal suites contained a main living area where the family gathered on a regular basis to spend quality time with each other. And this was where Saleem was headed. He wasn’t sure whether it was nostalgia, but he let his feet take him there with little resistance.

  Toward the secret entrance, the tunnel narrowed to shoulder-breadth and the moisture from the stone soaked into his sleeves—just a small clammy reminder that shit was going to hell in Mithras.

  Saleem approached the stone doorway, which to someone who didn’t know of its presence would appear as part of the tunnel walls, and searched along the ebony surface for the outcropping of rock that would release the door.

  His fingers hit the rounded rock and he glanced over his shoulder and scanned the tunnel behind him, more instinct than anything as he was certain the warren of caves was empty—not to mention so secret that barely anyone would know of its existence to even make use of it. Those who knew were dead, in captivity, or currently attempting to get inside the palace.

  Now, Saleem pressed the rock hard and waited as a narrow rectangular stone separated from the rock-face with a puff of dust and a hollow click, to reveal a door nestled within a threshold, all made of solid stone.

  He slipped his fingers between the door and the threshold and, seconds later, he found the metal pin that would release the door. A lock clicked softly and the stone door opened with barely a whisper. Saleem let out a sigh of relief and slipped through the narrow gap into a dark vestibule built behind one of the two west walls flanking an enormous stone fireplace.

  The entire right-hand wall had been constructed to open as a single piece, and do so silently, and having just tested the exterior tunnel door moments ago he’d confirmed the hinges to be in excellent condition, unlikely to make any sounds that would alert an occupant inside the living room, or anyone standing guard in the exterior hallway.

  But, he had to ensure that the room was empty before he entered, or he’d just be handing himself over to his enemies. Thankfully, his father had installed secret peep-holes behind strategically placed light-fixtures for just that reason.

  Saleem slid the little metal flap open and peered through the peep-hole to find the living room empty, although it did appear to have been recently occupied. A low table sat beside the fire, upon which lay a plate of food—what appeared to be roasted pigeon on a bed of soft sweet-potato mash.

  The gold-engraved plate confirmed that the occupant could only have been Rizwan, unless of course Division 7 had availed themselves of the royal serving-ware. The abandoned cutlery—dropped haphazardly onto the plate—said that his brother had left in a hurry.

  As he didn’t have much of an idea of current foot-traffic to this particular room, Saleem knew he had to take advantage of the good fortune of finding it empty. Who knew how long he’d have to wait until he had that chance again?

  Without hesitation, he flicked the little metal latch that would loosen the door. Thankfully, the hidden entrance did not open on its own, and needed to be manually pushed out and then closed. He found himself glad as an automatic hinge could have given him away had the mechanisms rusted with age or with the recent water seepage.

  He guided the door open, giving himself only a narrow gap to slip through before he shut it behind him silently. He then checked to ensure the tunnel entrance remained invisible, glad the narrow dark wood wall panel gave no sign of its alternate identity. With its matching light fixtures and enormous paintings depicting ancient ships being tossed on angry seas—a piece of the pirate history of Saleem’s ancient family line—the wall looked no different than it had all Saleem’s life.

  Satisfied, Saleem strode over to the table. He touched a finger to the side of a gleaming gold goblet which sat beside the abandoned plate, filled with dark-roasted coffee. The goblet was still warm and Saleem knew he had to leave fast or risk getting caught. Rizwan was known for his passionate love of his coffee, and never let a drop go to waste.

  He would most definitely return.

  Saleem straightened and was heading toward the double doors that would lead out into the main hall when his brother walked into the room, face expressionless.

  And lacking even an iota of surprise.

  Despite the emptiness in his dark eyes, Rizwan wore an overly cheery smile on his face, lips stretched wide to reveal bright white teeth. His welcome should have given Saleem relief but instead, filled him with fear.

  Rizwan threw his arms wide and his words sent horror and disappointment churning within Saleem’s stomach.

  “Welcome home, brother. What took you so long?”

  5

  Don’t take the Bait

  The Royal Suites of the Crown Prince of Mithras, Palace fo Temara

  When Saleem found himself a prisoner in his own home, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or whether to level the entire palace with a blast of his djinn power.

  The initial meeting with Rizwan hadn’t lasted long. In fact, Saleem was surprised his little brother had barely said a word to him after that first cheerful greeting. In the end, he had merely stood there, hovering as though he wanted to say more but could not find the words.

 

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