‘It’s magic,’ Sara said grimly, squinting up at the stars through the sheen of flames.

‘No.’ I might’ve believed that, too, once upon a time. But I recognised it, this flickering, too-bright, not entirely natural fire. It was the same one I’d seen bloom in the vaults under the palace when the Djinni Fereshteh had been killed in the Sultan’s machine. It was the same stolen fire that I had seen light up the Abdals, the Sultan’s mechanical soldiers, who, even now, patrolled the streets below us, keeping the curfew. ‘It’s an inventor’s trick.’ Some new creation of Leyla’s, the Sultan’s inventor daughter, designed to keep us imprisoned here. Except, even though this was new, there was something strangely familiar about it.

And lo, did a great wall of flames did enclose the mountain, trapping her for all eternity.

Those words from the Holy Books sprung into my mind fully formed. Dustwalk had drummed scripture into me for the first sixteen years of my life. I knew the story of Ashra’s Wall as well as anyone: the great barrier of fire that imprisoned the Destroyer of Worlds at the end of the First War.

Killing immortal beings. Resurrecting ideas from the Holy Books. The Sultan really was playing at being a god now.

Except this wasn’t to protect us from some great evil. And this was far from holy work.

We were trapped here by the great evil.

*

I didn’t wake the rest of the house, just Jin. Though it took me longer than I would’ve liked before I finally found him in one of the many rooms of the house. He’d fallen asleep fully clothed on top of an unmade bed with his arm flung over his face against the light. I didn’t even have to shake him awake. The moment my hand touched his shoulder, his eyes snapped open, his hand clamping painfully over my wrist, moments away from breaking it before he recognised me.

He cursed in Xichian, his grip loosening quickly as he sat up. He fought for alertness through his exhaustion. ‘You startled me, Bandit.’

‘Don’t try to tell me that this is the first time you’ve been woken up by a girl in the dead of night.’ My lightness was strained as I pushed a strand of dark hair out of his face with my now-freed hand so I could see him clearly. He needed to cut it. But it’d been a long time since we’d had the luxury of time for frivolous things. Not since we were pushed out of our camp in the desert.

Jin caught my hand again, but more gently this time, and for a moment there was a ghost of that old smile, one that meant simpler trouble than the kind we were in right now. But before he could give voice to whatever thought it was that went with that smile, my words reached his tired mind. ‘It can’t be the dead of night.’ He glanced at the light leaking through the window.

And my brief moment of dodging the world outside was gone.

I told him what Sara had shown me as we waited anxiously for the real dawn. The house woke little by little around us, and the same unsettled feeling draped over everyone’s shoulders as, one by one, they saw the dome. Each of them looking at me for answers I didn’t have.

How is it made? Can we get through it? Is it here to keep us in?

Finally, the very first spark of dawn leaked through the veil of fire, signalling the end of curfew. Finally, Jin and I could move.

The streets were already flooding with people, men and women stumbling out of their houses, eyes upon the fire-filled sky above us. The same questions that the Rebellion had been asking me were on everyone’s lips. Jin and I dodged around them as quickly as we could without attracting suspicion. Both of our gazes were fixed on the compass in Jin’s hand. The one that was paired with Ahmed’s. Our Rebel Prince had had his compass with him when he was taken prisoner.

‘He still has it,’ I said out loud to be sure, as we rushed through the tight streets of the city. I could feel my breath coming short the closer we got to the palace. That was where the prisoners had been taken yesterday, before Imin’s execution. But as we neared the wider, richer streets that surrounded the palace, the compass needle didn’t swing towards the Sultan’s walls. Instead it kept pointing south.

We passed the palace, my heart feeling tighter with every step we took away from it. We’d figured our rebels were still being held within the palace walls. Hell, we’d counted on it. Now all I had to cling to was a faint hope that they were at least still in the city. That Jin’s compass might track down its pair before we reached the wall.

It didn’t.

The sky outside the wall of fire had gone from pink to gold as we reached the south gate. Zaman’s Gate, named after the first Sultan of Miraji. Just beyond it, the wall of fire rose.

It looked a whole lot more imposing up close than it had standing under it. It seemed to snap and crackle angrily. Sparking at intervals, like it was hungry for destruction. Like it would consume anything that dared try to cross it.

And the compass in Jin’s hand was pointing straight towards it.

They were outside the city. The Sultan had sent the prisoners beyond the city and put up a wall around us. We were trapped here while they were out there. Taken somewhere to be imprisoned for the rest of their lives without trial – our Sultan’s version of mercy.

We could feel the heat pouring off the wall from here. But Jin picked up a stone from the street. He bounced it up and down in his palm a few times; it made him look young, like a kid about to cause mischief. And then he chucked the stone at the wall. It didn’t bounce back towards us like it would against a regular wall, or pass through like it would normal fire. It incinerated as it hit, turning from stone to ash in the space of a heartbeat.