He called the boys ladies, sneering around the circle, and they all hung their heads, not wishing to fight him. All but her, because, by all that was holy, she was a lady, smaller than any of them. Still he did not see it.
A small maiden with a wooden sword, standing up to the bully prince who was easily twice her size. She showed no fear, no emotion at all, as she faced him.
Briska had watched him beat boy after boy, but she didn't want to watch him beat the girl. "She's a girl!" she repeated, as she cast seduction spell after seduction spell at him, but the only thing he lusted for was battle, and he charged at the girl, murder in his eyes.
She barely moved, but it was enough to take her out of his way and send him sprawling. The only bit of her out of place from his passing was her shoe, which the prince had evidently carried away with him in his charge. A magic shoe, glowing faintly purple with power.
Prince Yi did not see the magic, not even when he pocketed the shoe.
The more Briska watched the pair, the less she thought the prince deserved her. Mai moved like a hunting cat…or a hawk…or a snake…her sword darting out like an extension of her arm to block the prince's blows again and again until she tapped him on the chest.
The prince wheezed and doubled over, backing away. Evidently it had been more than a tap, or it had touched some vital part of him.
Seizing her chance, Briska cast a spell at the girl, hoping to inspire her affection, so that she would step forward and offer to nurse the prince back to health. Then, surely…
The clack of wood on wood echoed off the ice walls behind her, and Briska held her breath. Instead of offering to help the prince, the girl had continued to battle him. What manner of people were these two, whose only lust was for playing with swords?
She swore softly as she watched them battle on until the prince landed in the dirt a second time. There was passion between the two, definitely, but it was something more akin to hatred than love. For the moment, at least, she mused as an older man broke up the bout. As long as there was passion, she could work with these two. After helping the Big Bad Wolf catch the third Little Pig, matching a prince with a girl who lost her shoe would be easy.
Twenty-Three
When the prince finally returned Mai's shoes and asked her to become his wife, after no small effort on the part of Briska and even Zuleika, Briska allowed herself the luxury of another peep at Maram.
Her daughter looked much like Briska herself, for her enchanted servitude had kept Briska unchanging on the outside while she aged imperceptibly inside. Yet the years had aged Maram, too. Travelling to foreign courts and bewitching foreigners with her beauty and wit, all the while brokering trade agreements for the Sultan had turned the girl into a woman more worldly-wise than Briska would ever be.
The courts Briska observed in secret, casting spells through the mirror while she stayed safe in her palace of ice…Maram marched into with her head held high, the unchallenged mistress of all she surveyed. When she departed, she carried many new jewels and other precious gifts, most of which she sold or traded away at her next port of call. After one trading expedition, her wealth was more than her mother's dowry, making her the wealthiest woman in the Sultan's kingdom. Richer than the Sultan himself, Briska suspected, until the trade agreements Maram negotiated began to bear fruit. Maram would have made a formidable queen, and more than one foreign prince had offered for her hand, courtesan or no.
But no matter how eligible the offer, she had declined them all. Briska thought it was because none of them had yet managed to touch her heart. Because for all she'd inherited her father's political acumen, Maram was definitely her mother's daughter. It would take an extraordinary man to capture Maram's heart, though the girl would leave a trail of broken hearts behind her.
While her mother made matches between two people, Maram united entire nations. She had a courage Briska would never possess. Briska prayed that Maram would never need to know the violence that had driven Briska into hiding.
But today, as Briska watched the girl shrug out of her clothes in the old bathhouse by the city gates, she was struck by the deep sadness that seemed to surround Maram, a dark pool far deeper than the water she stepped into. For all her conquests, happiness eluded Maram, too, much as it had her mother. Was Maram destined to spend her life alone, in the midst of so many, yet untouched?
But she wasn't alone in the bathhouse, Briska noticed – a shadow lurked in the linen room, the shadow of a man, she was certain of it.
The mirror obeyed her order to focus on the man, to see which of her suitors was spying on Maram, and whether he meant her ill. But this man was no suitor Briska had ever seen before. His patched, worn clothes made him appear little more than a common beggar, until Briska recognised the make of them. A fashion from decades past, only ever crafted in silk, but worn so threadbare now she couldn't discern any of the original sheen. A nobleman or a merchant, fallen upon hard times…did he blame Maram for his misfortunes, and seek revenge?
Briska sent a spell through the glass, fanning the flame of his existing passions. If it was Maram he wanted, then he would make himself known to her instead of hiding. If it was revenge…better that he reveal himself now that her servants were alert for her call for aid.
The man edged out of the shadows and into the light, but only to where he could see Maram better.
Not a man at all. He was barely more than a boy, his father's cast-off clothes hanging off his thin frame, but the way he stared at Maram was like a man dying of thirst regarding a cup of wine. Infinite longing.
Briska reached through the mirror and sent a stack of towels tumbling off the shelf. The boy never heard it, for he was too intent on Maram, but Maram's head snapped up, as she became aware that she wasn't alone.
She summoned him, using the same honeyed tones she might try on one of her suitors. Unlike those other men, he crept out of hiding and prostrated himself before her.
Briska would have called for her attendants to take the boy away, knowing that the boy deserved death for invading the Sultana's privacy. But Maram, for all her regal airs, was not a virtuous queen.
She called for food to be brought, enough for two, claiming the man as a lover to her servants, though she'd only met him. She even honoured him by serving him with his own hands, something Briska had not even done for the Sultan himself.
The boy – Aladdin, he'd said his name was – was nothing and no one, yet Maram treated him like her equal. She offered him food, drink…and then she did the unthinkable. She offered him her hand, and he took it.
A look passed between them, for the most fleeting moment, but Briska caught it, for she knew it well. In that touch and in that glance, two hearts had connected. If only other matches could be made so easily.
Briska sent a seduction spell at the boy, the strongest she could muster, and instead of stepping closer to Maram, he bowed his head. Swearing softly, she cast a second spell, this time aiming squarely for Maram.
Love could spark, but sometimes it needed more to fan it into a proper, enduring flame.
"Kiss me," Maram said. What should have been a command came out as a desperate plea.
Quietly, Briska retreated, willing the mirror to return to mist, so that her daughter might enjoy the boy's heartfelt kiss in peace and privacy.
For the first time in more than a decade, Briska wanted to weep for joy. A man had touched her daughter's heart. One who might be able to give her the love she deserved. Love Maram might return.
Her heart considerably lighter, Briska lay back on her bed of ice, secure in the knowledge that while her own heart was frozen, at least her daughter's future would be happy.
Twenty-Four
Another day, another master…or the same one in a different guise, but it mattered little. One master was the same as another, issuing orders and expecting miracles. Amani braced himself for being sucked through the spout again. The discomfort had become one of the least demeaning parts of his servitude.
"I am the servant of the lamp. What do you wish of me?" Amani said grandly. He'd found he could vary the words if he wished, as long as he said something suitable when greeting a new master. If he began before the magical compulsion hit him, he could even make himself sound impressive, retaining some of his former glory, instead of presenting himself as a cringing, servile mouse.
He found himself facing a peasant woman. One who backed away from him in terror, clutching the lamp in her clawed fingers.
She tripped and knocked herself unconscious, which brought a ragged boy to her aid. Now both of them were ignoring him.
So much for making a grand entrance. Amani sighed. "I said: what do you wish of me?"
The boy – nay, a man, though a young one, turned angry eyes on Amani. "You frightened my mother and now she is hurt."
Amani opened his mouth to say it was her own silly fault, releasing a djinn she had no idea what to do with.
But her dutiful son snatched up the lamp, and continued, "I wish you would fix the mess you have made." His expression challenged Amani to refuse. Almost as if he knew the horrible headache that would ensue if he did.
It had been many years since Amani had healed someone, but he did his best for the woman. When he had stopped her head from bleeding, he turned his attention back to the man. His new master, for the man's hands were firmly wrapped around the lamp as though he knew what power he possessed.
Grudgingly, Amani said, "What else do you wish of me?"
He would not blame the boy for asking for riches. Living in this hovel, a bag of gold might change his life.
But the boy surprised him again. "Answers. What are you?"
"I am the servant of the lamp, and my master is whoever holds it in his hands."
The boy nodded, as though he already knew this. "So you are a djinn?"
"Yes."
"You can perform magic? What sort of magic can you do?"
The boy had met djinn or enchanters before. He must have, for only people who knew magic well knew an enchanter's powers were strong in some areas and weak in others. If Amani had been able to render himself invisible, he would never have been caught with Briska and he wouldn't be in this mess. But there was no point thinking of that now – he had a new master to impress with the considerable powers he did have.
Amani swelled until his head touched the ceiling. "I can make you the richest man alive. Transport you to the farthest reaches of the Earth and back again in the blink of an eye. Build you a palace so magnificent even the Sultan will beg to see inside."
The boy was going to ask for riches. Amani could almost see it running through his mind. "What would you wish me to do first, Master?" Amani asked.
The boy considered the question for a long, long time. Finally, he said, "I am hungry. Bring me something to eat."
Amani stared at him. He offered him the world, and the boy wanted a snack? Though Amani had to admit he'd seen more meat on some skeletons. Perhaps the boy was wiser than he gave him credit for.
He bowed and left, determined to bring the boy a meal fit for a king. Amani grinned. Why, he'd bring him a meal fit for a Sultan, taken from the Sultan's own table. He could spare it.
Twenty-Five
Even in his lamp, Amani heard the name of Briska's daughter, Maram. He pressed his ear to the spout and tried to listen harder. How could this peasant boy know Princess Maram?
At first, Amani wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. It appeared his new master – Aladdin, his name was – had chanced to meet the princess in a bathhouse, and he'd fallen in love with the girl, much as Amani had fallen for her mother. Unlike Amani, though, Aladdin planned to marry the girl.
The Sultan would never let his precious daughter marry some starving peasant boy. Amani owed it to Briska's memory not to let the girl fall into the wrong hands. Yet as he listened…it seemed the boy truly loved Maram. Whether Maram felt the same was another matter, though.
So much for asking for riches. The boy was about to ask for a love spell, and Amani had never been so happy at his own shortcomings. Even if he could cast such a thing, he could not cast one on Maram.
Amani emerged from the lamp, pre-empting the summons from Aladdin. He took a deep breath, ready to refuse the boy's command so firmly he never asked again.
Aladdin met Amani's gaze squarely, and asked for a palace.
Amani suppressed a snort. If it wasn't love spells, it was riches, always.
But as Aladdin detailed what were quite modest requirements, as far as palaces go, it dawned on Amani that he wanted the palace for Maram, and Maram alone, for Maram was marrying someone else.
Amani stared at Aladdin in wonder. How could he be so calm, knowing the woman he adored would be another man's wife? What kind of man wasn't willing to fight for the woman he loved?
Amani hadn't stood by idly. No, he'd fought for her love and won it and…
…landed himself in his current predicament.
Perhaps there were better ways to go about winning a woman's heart, and her hand. For Maram was not married yet. And Amani owed it to Briska to see her daughter happy in marriage, as Briska herself had never been.
Amani bowed low before departing. He would build Maram a palace better than anything the Sultan had ever seen, and he would do everything in his power to find out where the girl's desires lay, and see that she had the husband her heart wished for. Whether it was the man she was going to marry or Aladdin or some foreign prince, it mattered not. He would grant the girl this one wish, for her late mother's sake. For she did not deserve her mother's unhappy fate.
Twenty-Six
It worked out better than Amani could have hoped. Briska lived, and her daughter would live happily ever after. Sure, Amani was still a slave, but he was happier than he could have hoped for. If he had to serve someone, Maram's new husband was hardly a bad choice, for he was a good man. If Amani told Aladdin how much Maram missed her mother, Aladdin might even order him to find Briska. One day, perhaps.
Lost in his daydream at what might be, Amani should have paid attention to Maram, who now stood with the lamp in her hand. His mistress.
Maram's eyes glowed, just like her mother's had when she attempted magic. But the power flowing through Maram was far more than Briska had ever commanded.
"Blood of the betrayed that binds this djinn, my father's blood that runs in my veins, too, will set us both free." Maram placed her bleeding hand on the lamp, smearing the stuff over the blackened brass. She turned her glowing eyes on Amani and threw the now useless lamp on the floor. "You are free. Find her, free her, and be happy."
It felt like waking up from a dream, a dream he'd believed was real. The fog lifted from Amani's brain, allowing him to think clearly for the first time in too long.
How could he possibly have considered himself happy, serving some peasant boy? Sure, the boy had honour and a good heart, and he'd won the heart of Briska's daughter, too, but that didn't give him the power to command the most powerful sorcerer in the world.
Amani considered the order Maram had given him, but he no longer felt a compulsion to obey. He truly was free. Free of his prison, free from slavery, but he would never be free of his debt to Maram.
So for the first time in his life, he willingly abased himself before someone.
"As you command, Princess. When I find her, I will tell her that you have found happiness, too. If you ever have need of me, you have only to call, and I will be there to grant your wish." He touched her hand, healing the cut she'd made to free him. Only then did Amani rise and incline his head to Aladdin, the man a moment ago he would have willingly served. "Enjoy your palace. Consider it my wedding gift to the princess. But if you ever hur
t her…know you will incur the enmity of the most powerful enchanter in the world. A man with no master. Not any more." He bit his finger until it bled, then traced a circle in the air. The portal opened, as he knew it would, and Amani stepped through.
Twenty-Seven
Amani stepped out of the portal and sank up to his knees in sand. In his absence, the desert and the thick stone walls had kept his home secure, but he hadn't counted on the desert itself invading his castle. Perhaps because this was a war his servants had fought while he lived here, but now they were gone.
It mattered not. When he returned here with Briska to make the desert castle her home, she would help him choose suitable servants. In the meantime…Amani closed his eyes, summoning a magical sandstorm to blast his palace clean.
He surveyed the tiles, laid at the command of one of his royal ancestors. The same one who had ordered the mosaics and frescoes on every wall and domed ceiling, from which he'd taken his inspiration for Maram's palace. Modern art, created for one of these new religions that had invaded the region, could not compare to this. Four hundred years it had stood, and it would outlast these religious fanatics, he was certain of it.
And these ancestral walls would witness his triumph as he found the woman he loved, and brought her home.
Amani ensconced himself on the floor of the entrance hall, beneath the frescoes of his ancestors hunting, and closed his eyes to begin his own quest.
He bit his lip, tasting blood, then cast a searching spell, letting it spiral out over the desert, looking for his lost love.
He concentrated on Briska's beloved face, breathing deep and steady to keep his focus. The spell must find her. Over sand and water, mountains and plains, forests and fields, army camps and cities, his spell flew, searching for what he did not find.
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