Thief of Cahraman: A Retelling of Aladdin (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 1)

by Lucy Tempest

  The first was “What flies without wings?” to which he answered: “time.”

  The second was “You heard me before, you’ll hear me again, then I die ’till you call me again” to which he answered: “echo.”

  And the last was:

  “Made of fire and trapped in a hold

  That won’t expire until I am told

  Bestowing riches and miracles untold

  But one must be wary of wishes within

  My prison that glistens

  And the mischief I bring”

  To which, after much thought, he answered “Djinni.”

  The simurgh flew off, leaving behind three feathers, to burn if he ever needed its help.

  I flipped through more pages, found a collection of stories about the places and creatures Esfandiar encountered. Some were by other explorers. Each story had a few ink illustrations.

  I stopped at one in particular. It had a man with long fair hair standing before the massive chimera, holding up one of its feathers with the subtitle: The White Shadow of Avesta and the Simurgh.

  That man reminded me very much of Cherine’s ghoul.

  I closed the book and put it back on the table, only one thing on my mind: I wanted this book.

  But since I couldn’t shove it down my dress and slip away with it, I might as well ask.

  “Is there another copy of this somewhere around here?”

  Master Farouk’s thick brows rose, adding to his wide-eyed confusion. “There is. Why?”

  “I want to borrow it.”

  He pushed the book back into my hands. “You can keep this one. I have others.”

  Wow. This was easier than I imagined. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.” He gestured before him. “Have a seat.”

  I looked sideways as I sat down, and found the green-eyed thief was now closer, stealing sips from one of the glasses on his tray. I thought he looked…excited?

  Hoping he’d remain there for me to catch after I was finished, I checked everyone else in the room. Cora and Cherine stood by the doors we’d come through, the size difference between them even more apparent at this distance and slightly comical.

  Not so was the way Cherine was darting restless glances around with her arms folded tightly against her chest. Did she think the ghoul would appear to her even here? Or was she, like me, starting to question her sanity?

  “Pour the tea,” Farouk ordered.

  Without hesitation, I got up and started arranging everything like I did back at the Poison Apple tavern. I opened a box full of loose tealeaves and measured two scoops into the teapot. Then using the skirt of my dress to pick up the hot kettle, I poured the steaming water over them. I waited until the water was stained a rich, dark red, then picked up the cups, placing one in front of each of us. I tapped around for the sugar and he offered me a footed metal container packed with sugar cubes. I asked if he took sugar, and he said two, so I scooped two cubes in each glass, then set a hand on the teapot’s lid as I poured the tea, his cup first, then mine.

  I stirred the sugar then sat back down and pulled the chair in closer. Only then did I realize that I had committed a grave mistake. Highborn ladies didn’t serve those they outranked.

  Master Farouk’s face was unreadable, telling me nothing about his judgment as he blew the steam off his cup. He took a tentative sip, again showing no reaction.

  Then he set the cup down and said, “Next task.”

  He handed me the cane. It was a literal cane, a hollow, yellowed sugar cane that was attached to a hooked handle.

  “What do I do with this?”

  “Break it.”

  I noticed the nine other girls currently being tested trying to snap their canes. One was banging it on the floor. Another seemed to have twisted her wrist in an attempt to snap it and was crying in obvious pain as the cane slipped from her hands to the floor.

  I tried breaking it against my knee. It didn’t work. That meant brute force wouldn’t cut it. I mulled over the problem for moments before I got another idea.

  I held the middle of the cane over the coals, rotating it until it burned on all sides. Then I banged the charred part against the edge of the table and the bottom half snapped off.

  I raised my eyes only to find the thief had moved straight behind the examiners, holding his tray, but still serving no one.

  I fought hard against my straying attention, trying to keep it on the task and away from how divine he was in every type of lighting.

  “What’s the point of this?” I asked, raising the broken cane.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Now—” Farouk slid the three boxes to his right to the space between us, swept his hand above them. “Choose a box.”

  On each box a note was written in an elaborate script.

  Over the gold box the note said: Whoever chooses me will get what they most desire.

  On the silver: Whoever chooses me will get what they truly deserve.

  And on the lead box: Whoever chooses me must gamble all they have.

  Unless it had a key to the vault and an invisibility cloak along with it, then the gold box did not have what I most desired. And unless the silver had a way of getting us out of here and back to the life the Fairborns and I had, then it wasn’t what I truly deserved.

  I was already gambling my life to get out of this mess. Might as well pick the last one.

  I flipped open the lid of the lead box.

  It was empty.

  I raised my eyes to Farouk, confused.

  He only nodded, shutting the box. “That’s all we have for you today. You can go now.”

  As if taking the dismissal as an order to himself, the thief rushed towards the closest door.

  I erupted to my feet, barely curtsying to Master Farouk before I chased after him.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped and turned, looking surprised for a moment, before he bowed his head. “Yes, my lady?”

  Checking to see if anyone was watching, I found many eyes on us. I took a glass off his tray, to pretend this was why I’d stopped him.

  I sipped the drink that smelled of apricots and almost choked. “Gah, what’s that taste?”

  “I reckon that’s the rosewater. Awfully strong, isn’t it?”

  “Kind of is.”

  He bowed again then turned to leave. I rushed after him.

  At the door, I yanked him back by the collar, almost making him spill his drinks. “Hey!”

  He didn’t seem to mind, balancing the tray expertly and turning back to me with a smile. “Yes?”

  I was right about the melting iron part. I could feel my bones turning to jelly at the simple spread of his lips. But this wasn’t the time for me to ogle and swoon. And I wasn’t a waitress anymore, invisible to all I watched and eavesdropped on.

  It seemed he was, though. It seemed people ignored those who served them in every world. Thankfully, those who’d turned to investigate my actions were once again watching the main event. I had to make this quick before I attracted their attention again.

  “You were in the vault last week, weren’t you?” I asked urgently.

  His eyes widened a fraction before avoiding mine. “No.”

  “I saw you.”

  His eyes returned to mine, narrowed to wicked slits. “You sure it was me?”

  “I’d recognize your face anywhere.”

  His smile grew smug, not bothering to deny my claim. “I’m that memorable, huh?”

  “You’ll be pretty easy to spot once I report you to the guards.”

  His brows furrowed in mock shock. “You’d do that?” Then he relaxed into that teasing smile again. “What do you care if I was in the vault?”

  “So, you admit you were inside it?”

  He leaned closer, whispering, “Yes, I was. And?”

  My voice lowered to match his. “What did you steal?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing the king would miss.”

  “How many times have
you been in there?”

  A perfect eyebrow rose. “What is this, an interrogation? Are you angling to become a palace guard once you’re disqualified?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  He laughed lightly, shaking his head. That messed up his parted fringe, scattering the wavy brown locks that hung over his eyes. “No, not really. The most you could aim for is becoming the lady-in-waiting to a princess.”

  The idea of waiting on Fairuza made being eaten by the beast of Rosemead sound appealing.

  “Have you been down there more than once or not?” I said between gritted teeth.

  “What’s it to you? I doubt you’d have much use for a few daggers.”

  I frowned. “Planning an assassination?”

  His smile became lopsided, an amused smirk that made my blood fizz. “I just found that silver blades are required for certain potions, or at least that’s what the apothecary texts claim. Crush the moonseeds with the tip of a silver blade,” he pontificated, waving his free hand to mime the ritual. “Then use the blunt side to squeeze out the juice.”

  I smacked his hand. “Can you quit it? I’m trying to be serious here.”

  His grin widened as he shook the sting out. “Why would you ever do that? Being serious gives you frown lines.”

  “Not the point.” I almost stomped my foot in frustration but I involuntarily felt for bumps on my forehead, forcibly relaxing my brow muscles as I realized they were actually sore. I must have been frowning a lot lately. I persisted, “How many times have you been down there?”

  “My answer depends on why you’re asking,” he teased as he held out the tray toward me, pointing to the glasses on the other side of it, the ones filled with the dark burgundy drink. “I think you need to calm down. Try the hibiscus. You’ll like it better, since I take it you’re not fond of rosewater.”

  “Or apricots,” I shuddered as I took the glass he was offering me.

  His nod was sympathetic. “I’ve found that I can’t stand the taste of anything orange. Apricots, carrots, and, well, oranges.”

  “That’s nice,” I hissed. “But you really need to stop dodging my questions.”

  The corners of his bright eyes crinkled and heart-melting dimples formed in his cheeks as he chuckled. “You’re focused, I like that.”

  “Well?”

  “Shouldn’t I have the honor of knowing who’s threatening to report me first?”

  I mock curtsied. “Call me Ada.”

  He bowed fully this time, tucking his free arm under his chest. “Call me Cyrus.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cyrus.” I glared at him impatiently. “How did you get into the vault?”

  “Nothing is going to shake you off, is it?”

  “No.”

  He straightened, again making me aware how much taller he was than me, appearing amused and intrigued. “I have a…friend who knows how to sneak around undetected. He’s taught me a few tricks.”

  Could he mean the ghoul? He might, since that creature got around unseen by everyone. So far, only Cherine and I had seen him.

  But maybe I was assuming too much. Maybe this friend was just a normal but equally useful person. “Is your ‘friend’ a guard here?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. He is a guardian.”

  “Can you bring me your friend? To take me into the vault?”

  “I could,” he said coyly. “But you complain about me dodging your questions when you’ve hopped over mine. What are you looking for and why do you want it?”

  “It’s kind of an I’ll-know-it-when-I-see-it situation. I need to get back into that vault as soon as possible and have enough time to look around for it.”

  “Odd,” he mused. “Thieves usually have a clear idea of what they’re after.”

  “I’m a bit of a rebel,” I said sarcastically.

  He looked me square in the eye, a mischievous glint in his. “Oh, I bet you are.”

  His voice had dipped to a low, velvety timbre that made my fingers spasm and my heart stumble.

  But this wasn’t the time to get flustered. I needed to pin him down, not the other way around.

  “So, when can I meet your friend?” I persisted.

  “Seeing as somebody exposed our trips to the vault…” His emphatic glance left me in no doubt who he blamed for that. “…patrols have been checking there every night. I’d say the first chance we have at getting there undetected again is when the stationed guards get reassigned, which should be tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. Also known as Elimination Day.

  Damn it. That would be too late.

  But…maybe it wouldn’t be. I’d expected to be cut for sure, but after seeing most of the contestants bumbling their way through the test, maybe I wouldn’t be.

  I squared my shoulders, clinging to this new hope. “Fine. If I survive Elimination Day, you’re taking me down to the vaults.”

  He held out a hand to me. “Deal!”

  Without thinking, I put my hand in his.

  He had a wide palm and long fingers, a powerful yet sensitive hand, made to grip a sword or the bow of a violin. My hand looked tiny and delicate in his, though I’d never thought of myself as either.

  With a flick of his wrist, he turned our handshake into a light grasp on my fingers as he raised my hand to meet his kiss.

  The moment his lips touched my hand, something overwhelming surged inside me.

  I barely fought back the most idiotic, ridiculous urge to blurt out, “Rob the vault and run away with me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What does he think he’s playing at?”

  The yell made me jump and whirl around. By the time I realized it was only Cherine stomping towards another door and turned back to Cyrus, he’d given me the slip.

  Sighing, feeling at least relieved to have finally found and talked to him, even cut a deal with him, I turned my attention back to Cherine and Cora, strode to catch up with them.

  Cherine was loudly expressing her displeasure at the crumpled note in her fist. “What is this nonsense?”

  “Did Farouk write you reports?” I asked as I came up behind her.

  With a startled shriek, she jumped around, arms raised protectively. “Where did you pop up from? Where have you been?”

  I raised my glass. “Getting a drink. When are we going to eat?”

  “Should be now.” Cora looked back to check the clock behind the examiners. “They’re probably going to test if our eating habits are worthy, too.”

  The clock was made of pinewood, carved into a two-headed, claw-footed bird. It said eleven o’clock. And they hadn’t let us have breakfast yet. Most establishments I’ve worked in were ready to serve by eight. I realized with a start that my appetite had returned for the first time since I’d Nariman had stolen me into this world. My stomach even grumbled.

  What I’d give for a greasy pub breakfast right now.

  “Forget food. What did you get?” Cherine tried snatching Cora’s note but she held it up way out of her reach.

  “You first,” Cora insisted.

  “I asked first!”

  “And I have longer arms.”

  Shimmying in a frustrated little dance, Cherine finally gave in, holding out her note.

  Cora and I moved in to read it.

  All that is gilded might be precious or of no matter

  A golden casket is as worthwhile as a noble name,

  The body within the first and wielding the latter

  Will fill with maggots all the same.

  I tried hard not to laugh. “Ouch. Farouk wrote this?”

  “No, Prince Cyaxares did.” Cherine pouted, hugging herself. “It’s his handwriting.”

  Our prince was a snarky poet. I was impressed.

  “You don’t know what he looks like but you know his handwriting?” Cora asked, amazed.

  “We corresponded occasionally, but I haven’t actually seen him since I was five.”

  “What about you?” I asked Cora.

>   Cora shrugged, handing me her note. It was an equally poetic yet more caustic reply.

  The median choice is well and good, but often a silly mistake.

  Picking silver to conceal greed is the empty gesture of a vacant head.

  Forgoing gold but avoiding lead is an uncertain stance to take,

  One indulgent, the other humbling, picking neither is pitiful instead.

  Even if covetous fools and wavering cowards are equally fake

  Fools might have their use, but cowards have none till they’re dead.

  Cherine’s note was a jab but Cora’s was an insult. Just reading it made me feel like I had been slapped. Indecisiveness seemed to be a bigger problem to the prince than plain avarice, predictability and superficiality. That painted a clearer picture of him in my mind, of what kind of person he was.

  “This is…” I tried to commiserate, but I was kind of lost for words. I just shrugged and took a sip of my burgundy drink.

  It was rich, sweet and less sour than it smelled. But from its flowery undertones, I could tell this hibiscus was made from petals rather than a fruit. And Cyrus had been right; I did like it better. I hoped he was right about everything else.

  Cora nodded. “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s because you’re a farm girl,” Cherine said meanly, bordering on a childish whine. “It’s a wonder you can read.”

  I suppressed the urge to kick her for that.

  “My mother is the leader of the farming valley, of course I can read,” Cora retorted, offended, cheeks turning pink with anger. “What do you have against farmers, anyway?”

  “You’re all sunburnt and dirty and sound funny and have no class,” Cherine hissed, wild-eyed, looking even more hyper than she usually was. “And you don’t wear shoes indoors.”

  “Work-boots track dirt and mud all over the place,” Cora exclaimed. “That’s why we take our shoes off outside the house!”

  “Girls. Breakfast,” I reminded them, trying to put an end to this spat.

  Cherine glared at me. “Forget your stupid breakfast. I think I just failed this test!”

  I was too tired and hungry for this.

  I bent down, almost pressing my nose against hers. “If you think you’re that much more important than food, I guess I could always chomp a few bites off your arm.”