The Forbidden Wish Read online

  She frowns. “What were you doing in the desert?”

  He pauses and chews his lip, studying her a moment before replying. “Princess, have you ever worn the ring?”

  She hesitates. “Once.”

  “And what did you feel?”

  “Feel? Nothing. Why would you ask that?”

  “When I put it on, it . . . sort of spoke to me. Not in words, really, but . . . sort of like a rope pulling at a horse. It led me into the desert, like it wanted to show me something.”

  The girls are suitably rapt, leaning closer. Their flickering torches throw dancing shadows over their faces.

  “Well?” asks Ensi. “What did you find?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing. It just stopped. Like it had reached whatever it was pulling me toward. But there was nothing there except some old ruins. Maybe there never was anything there. Anyway, Darian caught up to me then, and he took it back.”

  She wrinkles her brow perplexedly. “You mean the ruins of Neruby, the old Amulen capital. But the place is empty, said to be haunted by the jinn. You’re sure there was nothing?”

  “Just sand and broken towers.” He tilts his head, his eyes glittering with torchlight. “What did you think it led to?”

  She looks around at each of her girls, then back at Aladdin, her eyes full, as if she is weighing whether or not to tell him.

  “I don’t know,” she says at last. She is a good liar, and I nearly miss the elevation in her heartbeat and the slightest pause before she speaks. But I cannot see into her thoughts to tell what she truly does know about the ring and about the lamp. Does she know it leads to me? And does she know who I am, or that she and I are linked through you, Habiba, her mighty ancestress?

  Unsettled, I look closer at her and her friends, trying to discern what their goal is. The girls are all Amulen, it seems, except for one—the quiet one who listens and says little. Nessa, with her dark skin and hair, is Tytoshi, judging by her appearance and accent, though by her dress and fluent Amulen, she’s been in Parthenia for a while. Her hair is twisted into dreadlocks, each one tipped in hardened silver that tinkles musically when she moves. Only royalty wear silver in their hair; everyone else’s locks are tipped in bronze or copper. What is a Tytoshi princess doing this far north?

  Then I spot something tucked beneath her black cloak, and my hackles rise. To get a closer look, I jump onto Ensi’s shoulder, then leap onto Nessa’s. Surprised, she takes me in her arms and strokes my head. I nose under her cloak and sniff the flute she carries on her hip, then back away hissing.

  “You’re hurting her!” says Ensi, snatching me back. It’s all right. I found out what I needed to know.

  That’s no ordinary flute, and Nessa is no ordinary girl.

  She’s a jinn charmer, capable of hypnotizing my kind with that flute, inlaid with Eskarr glyphs, and trapping us in bottles. I watch her mistrustfully and know that more than ever, we have to get away, and fast.

  Because now I know where Zhian is.

  Chapter Eight

  TURNING AWAY FROM ALADDIN, Caspida signals to her girls, and they gather close around her, out of Aladdin’s earshot.

  “Do you believe him?” asks Ensi in a whisper, curling my tail around her finger.

  “Of course she doesn’t believe him,” Khavar interjects. “He’s a thief. His very nature is dishonest.”

  “I’m not sure I do believe him,” says Caspida slowly, running her finger thoughtfully over her dagger’s blade and looking over her shoulder at Aladdin. He stands with his hands in his pockets, trying to look harmless. “After all, where is Darian? How did the thief escape my cousin and his men and manage to make it to the city before them? Has anyone heard from Darian in the past week?”

  Ensi shakes her head. “I’ve been intercepting every message sent by pigeon, and there’s been nothing from the prince.”

  “What of my uncle? Has Sulifer had contact with him?”

  “Not that I know of. The vizier rarely leaves the council chambers and keeps his business secret.”

  “You were right in the beginning, Khavar,” sighs the princess. “We should never have hired a third party to steal the ring back. I should have done it myself.”

  “Sulifer watches you too closely,” says Ensi. “You’d have never pulled it off, and if you’d been caught, the consequences would have been too great. Speaking of which, we really should be getting back to the palace.”

  Khavar’s snake pulls back and hisses at me, and I hiss in return. Khavar catches its head and pushes it back into her cloak. “Is it really a bad thing, Darian missing? I’ll not shed a tear if he never shows up again. Think of that, Cas. You wouldn’t have to marry him.”

  “I doubt it will be that easy,” Caspida replies. “And however much I loathe my cousin, I would not wish death on him.” She pauses, then adds, “A cell in the dungeons with rats for company, perhaps. But not death.” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “We should have destroyed the ring long ago.”

  “We couldn’t have known Darian would steal it,” replies Ensi. “It’s stayed safely in that vault for hundreds of years. This isn’t your fault, Cas.”

  “Roshana’s ring was mine to guard,” she replies flatly. “I don’t want comfort. I want it found and destroyed. I don’t know what it does, but I know that it’s linked to the jinn, and that’s never a good thing.”

  “We really should get back to the palace,” says Nessa. “We’ve been gone too long already.”

  “What about the thief?” asks Khavar. “We can’t very well drag him along.”

  “Search him,” Caspida says. “Just in case he’s lying.”

  Aladdin, who heard this last pronouncement, throws me a horrified look, but I am already moving. I leap out of Ensi’s arms and dash away into the shadows, turning to smoke the moment I am out of sight. I have just seconds before they search Aladdin and find the lamp. I cannot imagine the Amulen princess will be as open-minded about my presence as Aladdin has been, not when her own handmaiden is one of the jinn charmers who likely trapped Zhian.

  I blow through a crack in the wall and collect outside, then waste no time in raising a terrible racket. I clang against the warehouse and shout out in a deep, male voice: “Who’s in there? Show yourself!”

  Raz, keeping watch, runs inside to alert the others. I turn to wind and blast open the door to find the girls are gone, startled by the noise and vanished into the dark city with soft, hasty footsteps. Aladdin stands alone, untouched. He pats the lamp.

  “Nice work,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind having you along when I pull jobs.”

  “If you have me along,” I reply dryly, “you won’t need to pull jobs.”

  “Fair point.”

  Aladdin goes to the doorway and stands staring at the night, his frame rigid. He is a dark current beneath a still sea.

  I shift back into a girl, dressed in black silk with tiny white moonflowers sprinkled in my hair. As I wait for him to speak, I idly conjure bangles on my wrists, each inscribed with a verse from the “Song of Roshana,” the poem written in honor of your nineteenth birthday by twelve of the world’s most esteemed poets.

  Roshana Mithraya, Warrior Queen,

  rode to war on a Jinni’s wings,

  Roshana Mithraya, fair and bold,

  wielded a sword of steel and gold.

  Her foes who looked upon her swore

  For love or fear, they’d fight no more.

  The princess is heavy in my thoughts. After you died, Habiba, someone must have spirited your infant daughter out of Neruby before the jinn destroyed the city. Your line lived on, and your spirit too, it seems; this Caspida is a fiery one, just like you were. What would she think of me if she knew who I was? My old guilt lurks deep within, like a wolf in a cave, and I look up toward the palace in the north district, shining like a pearl beneath the stars.r />
  Now she fights the jinn. She even has her own jinn charmer at her side. I don’t know if Nessa is the same charmer who bottled Zhian, but charmers are rare, and there can’t be many others in the city. So it seems the best place to start my search is the royal palace. Even if he’s not being held there, perhaps I can find a clue there as to his whereabouts.

  But first, I need a way into the palace.

  I study my master thoughtfully.

  Aladdin stirs at last, turning to glance at me over his shoulder, his fingers dancing on the lamp.

  “The Phoenix is the princess,” he murmurs. “And I’m talking to a jinni. Gods, this night just keeps getting stranger.”

  He starts forward, walking down the dark street as if in a fog. We pass other storehouses and closed carpentry and shipwrights’ shops. A dog scrambles out of Aladdin’s way, raising its hackles and growling at me, not fooled by my human disguise. We pass the city gates, shut against the night. They are washed in the orange light of massive braziers suspended from above, and guards stand watch on the wall beside them. Aladdin skirts around them, staying concealed in the shadows.

  Eventually we reach the center of the city, where the river runs in a channel of cut stone. The water flows deep and fast and dark, its banks edged with low walls of rectangular bricks. From grates set into the channel, runoff from the gutters and houses pours into the river, joining the mad rush to the sea.

  Aladdin stops at the center of an arching bridge, its railings smooth wood supported by statues carved in the likenesses of the undergods. At the foot of each carving, little offerings have been left. Candles, flowers, dolls made of straw, each representing a prayer. At the foot of Nykora are ten times as many offerings as the others, and so many candles are lit before her that she seems to shine. The railing above her flutters with ribbons and strings of beads. Nykora is the undergoddess of the oppressed and poor, and her sigil is the phoenix.

  Aladdin pauses before her statue for several long moments, his hands deep in his pockets. His face is softened by the candlelight. His cloak, tattered and patched, rustles in the breeze that sweeps upriver.

  “She really is the Phoenix. And they love her.” He lifts his face and stares at me. “I can’t remember the last time they loved anyone at all. Even my father was hated by many for stirring up trouble.”

  Along the opposite railing grow vines thick with white moonflowers. I lean over and look down at the river rushing below, hastening on to the cliffs, where it pours into the waiting sea, like a lovelorn bride running to meet her groom. Aladdin turns away from the little shrine and joins me, his shoulders hunched pensively.

  “When I was a boy,” he says softly, “I used to stand on this bridge with my father. We made little wooden boats, and he sewed sails for them. We dropped them into the water, then raced along the bank to see whose left the city first. Once I slipped and fell in, and my father jumped in to save me. He couldn’t even swim. I don’t know how he did it. Later he told me that the goddess Nykora must have pulled us out of the river.” He turns and looks at the shrine. “We left a little boat right there as an offering of thanks. But I never believed in Nykora. People remember my father as a hero who set fires and led marches. I remembered him as a hero because of that day in the river.”

  Turning to me, he says, “I’m not a hero, Zahra. I’m not my father.” He turns away and pulls something from his sleeve. It is one of the princess’s daggers, its hilt carved into delicate lilies. How he managed to steal it off her, I can’t imagine. “The night I snuck into the palace to steal the ring, I carried a dagger like this. Much plainer, of course, but the same length and weight.” He balances it on his finger. “After stealing the ring, I snuck into Sulifer’s rooms. I stood over the vizier as he slept and held that blade, trying to work up the nerve to cut his throat.”

  Aladdin sighs and drives the dagger into the rail. The hilt quivers. “Maybe I’m a coward. But I couldn’t avenge them. When the ring started pulling at me, I knew it must be enchanted. I thought, if it’s so valuable to the prince that he would keep it locked in his own room, then perhaps I could get my revenge by stealing whatever it led to. When that turned out to be you, I thought, well, here’s my chance. I can just wish for revenge. But as it turns out, I’m too cowardly even for that.”

  “Coward is not the word I’d use,” I say softly.

  He shrugs and pries the dagger out of the rail. “And now there’s this princess. All my life, I thought she was like the other royals—selfish and spoiled. She’s engaged to Darian, after all, and her father the king is said to be addicted to simmon, wasted away to nothing. Her uncle executed my parents.” He holds up the dagger and stares at his reflection in the blade. “But now she says she’s the Phoenix, that she’s on our side. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Not everyone is what they seem.”

  His eyes turn to me. “Like you?”

  I raise a brow. “And what do I seem to be?”

  Aladdin studies me, and feeling suddenly shy, I turn away. I pluck a moonflower and pull the petals off one by one, letting them fall into the river.

  “You seem sad,” he says at last. “And lonely.”

  Letting the flower stem drop, I laugh. “You know nothing about me.”

  He shrugs, still watching me closely. “I don’t think you’re the same jinni they sing about at all. I think there’s more to your story. Did you really kill that queen? I don’t think you did.”

  A bit startled, I meet his gaze. “I killed her. I am a jinni, Aladdin. Never think I am anything but heartless.”

  He looks down, one of his hands moving closer, until the back of one finger comes to rest on my wrist. I stare at it, unable to breathe. My skin warms under that gentle contact. “You saved my life twice already. That doesn’t sound heartless.”

  Pulling away quickly, I drop my hands, out of his reach. “You don’t have to say that.”

  He frowns, withdrawing his hand. “Maybe I want to. Even a thief may have honor, and even a jinni may have a heart.”

  The roaring of the river fills my ears. Avoiding his gaze, I cross to the other side of the bridge, staring north at the dark shadow of Mount Tissia. I struggle to swallow the knot in my throat.

  I need a plan. A plan to get inside the palace.

  A plan to cool the embers Aladdin’s touch stirred to life.

  Turning around, I find him watching me, cautious and curious.

  “You should make a wish.”

  At once he turns skeptical. “What?”

  A part of me hates myself for feeding his obsession. That part wants me to tell him he’s haunted by the dead, that I know how that feels, that I’ve drunk that poison many times. I’m sickened with it even now. But I don’t, because I am a selfish spirit, and looking up at the dying moon, I can almost feel the bond between me and the lamp snapping once and for all.

  “The princess,” I say. “She’s the heir to the throne, right? Whoever marries her will be the most powerful man in the kingdom.” I turn and gaze at the statue of Nykora. “He could do whatever he wanted. He would command the vizier, the military, the guards here in the city . . .”

  I meet his gaze and find him rigid, his body tense as a drawn bow.

  “This is it, don’t you see? You don’t have to kill anyone, but you can still get your revenge. I can help you.”

  “What are you saying?” he asks.

  I smile and lean in to whisper, “I can get you into the palace. I can give you power, wealth, and titles. I can help you win the princess, and in doing so, win your revenge. What would anger Darian more than seeing his enemy take his bride? What would be sweeter than seeing this vizier forced to bow before you, his prince?”

  Aladdin holds his breath, and I can see that he’s caught my meaning. Not for the first time, I feel truly monstrous. I’ve always hated the jinn for being cruel and selfish. Do
you remember how I once told you that I wasn’t like them? But I know in the space where I have no heart that I’m no different at all.

  I’m a very good jinni, and that’s a very bad thing.

  But freedom, Habiba . . . For freedom, I might become anything. It terrifies me to think how far I will go for it. But I’ve never wanted anything so badly before, so I swallow my conscience and nod encouragingly at my master.

  “It could work,” he says softly. “Zahra, you’re brilliant.”

  I straighten, my hands beginning to tingle. “Then say the words.”

  Aladdin pauses, takes a breath, steeling himself. When he speaks, his voice burns with conviction.

  “Zahra, I wish to be made a prince.”

  Two: The Princess

  As they often did in the late afternoon, when the sun was ripe and the day hazy, the Queen and the Jinni walked together in the shade of the Jewel Gardens in the heart of the palace, which the Queen had wished for and the Jinni shaped for her. They spoke of many things, of past wars and rulers, of faraway lands, of gods and jinn. For the Jinni had lived long and seen much, and the Queen, possessing a keen mind, had many questions.

  At last the Queen said, “Thou hast become a friend like unto a sister to me. I favor not only thy counsel, but thy company. May I ask thee anything?”

  And the Jinni answered, “I have had many masters, but none like you, O Queen. I am honored to be thy friend, and surely I will answer whatever thou ask of me.”

  “Then what troubles thee?” the Queen replied. “For I know the look in thine eye—thy thoughts are tossed as the storm-driven sea.”

  “It is true, Habiba,” said the Jinni. “For I am afraid.”

  “What dost thou fear?” cried the Queen. “Name it, and I shall slay it for thee.”

  Taking the Queen’s hands in her own, the Jinni replied, “Long has it been forbidden that a jinni and a human may bear any love for the other, yet you have become sister to my heart.”

  “Who dares forbid us?” asked the Queen.