18. Adina

18

ADINA

G old, as it turned out, was worth its weight in... well, gold on the black market.

Silver was a dime a dozen—plenty of pretty rais and ranis adorned themselves with it, along with platinum, electrum, rhodium, iridium... the list of precious metals available to light-fingered entrepreneurs like me was endless, provided you targeted the right crowd.

But gold? That was the crown jewel, reserved exclusively for the royal household. Anyone caught with it would be branded a traitor to the state faster than the sultan could shout "off with their heads."

It sounded terrifying, but I wasn't losing sleep over it. The palace hadn't conducted any raids in over two decades, not since that massive dust storm overwhelmed the gates and choked the life out of ten percent of Londabad's population. It was the kind of catastrophe you hoped only happened once in a lifetime—if that. My memories of it were hazy, but I knew it was when my parents fell ill.

So, armed with Jack's generous gift, I set out to turn my golden opportunity into cold, hard credits.

The first fence I approached, a weaselly character named Perry, tried to lowball me.

"This stuff's too impure," he claimed, peering at the gold through a magnifying glass. "Fourteen karat at best."

I scoffed, my hands on my hips. "Bullshit, Perry. This gold's so soft I could mold it with my bare hands. It's twenty-four karat, minimum."

"Fourteen," he insisted, his beady eyes glinting with greed.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Really? After all the prime merchandise I've brought you?" Without another word, I stormed out, leaving Perry to stew in his own miserliness.

My next stop was Mustafa's place. It was a riskier move—he ran a legitimate jewelry store frequented by the peerage alongside his black market dealings. But I knew he'd bite, if only out of curiosity.

Mustafa's eyes widened as he ran the gold through his analyzer. "Well, well," he murmured, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. "Someone got very lucky indeed. Where on earth did you find this, Adina? The palace servants never venture outside its walls, and the guards' gold is smelted directly onto their armor."

I flashed him an enigmatic smile. "Let's just say I was in the right place at the right time."

He peered at me over his spectacles, his brow furrowed. "This 'right place' won't come back to haunt us, will it? I don't need that kind of heat."

"Relax, Mustafa," I assured him, leaning casually against his workbench. "I guarantee it's clean."

His weathered face finally cracked into a smile. "In that case, I'd be delighted to take this off your hands for a hundred credits."

I raised an eyebrow. "Two hundred."

"One twenty-five."

"One fifty," I countered, "and you give me the same rate without haggling if I bring you more of the same."

Mustafa's eyes twinkled. "Done."

Those hundred and fifty credits were a game-changer. First order of business? Some serious upgrades for my faithful companion, Bingo. I splurged on a new skin that rendered my six-armed lookout invisible not just to the naked eye, but to sensors as well. It cost a small fortune, but the first time Bingo slipped a chunky emerald ring off a rani's finger without her noticing, I knew it was worth every credit.

I treated myself too—new shoes, a spare veil, and a whole bagful of succulent peachles. But I made sure to set aside enough to show Jack the time of his life when he joined me.

I'd waited every night at the spot where we had parted, hoping he would show up and disappointed when he hadn't, but on the third night he was there, and I was elated. If I were a more brazen woman, I would have hugged him, but that would have made him question my morals, so perhaps it was better that I only touched his hand or his elbow and nothing else.

We explored the rest of the Promenade's shops, marveling at holographic displays and sampling exotic street foods. As night fell, we took a leisurely boat ride down the river, lying back to watch another mesmerizing story unfold in the Parade of Lights. This time, it was the tale of Sinbad the sailor and his fantastical adventures.

"I'd love to see the ocean someday," Jack mused, his eyes reflecting the shimmering blue lights of the illusory sea above us. "Can you imagine that much water in one place? It must be breathtaking."

I nodded, acutely aware of how lucky Londabad was to have even a river. Beyond the city gates lay nothing but sand, dust, and bare, radioactive rock. "I bet it is. I'd like to see it too."

Jack turned to me, his gaze intense. "Maybe someday we will."

I couldn't help but laugh, nudging him playfully with my shoulder. "Sure, and maybe someday I'll dress like a queen and have dozens of servants at my beck and call. You're a riot, Jack."

He made a noncommittal sound and settled closer to me for the rest of the show. I didn't object.

We fell into a rhythm after that, meeting two or three nights a week for the next two months. I became Jack's personal tour guide to Londabad's hidden wonders, sharing meals, embarking on little adventures, and talking for hours on end. There was still so much about him shrouded in mystery, but I learned a few key things. One, his parents were alive. Two, he had little love for his extended family, and three, he seemed to be living with some kind of deadline looming over him.

It took some gentle prodding, but I finally got him to reveal what that deadline was. "I'm engaged," he confessed one night—our eighth outing together. Were they dates? In my mind, they were.

"And you can't stand her," I concluded, reading between the lines.

Jack sighed heavily. "Not at all. But my parents won't listen to reason, and I can't see any way out of this marriage."

I frowned, my heart aching for him. "That's awful. I can't imagine being forced to marry someone I hated." Then, almost without thinking, I blurted out, "You should leave for good."

Jack went rigid. "Leave what?"

"The palace," I said, warming to the idea. "Leave it behind. You're really getting the hang of life in Londabad, and if you brought some gold with you, we could set you up somewhere nice. You could find work, get a new name—I know how to get you a whole new identity. It might not be genie-level perfect, but it would be solid."

"I..." Jack paused, his eyes wide as he considered the possibility. "I couldn't. My parents... I can't disappoint them. I'm their only child."

"But they disappointed you first," I argued, passion coloring my voice. "Respect goes both ways, Jack. To force you into a miserable life just because it's what they want is not fair to you."

He turned to face me. "You have no idea how tempting leaving the palace for good sounds."

I mirrored his position, our bodies curving towards each other like parentheses. If I'd been taller, our knees would have touched. "Then do it," I said softly, my heart swelling with emotion. "I'll always help you. I—" I caught myself just in time, the word "love" dying on my lips. Jack wasn't ready for that, and truth be told, neither was I. I'd barely admitted it to myself before tonight.

"Tomorrow," I whispered instead. "Do it soon, before they can stop you. Grab what you can, leave behind anything that could identify you, and I'll get you to safety. I swear it."

"Adina..." Jack stared at me for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "Yes, I'll meet you tomorrow."

A thrill ran through me. He was really going to do it. I knew he'd be happier in Londabad. Working in the palace seemed to weigh on him more heavily each time we met. This would be good for him. And maybe even good for us.

We didn't speak much after that, our hearts too full of possibility. When we parted ways in the alley, I blew him an air kiss before vanishing with the handful of gold he'd given me to convert to credits.

As I made my way to Mustafa's, my mind buzzed with plans and daydreams. This was the start of something incredible, I just knew it. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even notice the ominous darkness of Mustafa's storefront as I let myself in through the back.

The jeweler's workshop was dimly lit, but I could make out Mustafa's silhouette at his usual station, hunched over his worktable.

"Mustafa," I called out in a singsong voice, practically floating across the room. "I've got something that'll knock your socks off..."

It wasn't until I was halfway across the room that the wrongness of the situation hit me. Mustafa wasn't responding. Bingo tightened around my neck like a choker, a belated warning of danger. And then I saw it—the dark pool spreading beneath Mustafa's motionless form.

The realization crashed over me like a wave of ice water.

I'd walked straight into a trap.