Rahim found me before I could make it very far. ‘I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you tonight by my exalted father.’ He was wearing a crisp white dress uniform and a sword at his side that didn’t look decorative to me. ‘There are a fair few foreigners around and apparently even after nearly getting you killed once I can still be trusted.’

‘Once I lost someone a hand during an ambush.’ It’d been early days in the Rebellion. After Fahali, before getting a bullet to the stomach. ‘It was my fault. When Ahmed sent me out again in a similar raid, I asked if he was really going to trust me. He said I was a lot less likely to make the mistake a second time than someone else was to make it the first.’

‘Well, let’s hope that’s the only thing my brother and my exalted father have in common. On that note, let’s go find your rebellion.’ He extended an arm to me. I held up my gold-dusted hands apologetically. ‘Ah,’ he dropped his arm. ‘Of course: look but don’t touch.’

We walked side by side through the glow of the garden. On a night like this, it would be easy to forget we were celebrating the Sultan’s coup. Two decades ago to the day, he had allied with the Gallan and taken our country by force. The sun had gone down with Sultan Oman’s father on the throne. Dawn had found him dead in his bed, and the palace packed with Gallan uniforms. The Sultim was found face down in a garden, like he had tried to run. Many of the Sultan’s other brothers met the same fate. He couldn’t afford any challenges to the throne. He’d left only the women and the brothers who were younger than him alive … Twenty years ago tonight the palace had been full of death and blood; now soft lights and music drifted through the walls and the buzz of conversation seemed to lull us all away from any memories of that night.

Except there were the statues. Among the guests and the musicians and the servants passing around wine and food, the garden was dotted with statues made of what looked like clay and bronze. They were frozen in agonisingly twisted shapes, buckled to their knees, arms up like they were protecting themselves.

‘I knew Prince Hakim when he was a boy, you know.’ The speaker was some Mirajin lord or other, talking to a young, pretty girl. He was gesturing at a statue.

They were the princes. Bronze sculptures of the twelve princes the Sultan had killed when he took his throne.

Someone had rested a glass in one of their upturned palms, leaving the dead prince’s agonised face to stare up at a half-finished wineglass smudged with oily fingerprints.

‘Well, those are in bad taste,’ a voice said in my ear, making me jump. A server was standing by my elbow with a tray piled with basbousa. I had an odd feeling of recognising him, only I didn’t. Until he rolled his eyes skywards.

‘Imin.’ I cast around carefully in case we were overheard.

‘Those colours don’t suit you at all, by the way.’ His eyes swept me appraisingly. If I’d had any doubt left in my mind that it was him, it evaporated at the disdain in those bright yellow eyes that betrayed him as a Demdji.

‘He’s one of yours?’ Rahim guessed. ‘How did he get in?’ He didn’t know the half of it and now wasn’t the time to explain that Imin was the same tiny female servant Rahim had helped abduct Shira’s baby a few days earlier.

‘I’ve got my ways.’ Imin took a piece of the sweet cake off his own tray and put it in his mouth. ‘Shazad is looking for you two.’ He licked his fingers clean and pointed. Shazad was a little way off, hair wrapped in tight braids around her head, like a crown. ‘She says it’s high time you kept up your side of the bargain and introduced us to whoever’s got this so-called army of yours.’

‘She’s with your rebellion?’ Rahim inspected Shazad sceptically across the garden. ‘General Hamad’s daughter? I always thought she was just a pretty face.’

‘So does everyone else,’ I said. ‘That’s how we figured she wouldn’t get searched too closely on the way in. Shazad’s the one who carried in enough explosives to free every Djinni down in the vaults.’

‘Explosives,’ Rahim repeated. He sounded nervous.

‘You didn’t tell him the plan?’ Imin asked, shoving more food into his mouth.

‘We didn’t even have a plan until a few days ago,’ I said defensively. ‘I’ve been busy since then.’ My hand drifted again to the tiny cut in my side.

Imin turned to Rahim. ‘According to Shazad, every Auranzeb, when the sun sets, the Sultan gives a speech, which means that all eyes will be on him. Using that as cover, Sam will sneak Amani and Shazad through the walls and out of the party.’ Imin jerked his head sideways, indicating our impostor Blue-Eyed Bandit. My eyes skated straight over him before I spied him. He was dressed in an Albish army uniform. So that was how he was getting around inconspicuously.

‘Isn’t it a crime to impersonate a soldier?’ My heart was starting to beat painfully in my chest now. There was so much that could go wrong tonight. Not being wholly sure I could count on Sam was just one of them.

‘I hear it’s a crime to desert the Albish army, too.’ Imin sucked on his teeth, moving around a seed caught there. He made a terrible servant. It was amazing that he’d gotten this far without getting caught. But he was right: the uniform fit Sam too well to have been stolen. Too well to be anything but tailored for him. My eyes went to the congregation of Albish soldiers, accompanying their queen here. It was a huge risk he was taking, as a deserter in their midst. And he was taking it for us.