‘And it’s a seaport,’ Jin completed, understanding. ‘You want to sail to Iliaz from Tiamat.’

‘It will be easier than travelling north on foot,’ Ahmed said, trying to make peace. ‘We can dock in Ghasab and get to Iliaz from there.’

‘I’m not so sure I want to go back to Iliaz,’ Sam interjected, making sure Shazad heard what he was saying. And how could she not – we were all cramped so close together in here that our knees were touching. ‘What with how I almost died there.’ He puffed out his chest a little.

‘Half the people here have almost died in Iliaz,’ Rahim informed him tersely.

‘Amani only almost died because you shot her,’ Jin interjected, making Sam snort under his breath. I glanced around the circle, catching Shazad’s eye roll as I did. But she wasn’t who I’d been looking for. I realised that without meaning to, I’d been seeking out Hala. Expecting her to interject with something that would cut the bickering boys down to size.

‘The only people who aren’t coming to Iliaz are people who are behaving like children,’ Shazad snapped. ‘Because I don’t train children in my armies.’ A quick silence fell over the tent as Shazad took control. ‘Now, here’s what we’re going to do.’

Chapter 29

The city of Tiamat never stood a chance.

It took us almost two weeks of walking to get to the sea. It would’ve taken half that time if we hadn’t stopped quite so often.

When the Rebellion was somewhere near recovered from Eremot, we finally made ready to move. We packed as much as we could carry, as much as Sazi could spare, splitting it between the twins and the people who were on foot.

Finally we were as ready to leave as we were ever going to be.

But not all of us were leaving.

Tamid decided to stay behind. I’d known he wouldn’t be coming with us, but it was unsettling to walk away without him all the same.

‘You could still come with us, you know,’ I said on the morning we prepared to leave. ‘We could use someone to patch us up on the road.’ He was good at what he did. I’d watched him bandage Rahim’s bloody nose a few days past, when Jin had hit him in the face as they were demonstrating something to our new recruits. Ten days in Sazi and those two weren’t getting along any better.

‘I belong here, Amani.’ Tamid leaned heavily on his false leg on the unsteady ground of the mountain face. ‘I always have.’ I could tell his mind was elsewhere. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he said finally. ‘Go back there and …’ Die. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. ‘If you stayed—’

‘I have to go, Tamid,’ I cut him off. ‘I belong with them.’ I offered him a wan smile to take the sting out off the words. ‘I always have.’

He nodded. And I knew he understood without really understanding. The same way I understood he had to stay here even if I’d never really understand why he wanted to. So we just stood in silence on the mountain. Waiting until the moment our paths would take us far apart. Probably forever. It was early morning, and it was colder up here. A small shiver went through me. To my surprise, Tamid reached out and put his arms around me awkwardly. My one-time friend. If I was going to die in Izman, it was nice to know that we’d forgiven each other at least.

We all said our goodbyes. Some eyes filled with tears as families bid farewell to the men and women who had joined us. There were about three dozen of them in the end, adding to the hundred or so we’d rescued from the mines. A few of the people who had come out of Eremot had decided not to go any further with the Rebellion. They were too broken by the prison to fight any more fights.

‘Amani.’ Aunt Farrah stopped me as we turned to head down the mountain. I tensed. Whatever she had to say to me, she’d waited until the absolute last minute. Which couldn’t mean anything good. Shazad noticed and stopped next to me, like she was standing guard at my back. I was grateful for her. But Aunt Farrah’s face wasn’t full of venom this time. ‘Shira –’ I heard the pain it took her to say her dead daughter’s name – ‘she had a son?’

‘She did.’ I nervously adjusted the strap on the pack of supplies I was carrying. Aunt Farrah was more family to Fadi than the Rebellion was; she was his grandmother. She had more right to raise him than we did. But he was a Demdji, too. I couldn’t just hand him over to be raised here like I had been, ignorant of what I was. Like Noorsham had been, a bomb of sheer power waiting to explode. If she asked me for her only daughter’s child and I had to refuse her … well, then I might just be leaving her on even worse terms than I did last time. But still, I couldn’t stop myself from adding, ‘She named him Fadi. After her – our grandfather. Your father.’

‘If you—’ Aunt Farrah started, and then she bit off her own words, like she was struggling to get them out. ‘I’d like to meet my grandson someday, Amani … if that’s possible.’

I waited, but there was no threat, no demand, no belittling of me to get what she wanted. I hesitated before replying. ‘I don’t know—’ if I trust you with him. ‘I don’t know how things are going to turn out here. We’re at war.’ Chances are I’m not going to be alive to bring him to meet you.