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

by Lucy Tempest

  She stiffened, edging away from me. “You can’t do that.”

  Since she was actually taking it seriously, I decided to capitalize on her naiveté. “Some days I was so hungry I could have eaten the next person I saw, so, yes, I would.”

  The incident with the ghoul this morning probably brought her some unwelcome visuals. She seemed to wilt as she scooted out the door. We followed.

  “That was a bit much,” Cora said.

  “It got her to shut up and move, didn’t it?”

  “Still, something did try to eat her this morning…” Suddenly the compassion on her face drained as her eyes shot daggers at Cherine’s back. “Shame it didn’t, though.”

  “What were those notes about, anyway?” I asked.

  Cora checked her note again, raising a brow at me. “They’re our responses.”

  “I get that.” I gestured impatiently. “Where did you get them?”

  “The boxes,” Cora said confusedly. “Which box did you pick?”

  “The lead one,” I said.

  After answering her, the realization hit me in a rush of dread. “I didn’t get a note. My box was empty!”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “Maybe Master Farouk forgot to replace the note after the last girl?”

  “No one else in our line picked lead. Fairuza, Belinda and Cherine picked gold and you picked silver.”

  “Maybe it was empty by accident? Did the minister say anything?”

  I shook my head, rethinking every one of my choices and answers, trying to figure out what I did wrong.

  The box had claimed that “Whoever chooses me must gamble all they have” and it had nothing inside. Why didn’t my choice get any kind of response, even one more denigrating than Cora’s? Or was that choice so bad it didn’t even warrant a response?

  That seemed to be the likeliest possibility. Who in her right mind would choose lead?

  But I had. Because I wasn’t in my right mind. I was still as clueless as I had been the first day I’d been tossed into this game with no rules and no plan. Like I had been tossed out into the cold, unforgiving world after my mother died.

  I’d survived the world. But there was no surviving losing the prince’s game before I found the lamp, and therefore losing Nariman’s.

  I had gambled all I had, like that note had said. And I had come out with a big, empty nothing, like the lead box I’d chosen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Next morning, a fancy send-off breakfast was held for us in the gigantic theatre room.

  The feast was spread on long tables before the low stage and podium. It was a nice gesture, I suppose.

  To me, it felt like a last meal before execution.

  The optimism that had assailed me yesterday after meeting Cyrus and the thought that I might not get eliminated had long evaporated. I was torn between being too nauseous to eat and wanting to stuff myself in case I didn’t get to see food ever again. Nariman would probably kill me along with the Fairborns. Or worse, she could leave me stranded in the desert. Either way, I’d end up dead.

  Cora, being the least stressed of us all, had two plates piled the highest and had dragged a round coffee table before our seats to accommodate them. Encouraged by her example, I kept myself off the edge by gorging myself as I listened to Cherine’s idle chatter.

  Finally, feeling about to burst, I pushed my plate away, and anxiety swamped me all over again.

  I cut through Cherine’s rambling. “I still don’t get what all those silly tasks were for!”

  “Me, neither,” Cora agreed through a mouthful of flatbread, spraying crumbs onto her plate. “Was that the etiquette test or the character evaluation? I couldn’t tell.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Cherine snapped, shoving a napkin in Cora’s face, before pouring coffee for herself into a two-inch-high glass. At least I thought it was coffee. It was a suspicious shade of turbid yellow. The coffeepot—a dallah—looked like some kind of exotic bird. Long, bulbous body, spire-like cap and a spout shaped like a crescent-shaped beak.

  Plucking the pot from her, I poured three cups and put one of the offered additives in each—cardamom, saffron, and a mixture of cloves and cinnamon. Might as well try everything I could while I could.

  “Why did we spend most of our time here doing nothing just to get tested for an hour on the last day?” I grumbled as I tasted the first one, grimacing at the bitterness rivaling my own right now. “Why not give us more tests, more chances?”

  “To be fair,” said Cherine with a sigh, “we were supposed to spend our time preparing for the test, so we have no excuses if we were unprepared.”

  Cherine being fair and reasonable? Now I’d heard it all.

  But if she was done whining, and had found wisdom overnight, I’d pick up where she’d left off. “But they didn’t exactly tell us what to expect.”

  “They’re not supposed to,” she said matter-of-factly, a wave of her tiny hand rattling her circular, gold bracelets. “We’re meant to be prepared from birth to impress the noblemen and their families with our mastery of many subjects, skills and fine arts, which we were mildly quizzed on yesterday. If you fail a test this easy, then you must be as clueless as a commoner.”

  So if I fail it would be because I was a pleb, not because of unfair rules or bad luck.

  That just made everything so much better.

  I let out a ragged exhalation to suppress my rising anxiety. “Right. Where’s the sugar?”

  Cherine quirked an eyebrow at me as she sipped from her tiny glass. “You don’t put sugar in coffee.”

  “Or milk?”

  “You put milk in your coffee?” Cherine nearly shouted. She wouldn’t have looked more horrified if I’d revealed I put fresh baby blood in it.

  “Then what do you put milk in?”

  “Tea!”

  “I put milk on pearl barley,” Cora piped up. “Actually I put the barley in the milk. Boil it in milk, really.”

  After a period of silence, Cherine declared, “You’re both animals.”

  “Why do people use animals as insults?” Cora frowned as she curiously sniffed her coffee. “All the animals I’ve met were much better company than most people. Or when they compare someone’s looks to animals as an insult. Have you seen cats and birds and horses?”

  “Send her back to the henhouse, please,” Cherine moaned dramatically. “If you compare someone to a cow here, you’ll be out of court before you can say moo!”

  “Excuse you, have you seen cows?” Cora’s voice sharpened. “Cows are lovely and beautiful creatures. Our mother goddess Gera is associated with cows, and being said to have cow-eyes is a huge compliment.”

  Cherine cast a sweeping arm to encompass the whole room. “See? This is why a foreigner can’t be the princess. You don’t know anything about the people here. They should really just call this ruse off and tell Cyaxares to quit horsing around.”

  “Again with the animal analogies,” I pointed out. “Though the note you got from the gold box was a kick in the face, huh?”

  She glared at me and popped a grape in her mouth. “Not as bad as yours, which was nothing. Something is always better than nothing.”

  I had to taunt her when I was in a far worse position, didn’t I? I would have preferred being kicked in the face by a horse to the nothing I got.

  “If you say so,” I mumbled.

  She jerked her head back and forth between Cora and me, her hair flailing around her bejeweled neck in a blur. “What is the matter with you two? Why aren’t you taking this more seriously?”

  If I took it more seriously, I’d have a heart attack.

  “Meh,” I replied.

  Cherine frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Just what it sounds like.”

  Cora dropped her cheek in her palm with a groan. “Ugh, by the time I get home I’ll be too late for the summer equinox preparations and I’ll have to do the leftover work.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

>   “It’s a festival we hold in The Granary. People come from all over the region to witness the shift from spring to summer around the Great House on Starset Hill. We have to make a lot of food, weave new baskets and make men out of wicker and burn them. ”

  Like the celebrations the Fairborns and I were going to partake in before Nariman came and ruined everything. If our ancestors who settled in Ericura—what I now realized was an island—mostly came from Arbore, then some had to have come from Campania as well. Those in the South did share Cora’s sun-infused coloring more than Bonnie’s roses and cream one.

  “I always help with the weaving…” Cora continued. “…but now I’m going to be stuck picking the fruits that are hardest to gather.”

  Someone her size should be able to easily reach most fruit trees, except for those native to the desert here. “Let me guess, dates?”

  She shook her head listlessly, cheek still cupped in her palm, squishing it further to shut her left eye. “Pomegranates.”

  Before I could ask how plucking pomegranates was harder than climbing palm trees, a velvet pouch hit our table with a rattling crash. It burst open, catapulting colorful glass pebbles that splashed into our cups.

  The shock wore off quickly, anger replacing it, elevating my sluggish with despondence heartbeat.

  Fairuza appeared in a satin grape-grey gown with a half-sleeve overlay. Complementing cream pearls adorned her fingers, earlobes and throat. I could also count her perfect teeth, as they were on full display today.

  “Souvenirs.” She set one hand on the back of my seat, the other on her hip, swaying gently from side to side. “To entertain each of you on the long trip home today.”

  Cherine fished a pebble out of her coffee, flicked it off with her thumb, hitting Fairuza’s chin. “What makes you so sure we’re going home and you’re not?”

  Rubbing her chin, now less gleeful and more subtly aggressive, Fairuza flung her glossy curls back. “Because it was a waste of time for you to haul yourselves over here at all. There’s only ever been a princess for a prince, which makes Ariane my only true rival, not any of you.”

  Cherine gaped at her, offended beyond expression. Of course, the only thing that could make her speechless had to be Fairuza.

  “What?” Fairuza smirked. “Did you think the prince was going to pick you, Lady Bed Wetter, over me? Or Ariane’s lesser copy, or the gargantuan farm girl? You must be delusional as well as stupid.”

  “You forgot me,” I chimed in, standing, pushing back my chair to unbalance her weight on it. “What’s my epithet?”

  “You?” Fairuza scoffed. “You’re not important enough to warrant one.”

  I wanted to feed her each of those ugly glass pebbles, or just smash the whole bag against her mouth and break all her pearly teeth. It would be hard to laugh at us then.

  All the judges filed into the room at that moment, stifling my wrath but spiking my bone-rattling dread.

  The greying Master ZuhaÏr and his waxed mustache stepped up on the podium before us, unfolding a scroll. “Ten names are on this list. If you are called, you are to thank your host, bid goodbye to your friends and exit the room quietly. Do not argue, protest or make any attempts to obtain a second chance. Am I clear?”

  A clang of metal hitting the floor came from our left. A waiter had bumped into a table near the door, knocking an empty tray onto the carpet.

  Cyrus!

  He patted around the carpet as if he had dropped something. “Apologies, Master.”

  Dismissing him, everyone turned their heads back to ZuhaÏr, who was less than pleased with the interruption. Cyrus rose to his feet. He was wearing a knee-length, embroidered black kaftan this time, and had his pants tucked into laced leather boots. I didn’t think it possible, but he looked ever more stunning—there was that word again—today. He quickly became busy with several tasks with another servant.

  There was no discreet way for me to get his attention as he rushed around the room, opening curtains and refilling glasses of water. As he passed by the judges’ platform, he was stopped by Princess Loujaïne. She yanked him back by the elbow, whether to order or reprimand him, I couldn’t tell. He smiled and nodded. I knew that smile, the customer service one. Looked like he’d done a lot of faking to please people in his life and the practiced niceties and placations had long become a reflex.

  He and the other servant ducked out and my nerves cranked up higher. Either ZuhaÏr was prolonging the wait on purpose or he liked to wax poetic about the honor of being here.

  Master Farouk was staring into space behind him and Mistress Asena and Princess Loujaïne had brought their heads together to trade hushed whispers.

  “As you know, it is a great privilege and honor for you to be here,” Master ZuhaÏr rambled on. “So don’t take your time here lightly. But don’t regret it, either. Being even considered as an option made you all better than every other girl in the kingdoms. That’s what we want you to take home with you, as well as a few other things.”

  On cue, Cyrus and the other boy came back, each with five gift bags hanging off their arms.

  As he passed by my side to reach ZuhaÏr’s, I did the only thing I could to catch his attention without being noticed. I pinched his backside.

  He jumped into an alarmed halt and checked behind him. Instant recognition eased his posture as he smirked cockily. “I assume you…stopped me to ply me with another threat?”

  “Just making sure you remember our deal because I’m going to need your help a lot sooner than we agreed. Like, right after this.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m going to get disqualified with nine others. Keep up!”

  “Don’t be too sure about that, you might have more time than you think.” With that, he headed off, winking at me over his shoulder.

  “When I call your name, stand and receive your gift pack, then our guards will escort you out.” ZuhaÏr cleared his throat and called out, louder than before. “From the cities of Cahraman itself— Lady Merve of Gül, Lady Lara of Sunstone and Lady Marihan of Anbur.”

  One stood immediately, angry. The second had to be pushed up by others, unwilling. The third took her time slumping up and around the seats, rubbing at her eyes sadly.

  Each took a gift bag off Cyrus’s arm and headed out. He smiled awkwardly at them and tried gently patting the sad Marihan of Anbur on the arm.

  “From the islands of Orestia, Miss Marissa of Lorthos and Duchess Belinda of Tritonia.”

  “There goes the first of them,” I heard Fairuza comment smugly.

  Belinda made sure to pass by Princess Ariane so they could hug one last time. “Write to me every week.”

  “I will,” Ariane promised fervently.

  Miss Marissa—whose name was the start of a tongue twister—was either doing her best to keep a blank face, or she had flat eyebrows and dead eyes. She followed Belinda out without acknowledging anyone or the gift bag that Cyrus tried to hand her.

  “From the Northland kingdoms, Lady Mariliese of Armorica, Countess Guenelle of Ursane and Baroness Crisela of Orcage.”

  Lady Mariliese was among the oldest at twenty-one. She didn’t seem surprised to hear her name, taking the path of the sad but graceful loser along with her gift bag, and even returning Cyrus’s uneasy smile as she passed him.

  Countess Guenelle, on the other hand, was big, blonde and cranky. She stomped up, making it well-known that she was not happy, and ripped her bag and Marissa’s from the boys, and slammed into Fairuza on her way out.

  Baroness Crisela was among the youngest, with her face mostly made of rosy cheeks and watery-blue eyes. She rose, curtsied to us, then to the table of elites, and took her bag without a word. Fairuza’s handmaiden, Agnë, tried to trip her on her way out.

  That made eight, which now left two.

  Fairuza turned, staring at us quizzically, eight of her fingers raised. She had expected all four of us to be out today, but only Belinda had left so far.


  That left room for—

  “From the Kingdom of Arbore, Baroness Cordelia of Briarfell and Lady Kiersa of Guelder City.”

  My jaw dropped.

  I was stunned speechless but Cora reacted for me when she yelled, “I’m staying?”

  Between the overwhelming shock and the debilitating relief, I missed seeing who Cordelia and Kiersa were.

  I wasn’t eliminated.

  I was staying for another ten days.

  I had more time to save the day!

  Master ZuhaÏr’s voice rang in my swimming head again. “Congratulations. You have made it into the next round. Tomorrow, the preparations for the harder tests, not just of character…” He took a dramatic pause before elaborating. “…but of quality, begin.”

  I sought out Cyrus’s gaze and found him already looking directly at my face, searching it as if it held an elusive answer. The corners of his bowed lips quirked up in a small, close-mouthed smile rather than his usual smirk. He waved discreetly at me.

  Though my body had cooled, nerves and worries having evaporated in sagging relief, I felt my face burning in an embarrassing blush.

  I cautiously raised a shaky hand and wiggled my fingers back at him.

  “How did you know?” I mouthed.

  I could tell he’d read my lips, but he didn’t answer. He just gestured for me to wait and slipped out the back of the room.

  Cherine’s loud voice burst past my daze. “We’re all still here.”

  “For now.” Cora sounded so disappointed as she rose, pulling us both up with her. “Shame, I could have used one of those goodie-bags.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be on your way out soon enough,” Fairuza called over the heads of the forty murmuring girls squeezing out the hall.

  “Why do you care so much?” I called back. “What’s the matter, Fay-Fay? Feeling a little threatened?”

  She didn’t get the chance to retort, the sea of girls carrying her out with them.

  “Cow,” Cherine spat.

  “Don’t call her a cow,” Cora reminded her.