The Forbidden Wish Page 4

  We see you know who we are, O Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away.

  “What do you want?” I ask, shivering a little at the feel of my own jinn name.

  So this is the fool who found your lamp. The ghul steps aside to peer down at Aladdin, her lip curling. He looks tasty. I would not mind wearing his form for a time. Tell us, jinni, will you destroy him like you did your last human?

  I turn cold. “You know what really happened that day.”

  Oh yes, we saw, saw it all. She giggles and bends down to twist a lock of Aladdin’s hair around her finger. Such a pretty human, this one.

  Bristling, I move between her and Aladdin. “Why are you here?”

  She bites her nail. We came to deliver a message from our lord.

  My stomach drops, and I sway on my feet. “And what does Nardukha have to say to me?”

  He sends us to tell you that he knows you escaped the ruins where we left you to rot, for it is no coincidence the humans learned of the ring.

  Unease ripples through me, like waters stirred by a slinking crocodile. If the Shaitan is behind all of this, it can mean nothing good. Nardukha did not become the King of the Jinn for no reason. I can still recall the days when he hunted down all the other Shaitan, my kindred, slaughtering them one by one to secure his own power. He is ruthless and cunning, older than the earth, stronger than any creature in existence. “But why? I thought he was content to let me rot.”

  She shuffles, her nose wrinkling. He offers you a deal.

  “I made a deal with Nardukha once before, and paid a terrible price for it.” I narrow my eyes and take a step toward her, my hands curling into fists. “Why should I trust him again?”

  Her head whips up, her teeth flashing. The humans with their cursed charms have trapped and bottled one of our own, holding him deep in their warded city. No jinn may enter, for their protection is strong, and to pass through their gates or fly over their walls is death to us. But not to you—not to Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away. As Shaitan, you alone may be able to pass through the wards and get inside the city.

  “So he wants me to rescue this jinni,” I say doubtfully. “But I know Nardukha. No jinni is worth that much trouble to him, none but—” I pause and swallow.

  The ghul laughs humorlessly. The jinni they hold is no mere burning ifreet or dripping maarid, but our Lord’s own son.

  I can picture him at once, though I have not seen him in more than a thousand years. We last parted with angry words, as we always did. Sun-Burns-Bright, Scale-of-the-Red-Dragon, He-Who-Makes-the-Earth-to-Shake. To me, he has always been Zhian, the name given him by the Akbanu people when they worshiped him, thousands of years ago. He always did love parading around like a god, demanding offerings and temples from the humans he terrorized.

  “The humans have captured Zhian?” I ask, laughing until Aladdin stirs fitfully. “He must be utterly humiliated. The great jinn prince—bottled up like a common maarid. How did the humans do it?”

  They are stronger than they were. These Amulens have grown tough and clever, fighting us as they have all these years. And whose fault is that?

  For once, I’m happy to take the blame. How proud you would be of your people, Habiba, still carrying on the fight these hundreds of years later! And to think they’ve even captured the great jinn prince himself.

  I cross my arms, smiling a little. “And what do I get in return?”

  Shaza pauses a long moment before replying, and when she does, her thoughts drip with disgust. The Shaitan offers you freedom.

  Chapter Five

  I DROP MY ARMS, as smoke turns to flame inside me.

  What? I reply. The jinn tongue feels rusted in my thoughts, but I am too stunned for spoken words.

  The ghul sniffs. These are the terms. Turning away, she points at the silver crescent hanging low in the sky. The moon will die tomorrow night, and be reborn again. It will grow fat, then it will grow weak, and then it will die once more. On that moon death, if you have not freed the jinn prince, then the Shaitan shall shake the skies, and death will rain upon you and all the humans in that city. But succeed, and he will sever the bond that binds you to the lamp, and you will return to Ambadya a free jinni.

  She gives me a sly smile over her shoulder. But if you make one mistake, he will come, and a deserved traitor’s death he will give you. Do you know what that means?

  I do. I have seen jinn executions before. They last for days. When you’re practically immortal, there’s no end to the torture you can endure, and the jinn are experts at wringing every last drop of pain from their victims. My chest tightens at the thought. I may be one of the strongest jinni alive, but I can feel pain, and I can be killed.

  “Yes,” I whisper, then I cough a little and repeat in a louder voice, “Yes. I accept Nardukha’s deal. Tell him . . . tell him he will see his wretched son within the month.”

  It shall be so.

  And just like that, the ghul is gone, slipping away into the shadows and rock, blending into the earth from which she was made, leaving me trembling. I lift my face and stare wonderingly at the stars above.

  Freedom.

  It’s a dream I never dared to dream. I cannot even imagine what it would be like. Ever since I became jinn, I’ve been bound to my lamp. The concept is foreign, as distant and untouchable as the new moon behind its black veil. But for the first time, I feel hope. And I know I will do everything in my limited power to seize it.

  The sun rises, and the Parthenian gates open. Two roads—one from the east, one from the west—lead to the city, and carts and travelers slowly make their way inside. No one sees us nestled among the rocks upriver. The sun peaks and then begins sinking again, the trees’ shadows growing long, and still Aladdin sleeps as if dead.

  There is no more sign of Shaza or any other jinni nearby, but I keep careful watch. I turn Nardukha’s deal over in my mind, pondering how to accomplish it. It is one thing to say I will do it—another entirely to pull it off. Parthenia is a large city, and there’s no telling where Zhian is being kept. It’s not as if I am free to wander around looking, either. I’m bound to Aladdin as long as he has the lamp. But I won’t let that stop me. I won’t let anything stop me—not human or jinn. Because for the first time in four thousand years, I, Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away, have a chance at freedom.

  When the sun falls behind the city and the towers deepen into silhouettes, I turn back to my master, beginning to grow concerned.

  This time, his eyes are open, and he is staring at me.

  “You’re very pretty,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, “for a jinni.”

  “Have you met many jinn?”

  “No.” His lips curl into a dazed grin. “But I’ve met a lot of pretty girls.”

  I check his bandage; the bleeding has stopped, but he’ll need a fresh dressing soon.

  “Why did you help me?” he asks softly. “Back in the desert, you distracted Darian so that I could get the lamp. Why?”

  “You took an arrow for me.” He couldn’t have known it would not harm me. He acted without thinking, from some instinct deep inside himself—the same instinct that prevented him from wishing for Darian’s death. “Now we are even, thief.”

  “We’d better—” He cuts off with a hiss, his hand going to his shoulder. He is silent for a moment, his eyes shut, as if he is trying hard to push down the pain of his injury. Then at last he says in a tight voice, “We’d better get moving. We have to slip into the city before they shut the gates for the night. Once they close, they don’t open till dawn. Not for anyone. There are jinn in these hills.” He pauses, then gives a little laugh. “Though I guess that doesn’t bother you.”

  The walls of Parthenia rise in the distance, and it will take a hard, fast wa
lk to reach it by sunset. But he sets out gamely, stopping only to strip a small fig tree of its fruit before leaving the riverbank. We follow a dusty track through low hills covered in scrubby bushes and loose stones.

  We near the gates just as the guards are preparing to shut them. The doors are massive, heavy slabs of oak, and they must be drawn closed by a pair of elephants. The soldiers are busy tethering the huge animals to the doors. On either side of the gate, enormous stone gryphons glare down on us with blank eyes.

  “Hurry,” says Aladdin, breaking into a run. “They won’t wait for us.”

  I sprint to catch up, then, just steps from the gate, I stagger as a spasm of pain twists my gut. A shudder passes through me, and I double over, unable to take another step.

  Looking up, I spot them immediately: glyphs carved into the stone bases the gryphons stand upon. Symbols of Eskarr, the language of scorsmiths to bind magic to objects. These read jinn, demon, repel, and other similar words. They were put there to turn away any of my kind who might try to enter, and their power rakes over me like claws. It seeps through me like poison, tainting my smoke sickly green.

  “Zahra, are you all right?” Aladdin asks, halting beside me.

  I shake my head and struggle to stay on my feet as my head reels. It’s like being caught in a landslide. Shaza said I was the only one with a chance of getting through these gates—but even I might not be strong enough. I try to force myself into motion with the thought of freedom, but all I can manage is one half step before my stomach twists violently and I drop to one knee. The sea wind batters me, and I wish I could turn to smoke and let it carry me away.

  “It’s warded,” I whisper. “Against the jinn. I can’t . . . I can’t get through.”

  The doors suddenly groan, and I look up to see the elephants beginning to move, drawing them shut. Alarmed, Aladdin looks at the gate, then back to me. “Zahra, you have to go through. If you don’t, the guards will know what you are. They’ll kill us both right here. Killing jinn and anyone who sympathizes with them—that’s what they do. They’re Eristrati.”

  He says the word as if I should know what it means, and I study the guards closer. They all carry spears of iron, their shafts carved with more Eskarr glyphs. These are no ordinary soldiers; they are armed to fight jinn, and they know what they’re doing. Four thousand years may be quite a long life, but I’m not ready to be done living just yet. Not when I’m this close to breaking free of my cursed lamp.

  “I can do it,” I murmur.

  “Are you sure?” He’s studying me as if he’s worried I’ll pass out. I very well may.

  I nod, not entirely certain but willing to try. Not because I’m truly worried the guards will kill us—Aladdin does have two wishes left, and I’m far from unskilled in defending myself. But because I know this is it. This is the last chance I’ll ever get. If I fail, I don’t even think I’ll protest when Nardukha strikes me down. I can’t take another year in that lamp, much less an eternity, not when a chance at freedom is so close.

  “I have an idea,” I say. “But I’ll need your help.”

  “Hurry,” he says, watching as the doors swing inward. Already they are half closed.

  I conjure a small puff of smoke beneath my dress, letting it settle over my stomach, making me round as a melon. Add the pain in my eyes and my tight breathing and I am the perfect image of a woman going into labor. Aladdin looks down, makes a strange noise deep in his throat, then nods.

  “Right. We can do this. No problem.” His tone is a little high, but he grabs my hand. “Let’s go!”

  I must lean on Aladdin, and not only for show—the closer we get, the harder it is for me to hold out. The air feels like knives, the ground like burning coals. It seems all the elements bend themselves toward crushing me, repulsing me, grinding me into the earth. Somehow, his heartbeat gives me strength. Perhaps it helps to hide my jinn nature from the wards. Either way, I can feel myself gaining a little more control of my own body. I burst forward, and together we run for the gates. They’re seconds away from shutting entirely.

  “We won’t fit,” I say.

  “Yes, we will,” Aladdin replies through clenched teeth, as if he can will them open with sheer stubbornness.

  “If you wish for it—ugh!” As we pass through the stone gryphons, their stare seems to hone in on me. The Eskarr glyphs seem to glow. The power behind them pushes at me with the force of a hundred horses, seeking to trample me into the earth.

  “My wife!” Aladdin cries to the guards. “She’s going to give birth! Stop the gates!”

  The men exchange looks but remain resolute. The space between the doors shrinks until it seems not even a cat could slip through. But Aladdin remains undeterred. He sprints ahead, gasping, his shoulder crimson with blood. I don’t have to fake my own pain, as if I’m being speared from the front and hooked from behind. Everything in me screams, Turn around! Run away! But I force myself to keep moving. Spots dance across my eyes. Every thought I have is bent on maintaining human form. I ache to shift into smoke just to stop the pain.

  And then we reach the gates. Aladdin stops, pushing me through first. I can hardly see at this point, and I realize I’m sobbing aloud. Ordinarily I’d be mortified at such a display of weakness, but I don’t have a thought to spare for my pride. It hurts too much.

  All I can do is force myself not to shift, not to give us away. I feel Aladdin’s hand in mine, his voice in my ear, but the words make no sense. There’s shouting, arguing. Everything swims around me. I am a twig caught in a flood.

  With a moan, I collapse, the false pregnant belly dissipating. Instead of hitting the ground, though, I drop into Aladdin’s arms. He lifts me and holds me against his chest, then begins running. The scent of him overwhelms me: fresh figs from this morning, goats’ milk soap he last washed his cloak with, smoke from the ruins of Neruby, wind, and sea salt. Human smells, rich and heady. I can sense his pain through his pulse, but he doesn’t slow or stop. He must be hurting as much as I am. Why doesn’t he let me go? Why doesn’t he leave the lamp and save himself? Or make a wish—if I could even grant it in this state.

  With a shudder, I feel myself slip, as if from a tall tower, and I plummet into darkness with one last thought:

  But I was so close . . .

  Chapter Six

  WHEN I COME TO, I’m lying beneath stars, my back on a hard, cold surface. I startle awake, all at once, and bolt up into a sitting position.

  “Whoa, easy there, Smoky.”

  I turn and see Aladdin sitting beside me, eating roasted lamb speared on a small stick. We’re sitting on top of a building, with an expansive view of the sea beyond the city walls. I turn around and study Parthenia from above. The buildings rise where the land swells to the north, a domed palace sitting at the city’s highest point. Even on this nearly moonless night, it glows like a pearl in the darkness. Zhian is somewhere out there, raging unheard in a tiny bottle or jar. The thought, which amused me earlier, now only fills me with grim determination. I stretch out my sixth sense, probing the night, but it doesn’t reach far, and I catch not a glimmer of him.

  “What happened?” It’s rare for me to black out like this, and it frightens me more than I like to admit. I don’t know how humans do it every night—falling asleep, letting darkness swallow them.

  “You passed out. I had to carry you.”

  “How is your shoulder?”

  He’s wearing a fresh bandage, but it’s been sloppily applied. “Had to redo it. Tough with just one hand. And I grabbed these.” He pulls two little clay pots from his pocket. “There’s an herbalist one street over, so I made a run while you were out. I hope they’re for wounds and won’t, you know, cause warts or something.”

  I hold out a hand, and he drops the pots into my palm. I open them and sniff. “This one is for soothing women’s birthing pains.”

  Aladdin winces.


  “But the other one should do the trick.” I hand them back. “It’s a cinnamon-and-clove mixture and will stop any disease from spreading in your wound.”

  He pockets that pot and leaves the other behind as he stands. “You feeling better, then? Or want to take a ride from here?” He pats his cloak, and a dull ting tells me the lamp is still tied to his belt.

  I try not to sound too desperate when I reply, “I’d rather walk. Where are we going?”

  “I’ve been chased, shot, cut, beaten, and dragged a hundred leagues in the blink of an eye.” He shrugs and offers me a hand. “I need a drink.”

  I stare at him a moment, conflicted. He carried me. He took an arrow for me. I’ve had few kind masters in my long, strange life. Cruelty, I understand. But kindness frightens me, for my defenses are weak against it.

  Warily, I take his hand and he helps me up. He leads me down a narrow stair along the outside of the building we’re on top of, down to the street.

  “Why did you want that prince to die?” I ask.

  Aladdin halts, looking back at me with wide eyes. “Not so loud! Gods.”

  “Well?”

  “Are you always this nosy?”

  “I am when someone asks me if I’ll kill for them.”

  He lets out a short breath. “I changed my mind about that.”

  “I still want to know.”

  He rubs his hand across his face. “We’re here.”

  Aladdin steps off the street into one of the many narrow capillaries that lead into the deeper bowels of the city. Walls close in on either side, and lines hung with worn, clean cloth crisscross over our heads. Wind rustles the fabric, so it seems as if the air is filled with whispering ghosts. Through the closed shutters that dot the walls, only the faintest lines of light can be seen.