The Forbidden Wish (8 page)

When the exchange of formal greetings ends, Malek slumps in his throne as if fatigued and lets Sulifer take over. The other men seem to accept this with relief, as if they see their king as a figurehead or a puppet. As if they are thinking,
Finally, the fool is finished.
Only Caspida looks concerned for him, and she squeezes his shoulder, her eyes flickering to Sulifer as he steps forward.

Aladdin's eyes are deceptively blank as he regards the man who killed his parents. Sulifer stands in front of the throne and stares back at him. He wears robes cut in precise military fashion, dyed deep blue and hemmed with silver. A ceremonial sword, its sheath
inscribed with Amulen script, is tucked into his red sash. His head is bare, his long graying hair sweeping his shoulders, his beard trimmed short and sharp. There is a cunning in his face that makes me uneasy. Perhaps I should have shifted into a spider, to hang in Aladdin's ear and whisper advice.

But no. If he is going to truly pass himself off as a prince, he must learn to
be
a prince. To think like one, to scheme like one, to look wolves like this Sulifer in the eye and be unafraid. This is a crucial moment for us both. I gave him the ship, the clothes, the story he needed to gain entry into this room. But if he is to truly convince these people of his false identity, he must do it here and now—and on his own. I can only stand in the shadows and urge him on silently.
I'm adaptable
, he told me. I hope he wasn't lying. Both our fates depend on it.

Sulifer questions Aladdin about his arrival in Parthenia, and my master repeats the story yet again.

“We have not heard of this Istarya before,” says Sulifer.

“I'm not surprised,” Aladdin replies, his voice strong and clear. “It is very small, and our people do not often venture this far north.”

“But
you
have,” states Sulifer.

“We heard of Parthenia's strength in fending off the jinn. Naturally I was intrigued, so I came to learn from you, if I could, how you have withstood these monsters. Your bravery and skill are unparalleled, from what I'm told. Not many cities are willing to anger the jinn, and instead they leave offerings to appease them.”

I exhale in relief, feeling a glow of pride. There is not a breath of hesitation in him, not a tremor in his voice. He is as skilled a liar as I have ever known, and I have known a very great many liars, Habiba.

The other men nod and murmur in appreciation of Aladdin's
words, but Sulifer looks him over carefully, his shrewd eyes narrowed. “A pretty speech and a valiant sentiment, young prince. We must speak more of your travels after you have rested. Jalil, show our guest to his rooms, and see that he is given all he requires.”

Aladdin bows low. “My thanks to you, my lord, and to your Exalted Majesty. I have heard of the bravery of the Amulens, and to stand here among you is the height of honors.”

He backs away, briefly bowing to Caspida, and does not turn his back to the king until he reaches the doors. I slip through the crowd and out of the chamber just before the doors shut.

W
ITH MUCH BOWING
and exchanged pleasantries, we are left in a set of rooms somewhere near the eastern rear of the palace. There are three chambers—one for lounging and receiving visitors, one bedchamber for Aladdin, and a small servant's room for me. The chambers open to a small, grassy courtyard populated with white lilies and a fig tree heavy with fruit. I pick a few and pop them in my mouth as I walk around the chambers, taking it all in. The floor, made of smooth black and white clay tiles, is spread with rich carpets, and the open arches leading to the courtyard are covered with gauzy curtains. Aladdin wanders into the bedchamber and flops onto the bed, letting out a long sigh.

“Oh, gods,” he sighs. “They can chop off my head or quarter me or whatever it is they do to impostors, as long as I get one night to sleep in this bed. Then it'll all be worth it. I might even thank them.”

“Thank
them
?”

He rolls onto his stomach and peers through the doorway at
me, grinning. “Oh, right. It was
me
who made the wish, wasn't it? I guess I get all the credit.”

A well-aimed fig hits him square in the forehead and bursts. He splutters and licks the juice that drips down his cheek.

“Point taken. Thank
you
, Zahra.” He rises and leans in the doorway, his arms crossed, and watches me as I pace the room. “To be honest, though, it all makes me kind of sick. To think so many of us grow up sleeping in gutters, like rats, when all this space is given to one man just because he has an extra word in front of his name.” He pauses, his face darkening. “Did you see him? Standing up there like a king, thinking himself untouchable. The great vizier of Parthenia.” A small, dry smile twists his lips. “And here I am, right under his nose.”

A knock sounds on the door, and then a pair of servants—a girl and a boy—enters with fresh clothes for us.

“Your Highness, my name is Esam,” says the boy, “and this is Chara. We will be at your service for as long as you are here. Please allow me to assist you in dressing for the evening meal.”

Aladdin turns a bit red and stammers, “Ah, I don't think—”

“It is customary in our homeland for princes to dress themselves,” I insert, a bit hastily. It won't do to have anyone seeing the lamp hidden under Aladdin's clothes. “It is a tradition going back many generations. Here, I'll take those. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere, right?” I crowd them to the door and then shut it, smiling, in their faces.

•   •   •

“So if I meet a noble who is
older
than me, but of lower station . . .” Aladdin stands in the grassy courtyard and scrubs wearily at his hair. “I bow like this?”

He leans over and throws out an arm.

“Gods, no.” I'm sitting in front of him, enjoying a fresh pomegranate and attempting to cram as much etiquette into him as I can before dinner. “That one is for a minister who has held his office for more than ten years, or who has a personal fleet of ships.”

“Are you sure? I thought that one was like
this
.” He attempts another awkward bow. “Why am I listening to you, anyway? You've been living in a lamp for the past five hundred years!”

I flick a seed at him. “I still know my way around a court, which is more than can be said for you! Now try the proper greeting for a man who is related to the king, but with no possible claim to the throne.”

He thinks for a moment, then puts his hands together and hesitantly leans forward, before cocking a hopeful eyebrow at me.

“I give up!” I groan, tossing the rind of the pomegranate aside. “You're hopeless. Just stick with a basic bow at the waist, and let them credit your appalling social graces to your foreignness. People are always more lenient with foreigners.”

With a sigh, Aladdin collapses into the grass. “This is exhausting. There has got to be an easier way to bring Sulifer down—a way that doesn't involve
bowing
to him.”

It has been a week and two days since we arrived at the Parthenian palace, and still I have found no sign of Zhian. I wish I had the power to freeze time, but time is the one element no jinni can control, not even the Shaitan.

At night, when Aladdin sleeps, I slip into the hallway, shift into a cat, and explore the palace. But my invisible chain does not reach far, and though I have covered every inch I can, most of the palace is out of my reach. I hope I didn't make a mistake in bringing us here, only to find that Zhian's somewhere else entirely.

When Aladdin is awake, I drill him on court etiquette, making him a prince in manner as well as in name. Servants bring us meals twice a day, and Aladdin is well supplied with clothing and other necessities, as well as invitations to dine with various curious nobles and merchant lords in the evening, which gives me a little time to search other parts of the palace, still to no avail.

Aladdin is impatient to meet Caspida—as Prince Rahzad this time, instead of as a kidnapped thief—but she is elusive, and no one, not even a prince, may call on a princess uninvited. And so we are both frustrated and edgy, and the lessons aren't helping.

As he states several times, rather strongly, “I can figure it out as I go.”

“You're more stubborn than a stinking camel!” I protest.

He only shrugs and grins in that maddening way he has. “I've been called worse.”

Sometimes, I think he makes mistakes just to infuriate me. Like today. We've been over these bows a thousand and one times, but he keeps bungling them.

Someone raps on the door just as Aladdin begins to doze off in the grass, ignoring my protests that he'll stain his clothes. He squints at me.

“Get that, will you?”

I glare at him. “I'm not
actually
your servant.”

“I know,” he says, with a wicked half smile. “I just like it when you get angry with me. Smoke comes out of your ears.”

“It certainly does
not
.”

I open the door to reveal two young nobles. One I recognize: Raz, the tall archer who was there the night the princess kidnapped Aladdin.

The other noble is a handsome young man with a Tytoshi complexion and dreadlocks tipped with silver. I can tell at once that he is brother, likely even twin to Nessa, the princess's jinn charmer and handmaiden. Does he too carry a jinn-charming flute?

I bow to Raz and greet the Tytoshi in his native fashion: by pulling my hair over my shoulder and tugging the ends, displaying my untipped locks and thus my inferior status. A look of surprise and then appreciation flits across his features. Then he turns and bows to Aladdin, and I step aside.

“Greetings, Prince Rahzad, and welcome to Parthenia. I am Vigo, son of Vigor. This is Lady Razpur nez Miran. We've come to escort you to dinner.”

Aladdin bows stiffly—unfortunately, it is the one that ought to be used only for naval officers—and steps through the door. Raz and Vigo flank him, trying to look indifferent but exchanging looks of curiosity behind his back. I trail behind, head bowed demurely, eyes and senses straining to pick up every detail.

“We heard about your journey here,” says Raz. “You must tell us more sometime. To survive an attack by maarids on the open sea—that's remarkable!”

“Yes,” adds Vigo. “It's remarkable, isn't it? Almost
too
remarkable.”

Raz shoots him a cross look, and the Tytoshi shrugs.

We are led through a tiled courtyard and then down a long walkway framed by a series of elegant white arches, through which the sky can be seen deepening into twilight. A servant girl in a gray robe flits from arch to arch, lighting cleverly concealed candles that, when lit, make the arches seem to glow as if enchanted. On either side of us, cypress trees pruned into perfect spheres give off an earthy, rich scent.

Raz shoos away a white peacock that lands on the walk in front of us, then extends an arm toward a low building with a graceful minaret roof. Though covered, the walls are open to the outside, and I can spy the court seated on cushions within.

“This way, Your Highness. Your servant, of course, may join the others in the kitchens.” Though this last remark is directed at me, Raz does not make eye contact. She waves dismissively in the other direction, at a plainer stone building with several smoking chimneys.

I nod and walk toward it, but once I am out of sight, I duck behind the cypresses and shift into a peacock. Not my favorite form. My legs are spindly, and bobbing my head will leave my neck sore later, but it is the safest way to get into the dining hall. Several other peacocks wander in and out of the building freely. No one will notice one more.

Thus disguised, I strut into the open, my long tail feathers dragging behind me, and boldly enter the dining hall.

The court dines in two groups: men and women. They are separated by lattice screens, symbolically more than anything else, for it is easy to spy one another through the screens, which many of the young men and women do. Their flirtation is ignored by the older nobles. In the back of the room, a musician strums a gentle melody on a tall harp
,
and I recognize in the tune hints of the songs once sung in your court, Habiba. The men are seated in a large circle around an array of dishes that are continually replenished by gray-robed servants. They carry in bowls of rice, steaming flatbread, kebabs of lamb, beef, and chicken. Even to my peacock form, the smells of cinnamon and saffron are delicious.

I find Aladdin seated between Vigo and an old, hairy nobleman who reeks of garlic. My master nods eagerly as Vigo points out
which dishes he should try. I note with chagrin that he's already drunk half a glass of wine. Not a good sign, with the evening still young and the Amulens watching him like hungry leopards looking for a sign of weakness. Not openly, of course. Their glances are sly, but the suspicion is there, burning behind their pleasant expressions.

I scan the room for any sign of the king or his brother, but neither seems to be present. We haven't seen either since our first day in the palace.

Tonight's dinner features nobles of middling to high rank, judging by their clothes and manners. But on the women's side of the room, I spot Caspida surrounded by her handmaidens. They whisper and laugh and sip wine, casting curious looks through the screen. To see them now, they look innocent and harmless as doves, nothing like the little fighting unit that kidnapped Aladdin.

I strut around the perimeter of the room, listening in on conversations, hoping for mention of any jinn prisoners. But the talk is disappointingly mundane. I edge in to Vigo and peck at his coat, searching for a hidden flute, until he swats at me and I am forced to flee.

Suddenly the room falls silent and everyone stands. Aladdin scrambles to imitate them, bowing low as a small group enters from the courtyard. When I see who it is, I ruffle my feathers.

It is Darian and three of his friends. The prince is wearing a tight-fitting black kurta hemmed with elaborate embroidery over black trousers and a gold sash. He nods to the room, and everyone sits again, with several nobles shifting aside to give him room.

“Prince Darian!” A nobleman raises his wine cup. “Good to see you back! How was your hunt?”

“Rotten,” says Darian. “There's not an antelope left for a
hundred leagues around that isn't smaller than a dog. The damn ghuls have eaten all the good game.”

The others greet him warmly, drinking to his health. Darian greets them all by name, but his eyes keep flickering to Aladdin. He gestures for the others to sit, then nods to my master.

“I do not believe we have met,” he murmurs.

Aladdin bows, remarkably composed. “I'm Prince Rahzad rai Asnam of Istarya.”

“I know your name. I would be a poor host if I did not know everything about my guests, don't you agree? Though apparently on the topic of Rahzad of Istarya, there is remarkably little to know. It almost makes one wonder if he wasn't conjured from a story.” Darian flicks his wrists and holds his hands out for two servants to quickly wipe them with warm, moist cloths. Then he sits, and Aladdin mirrors him. The prince breaks off a piece of bread and dips it in oil and spices. “I hear you ran into trouble with the jinn.”

“Just some maarids,” Aladdin replies. “But they put up a nasty fight. My crew was lost, and me nearly with them.”

“And yet here you are. Imohel favors you.” Darian takes a cup of a tea from a servant.

“Imohel, destiny, dumb luck . . . Something's looking out for me, I suppose,” Aladdin returns coolly.

Darian's eyes glitter over the rim of his cup. “How fortunate you should find our port just when your ship was on the verge of sinking entirely. The timing can be nothing but divine, wouldn't you say?”

“I'll leave the divine to the priests.” Aladdin laughs. “Give me solid ground beneath my feet and a cup of this wine and I'll pray to a fig on a stick if you like.”

“Hear, hear!” says a young nobleman, lifting his glass. The others join in the toast, and Aladdin grins.

Darian glances around at the men, drinks deeply, then sets his cup down with a loud clink.

“You must be quite the voyager, Prince Rahzad, to survive an attack by the maarids. Well . . . if you can count it
survival
when your entire crew is killed. Tell us, how did you manage to stay alive? You must have killed dozens of the creatures.”

The men fall quiet, looking expectantly to Aladdin. The thief holds Darian's gaze, a taut smile at his lips.

“Not all my men were lost,” Aladdin says softly.

“Ah, yes. There was a girl, wasn't there? A servant? Pretty too, from what I hear.” Suddenly Darian gives a little gasp and snaps his fingers. “Ah . . . so that's it.” He leans forward, grinning. “Don't worry—I completely understand. I've known a few girls who could make
me
miss an entire battle too. I'm sure your men didn't blame you for staying belowdecks.” He winks conspiratorially and holds up his cup for a servant to refill.