by Lucy Tempest
Chapter Twenty
I bumped into Cyrus, his same shock stiffening my limbs.
We snatched confounded glances at each other, before snapping back to the scene unfolding before us, realizing what it was.
A window into the past.
Face flushed with joy and exertion, Jumana giggled as she turned the corner. The scene shifted as another girl followed, also in her nightgown, hair bouncing in its net, amber eyes alight with annoyance. A younger-than-me Nariman.
“Would you tell me what it is already?” Nariman complained. “Enough games!”
The scene shifted to follow them into a hall of bedrooms, some doors open to give a glimpse inside. Our view followed Jumana as she ducked into a room with soaring, stained-glass windows, cabinets stacked with jars and decanters and a bed that took up half the space.
Jumana launched herself on it, shrieking, “DORREYA!” scaring the sleeping girl awake.
Bolting upright, black hair in disarray was the young girl who’d become my mother.
Breath fled my lungs as I took her in. My memories of the face I’d grown up with had been almost gone. Now as I gaped at the chubby one void of dark circles, frown lines or a clear jawline, the fugue surrounding it was slashed apart with shard-sharp memories. I almost doubled over with the pain of the clarity.
The young Dorreya rubbed at heavy blue-grey eyes. “Juju, you menace, what was that about?”
“Gue-ess!” Jumana teased in a singsong, bouncing on her knees on the bed.
Dorreya crossed her arms. “No.”
Jumana threw up her hands in protest. “Oh, come on!”
“Would you tell us what it is already?” Nariman had arrived at the door, panting, her long hair unfurled from its hairnet, with a lanky, brown-eyed, freckle-faced girl looking over her shoulder.
“Can’t you at least try and guess?” Jumana pleaded.
Nariman dropped on the bed next to her and began to braid her hair. “We’re witches, Juju, not psychics.”
Sighing in defeat, Jumana reached into her nightgown and took out a letter with a broken, grey wax seal. “Remember our trip to the Isle of Iacoöt for that summit my uncle attended with envoys from across the Silent Ocean?”
“How can I forget?” Dorreya pinched her nose. “I feel like I still have ink in my eyes from that horrid squid.”
Nariman let out a snort. “I still can’t believe you tried to look down its tentacle like it was a telescope.”
“I still can’t believe they served live seafood!” Dorreya complained. “How did they expect me to eat something that was still squirming? Also—why?”
Jumana grimaced in disgust. “According to Uncle Faisal, the natives there claim live food tastes better.”
“Barbaric,” said the fourth girl—who had to be Hessa. “And then, how were we supposed to eat it when it kept running off our plate?”
“Like this.” Nariman got on all fours on the bed and pretended to chase something, all the while snapping her teeth.
All four broke out in peals of laughter.
My chest tightened over the sharp pain piercing it. To see them like this, young and untroubled and happy together. Especially when I knew how it had all ended, in misery and madness. It also swamped me in painful nostalgia for my days with Cora and Cherine.
Chest still shaking with giggles, Jumana waved the letter. “The point is, during that summit, we also met some of the Cahramani royal family.”
Nariman all but lit up. “I spoke with Prince Darius at that summit.”
“So did I.” Jumana beamed. “Extremely charming, wasn’t he?”
Hessa nudged Nariman with her elbow. “Extremely handsome, too.”
Nariman turned a deep shade of flustered. A reaction I didn’t think her capable of.
“And while you were meeting a charming, handsome prince…” Dorreya stuck out her tongue as if she was going to be sick. “…I got stuck at the guest table with his sister.”
Nariman’s embarrassment cooled into disdain. “Obnoxious, wasn’t she? Every time we tried to make small-talk with the other attendees’ entourage she cut us off.”
“And kept asking us awful questions,” Dorreya agreed. “The amount of condescending remarks about us being witches had me wishing I could turn her into the frog she asked if we ever turned anyone to.”
“Please hold off on cursing royalty,” Jumana chuckled, both alarmed and gleeful at the idea. “Especially those we might have to live with.”
Nariman’s brows shot up. “What do you mean?”
Covering her wide grin with the letter, excitement danced in her bright green eyes—Cyrus’s eyes. “Uncle Faisal has forwarded a letter Prince Darius has sent him. He has just had his coming-of-age ceremony, and although he has plenty of Cahramani noblewomen that would suit him, he said he has set his sights beyond his kingdom.”
“And?” Nariman and Dorreya asked in unison, the former hopeful, the latter confused.
Jumana pulled out the letter from its envelope and started reading.
“In the best interest of both our nations, I believe it is time to unite, not just in peace and trade, but in blood as well. It is with great pride and respect that I put forth this offer of marriage between myself, the Crown Prince of Cahraman, and a member of your house.” She gulped, excitement adding an ever-increasing quiver to her voice as she announced, “I, Prince Darius of House of Shamash, ask for the hand of the daughter of your late cousin, Jamal, Princess Jumana of House Morvarid!”
The room erupted in excited squeals as Dorreya and Hessa slammed into Jumana, squishing her in a bouncing group hug.
Nariman was the slowest to respond, cracking a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you understand what this means?”
“It means I don’t have to marry Azal!” Jumana broke apart from the girls to squeak in relief, before she nudged Dorreya. “That gives you the chance to marry him.”
Dorreya blushed, lowering her eyes. “No, he’ll never marry me.”
“Of course he will!” Hessa exclaimed, nudging Dorreya’s other side. “He loves you! A blind man can see that.”
“She means he can’t marry her,” Nariman said, suddenly somber. “A prince can’t marry a witch, let alone a former priestess.”
“Azal is so far down the line of succession that no one will care,” Jumana argued. “Are cadet branches even counted in the line of succession?”
“Careful, Juju, remember how your uncle ended up on the throne to begin with,” Nariman said as she gazed down at the gold snake with ruby eyes that wound itself around half her forearm. A gift from someone, judging by the longing in her eyes. “Faisal and his sons, and whatever sons they’ll have could all expire like Faisal’s own brothers. One weird death after the other, until we suddenly find Almaskham ruled by an accountant.”
“Azal is being groomed for the royal treasurer position, not a bookkeeper in the treasury.” Jumana wrinkled her nose at her playfully, before bouncing and squealing again. “But honestly, what do you think? Isn’t that the most exciting news in the world?”
Nariman clearly didn’t think so. Disappointment gleamed in her eyes before she suppressed it in a smile. “It means that one day, you will be Queen of Cahraman.”
Judging by her open-mouthed shock, the thought hadn’t occurred to Jumana. “Queen? That sounds pretty daunting.”
Nariman shrugged. “If you’re afraid you might not up to the task, then decline his offer. Nowadays, being a queen is more than just pushing out heirs.”
“Don’t scare her.” Dorreya gave Nariman a playful shove. “King Xerxes isn’t old yet, and chances are Jumana will be a princess for a long, long time.”
Relaxing at this more favorable verdict, Jumana reached out to pull them back in a collective hug. “Oh, can you just imagine it, girls? I go to Cahraman to marry Darius, and you all come as my ladies-in-waiting, and we’ll all start a new chapter, full of adventure and romance.”
“That may well be,” Nariman m
umbled, tracing the snake bracelet on her arm. “Just don’t raise your hopes too much.” At the girls’ disapproving glares, Nariman smiled, an attempt to appear playful, too. “It’s better to be prepared if things don’t go the perfectly rosy way you hope. In this world, your expectations could be ripped from you at any moment.”
The girls launched into teasing her about her usual pessimism. But I could see this was the moment bitterness first tapped her heart with its black touch.
Suddenly, the window began to fade into the air before us.
Cyrus launched himself at it, bellowing “Mother!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Before I could tackle him away, the window winked out, leaving no trace of it behind.
Cyrus only hurtled to the next one.
I staggered after him, wrapped my arms around his middle. “Don’t even think of trying to go in there! This isn’t another place, it’s another time!”
He stiffened beneath my arms, before he sighed, nodded. I kept my arms around him anyway as we stared at the scene that played out before us.
It was the same four girls, but in Sunstone Palace. In the Blue Opal quarters in specific. What I’d shared with four other girls during the first phase of the Bride Search. The only different things were the bed dressings and canopies, which changed color and texture magically to suit their users.
Jumana was sitting on my old bed, facing the door, hugging her middle and bawling. My mother dropped next to her and pulled her tight into her chest, shaking all over herself.
“What do we do?” Nariman entered our view and began to pace, her hair for once unbound and looking like she’d been running distraught fingers through it.
“Jumana, what do we do?” she repeated, shrill and shaky.
Jumana cried harder and Dorreya’s eyes were wide and blank with shock.
Nariman kicked the chest before the opposing bed and let out a frustrated screech. “We’re all going to die here!”
“We’re not going to die,” Dorreya said, trembling voice betraying her statement.
Nariman rounded on her, back hunched and hands fisted. “The king’s already executed Hessa! What makes you think he won’t have your and my heads next?”
“Because we’ll fix this,” my mother said, holding Jumana tighter. “W-whatever it is, we’ll fix it, and Xerxes will realize that he was wrong.”
“No!” Jumana sobbed. “I can’t stay here, even if you reverse it. I can’t.” She turned devastated eyes to Nariman. “I want to go home.”
“You can’t go home, you’re Darius’s wife now,” Nariman said, shaking. “Divorce doesn’t exist in Cahraman!”
“It does if the marriage isn’t fruitful, just like in Almaskham,” Dorreya protested, voice flailing like her frame. “Azal sent me a letter saying the court will grant him a divorce from Darius’s sister because she appears to be barren.”
“Dorreya, you idiot, that’s what got us into this mess!” Nariman stomped, wound up with white-faced terror. “Giving Jumana contraceptive potions was what got Hessa executed, don’t you get that? If she continues to prevent her pregnancy, it will be our necks next on the chopping block!”
“I didn’t—didn’t think—” Jumana sobbed. “I didn’t know they expected me to get pregnant immediately.”
“You did know, Jumana, and you didn’t care!” Nariman kicked something across the room in her agitation.
“I-I just wanted a year or two alone with him—I-I liked what we have the way it is, wanted to get to know him and the kingdom more before I started having children.”
“Well, thanks to your selfish whims, one of us is dead.”
“Nariman, please stop,” Dorreya whimpered, tears starting to silently run down her cheeks. “She gets it.”
“No, I don’t think she does…” Nariman’s eyes suddenly widened, as if with an earth-shaking realization. She crashed to her knees before them, took Jumana by the arms and shook her. “The lamp, where is it?”
Jumana, perplexed, flopped over the bed to open her chest, took out the gold lamp from its very bottom. “W-why do you want it?”
Nariman grabbed it, a feverish look in her eyes. “Because according to Aurelia this lamp has a genie that answers the wishes of trueborn royalty. She told us to tell you about it only in a dire situation. This is as dire as it gets. You can use it to fix all of this! You can wish to bring Hessa back and erase all suspicion of witchcraft from the king’s mind. Or even reverse time so you can reject Darius’s proposal and none of this would happen. Then you marry a man from our land, who will answer to your family, and have no power over you like Xerxes has absolute power over all of us!”
“But I don’t want to leave Darius!” Jumana wailed, tears dripping off her face and onto the lamp. “I just want to leave the palace. It’s just…the pressure of being his wife, all the things they ask of me, not just giving him an heir but all the lessons and duties and limitations, all the enemies from within and without and-and I just can’t. Nari—if I can’t handle this now, what’s it going to be like when I’m queen?”
“You should have thought about this before you married him! I told you it wasn’t going to be all rosy and romantic and you all thought me a pessimist!”
A hiccup tore out of Jumana. “But I d-didn’t even imagine it was going to be this hard, thought it was going to be like my cousins’ marriages.”
“Which part of ‘Crown Prince’ did you not understand?” Nariman stuttered in fear-fueled fury. “Darius isn’t Azal or Ramez or Zaher. He didn’t want to marry you to keep money in the family, or to elevate his status. He wanted a queen who would tie him to the reigning prince of Almaskham and to one day rule by his side!”
“I didn’t know all that!” Jumana sobbed. “I also didn’t know the king is mad—and that Darius can’t do a thing to fight his father…but if-if we leave…”
“Darius can’t and won’t leave…and Hessa is dead! But if you use the lamp, you can fix everything.” Nariman heaved up, shoved it in Jumana’s hand. “Read the script on the lid three times while rubbing the lamp.”
Jumana tripped over reading the words that I now knew by heart and understood though they were in a foreign tongue, while rubbing the lamp. The lamp began to smoke and Nariman rushed away to lock the door.
Jumana looked imploringly at Dorreya. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just thought I would marry a prince like my cousins and go away with him to govern a city in the kingdom, and that the contraceptives would give us a chance to live as man and wife first before we brought a child into our midst. It wasn’t selfish! Selfish would be if-if I wish he never married again if I die, or if-if I wish to keep you beside me for the rest of my life. I just wanted a little time to myself. It’s not like I wish I was barren—”
“Wish granted,’ said a deep, rumbling voice.
“No!” Nariman was rushing back, looking stricken.
The genie had emerged from the lamp, a mass of ever-shifting blue flames that hovered high by the ceiling. It was a fraction of the size it had been when Nariman had summoned it.
It took a second for Jumana and Dorreya to process what had just happened then they both screamed.
“No!” Jumana jumped up, wringing her hands at the genie, bracelets ringing as they clashed. “No, no, please. I didn’t mean—I didn’t wish for that, please, undo it.”
“Mistress, I’m afraid you have run out of wishes,” said the genie calmly. “I owed you only three.”
“She only made one,” Nariman shouted at it. “And not the way you took it!”
“Her intention cannot be inferred from her words.” It sounded almost amused, as if this disaster entertained it. “I hear ‘I wish’ and I grant that wish. Simple as that.”
“And she only said I wish once,” Nariman now roared.
“She said it three times, and her every wish will be granted.”
Nariman swung around to Jumana. “What else did you wish for?”
Jumana shook
her head frantically. “I-I don’t know…”
Nariman turned to Dorreya, who stammered, “I don’t remember…she was just talking!”
Nariman practically pulled her hair out. Jumana collapsed on the spot.
Dorreya followed her to the ground, struggling to hold her up, looked pleadingly up at the genie and sobbed, “There must be something you can do. You possess unfathomable magic, surely you can grant one more wish.”
“Not to her.”
Nariman snatched up the lamp. “Jumana, relinquish your ownership.”
“What…?” she whimpered.
Nariman shook the lamp at her. “Relinquish. Your. Ownership.”
“Is this the-the way it works?” Jumana sobbed. “A-and you-you said only trueborn royalty can command the genie.”
“I’ll risk it. Now do it.”
“What if it hurts you? Y-you saw what it did to me!”
“JUST DO IT!” Nariman screamed, a shrill, desperate screech that rattled my bones.
Catching the lamp with unsteady hands, Jumana raised it to the genie, out of breath as she wept, “I relinquish you.”
The genie had begun to spiral back into the lamp when Nariman took it, rubbed it while reciting the summons.
The genie stopped its retreat, re-expanded, looking intrigued. “Mistress, one who has set me free, wishes I will grant thee but no more than three.”
Nariman worked her jaw, amber eyes set on the genie as she raised the lamp, not in supplication like Jumana, but in a statement of ownership.
She started to say something, stopped, frowned in concentration. Then she carefully said, “Genie, can you bring back the dead?”
“This is among the things you must never wish for.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What other things won’t you grant?”
“Matters of life, death and the heart.”
“What about time?”
“That, too.”
“What good are you for then?”
“Everything else.”
“What about will and memory?”
“Nariman, no please…” Jumana pleaded among escalating sobs. “D-don’t wish for me to leave Darius—or for h-him to leave me—I-I love him…”