“That wasn’t your fault,” he says. “Loving someone is never wrong. And like you said, it’s not a choice. It just happens, and we’re all helpless in its power.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that the consequences are disastrous. As the poets say, shake hands with a jinni, and you shake hands with death.”
“And what if you weren’t a jinni? What if you were free from their rules?”
I stare at him. His jaw tightens, his eyes steely with determination that frightens me to my core. A cloud drifts across the face of the crescent moon, and the courtyard darkens. Here and there, the grass is still bent where Aladdin and I danced just hours earlier. I drop my gaze and glare at it, shaking from head to toe.
“Don’t say it, Aladdin. Don’t you even think it.” Dread rises in me like a storm cloud, dark and menacing.
Aladdin moves closer. He takes my hands. His skin is warm and crackling with energy, setting me on fire.
“I have one wish left,” he murmurs. “And this one is for you.”
“No, Aladdin! Don’t speak it. Don’t make the Forbidden Wish. The cost—”
“Damn the cost. Zahra, I wish—”
I stop him with a kiss.
Because it is the first thing I think of to stop the terrible words. Because he fills me with light and hope and deep, deep fear. Because I have been longing to for days.
I feel shock splinter through him, his body going rigid. Then he relaxes, melting into me, stepping forward until I am caught between him and the wall, the torch crackling beside me. His hands slide down my back, over my hips and thighs, leaving a trail of fire. His heart beats fast enough for the both of us, its thunderous pulse echoing through me.
I bury my hands in his dark hair, fingers knotting around those thick locks. Desire pulls at my stomach, and I lean into him, lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist. He lifts me, and my other leg coils around him, my skirts sliding up my thighs, my back pressed against the column.
His lips are soft and warm and gentle, underlined with barely restrained urgency. I cannot get enough of him. I pull his kurta over his head and let it fall on the floor. I press my hands against his bared chest, feel his heart against my palm, his lungs rising and falling. His shoulder is knotted with the scar from the arrow he took for me. He kisses me again, this time more strongly, and I run my hands down his jaw and neck, over his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back.
He turns, without letting me go or breaking our kiss, and we tumble onto the soft divan. Aladdin holds himself over me, his abdomen clenched and his hair hanging across his forehead. His lips wander downward, to my chin, to the curve of my jaw, to my neck.
My hands are ravenous, exploring the planes and angles of his body. His fingers find mine, and our hands knit together. He raises them over my head, pressing them into the pillow beneath my hair, as his kisses trace my collarbone, and then he sinks lower, parting the buttons of my dress and pressing his lips to my bare stomach.
I gasp and open my eyes wide, my borrowed body coursing with sensations I have never felt, never dared to feel, never thought I could feel.
“Aladdin,” I murmur. “We shouldn’t . . .”
“Sh.” He silences me with a kiss, and I lift my chin to meet him. A warm wind rushes through my body, stirring embers and setting them aflame. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to think about consequences. I only want Aladdin, everywhere.
I wish—
No. No, I can’t wish. The cost is too high for both of us.
“Stop,” I say, my voice laced with treacherous weakness.
He lifts his eyes to mine. “Why?”
“Stop,” I say more firmly.
I shove him off me and sit up, my face in my hands, my hair a curtain to shield me. Aladdin doesn’t move, just stares at me, still breathing heavily.
“Zahra? What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” I lift my head and burst to my feet. “You don’t understand. This can’t happen!”
“I’m sorry.” He rises to his knees, hands spread. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please—”
“Leave me alone!” I run through the door and slam it behind me, then sag against it, half panting, half sobbing, in the empty hallway. How did I let this happen? How could I have been so weak?
“Zahra?” He stands on the other side of the door, his voice muffled. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not what you think it is,” I tell him. “You don’t feel anything for me. You’re just drawn to my power, to the wishes I’ve granted you.”
“No . . .” But his voice is uncertain.
Feeling the worst kind of traitor, I say, “I’ve been a fool to walk in this form around you. I’m not human, Aladdin. Nothing about me is right for you.” I open the door and there he is, his hair mussed and his chest glistening with sweat, standing with that lamb-in-the-rain look that cuts through all my defenses. But I stand firm.
“This,” I say, gesturing at myself, “this isn’t me. This isn’t what I look like. This body you see belonged to someone else, long, long ago, and like the monster I am, I stole it. It is a mask. A lie.”
“I don’t care what you look like.”
“You say that, but you do. Would you have kissed me if I looked like this?” With a burst of smoke, I shift to a wrinkled crone. Aladdin swallows but doesn’t look away. “Or like this?” I shift into a scarred, ugly man with warts on my face. Aladdin blanches.
Shifting back to my girl form, I sigh deeply and tug at my clothes. “This is just a shape. You’re not seeing me.”
“Then show yourself to me,” he pleads. “I want to see you, Zahra. I want to know who you really are.”
I stare at him, then, without a word, slowly shift into a whirling column of red smoke glowing with red light.
“I have no form,” I say, my voice shifting and multiplying, a dozen voices speaking at once. “I have no name. I am the Slave of the Lamp, and your will is my will. Your wishes are my commands.”
He shakes his head stubbornly but takes a step backward. I swell and advance, driving him deeper into the room, flashing from within like a thundercloud. I grow and fill the air, driving him choking and coughing to his knees. I press my smoky hands against the walls, curl around the columns, overwhelm him.
“Zahra, stop!” he cries. “Please!”
At once I shift and stand before him as a girl once more. Cautiously he looks up, his eyes wide with pain.
“Do you see now?” I ask tonelessly.
He’s breathing heavily, his bare chest beaded with sweat. “Just answer me one question. Do you feel anything for me? Is there even a chance—”
“No.” Gods, how the lie burns my tongue.
He hesitates, then nods once. His eyes flood with confusion and hurt, and he rises and turns away from me, his shoulders hunched.
Bowed beneath the weight of shame, I turn and go to the door. I pause before stepping through to say, “I never wanted it to come to this. I’m sorry.”
Then I flee down the corridor, bumping into a smoldering brazier. It rocks precariously, lit embers raining to the floor and bursting around my feet like tiny exploding stars. I lean against the wall, my face in my hands, for several long minutes. I’ve never so felt out of control before, my body making decisions before my mind can catch up. I’m still shaking, and I breathe in and out through my mouth, trying to calm myself.
I shouldn’t have kissed him, Habiba. But I didn’t know what else to do. The words were there, rising in his throat, words of freedom, words of death. Better to kiss him and leave him than to let him make the Forbidden Wish.
I must find a way out of the city, to set Zhian free and then get as far from here as possible before I become any more entangled with this human boy.
Dimly, I realize someone nearby is shouting, and I pull myself ou
t of my fog. Something is happening at the other end of the palace. A servant runs past me, laden with scrolls. I call to him, but he ignores me and hurries on. I follow swiftly, and the shouting grows louder. Then, over the sound, cuts a sharp and chilling wail.
“The king!” cries the voice. “The king is dying!”
Chapter Eighteen
“ZAHRA!”
I’m running through the palace when I hear Nessa’s shout, and I turn to see her hurrying down the corridor. I wait for her to catch up. She’s breathless and wild-eyed, her dreadlocks slipping free of the knot they’d been bound in.
“Did you hear?” she asks.
“Yes. Where’s Princess Caspida?”
“With her father. I’m headed there now.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Nessa and I race down the corridor. Word must be spreading of the king’s bad turn, because people are beginning to emerge from their rooms, and the halls are filled with whispers.
We reach the king’s chambers, which are near Caspida’s and just inside the lamp’s perimeter. A small crowd has already gathered, mostly nobles in their nightgowns, their hair and makeup still remaining from the night of revelry. A group of guards block the door, repelling any who try to enter.
“Nessa!”
Khavar and another handmaiden are standing nearby, and they wave us over.
“Any word?” asks Nessa.
Khavar shakes her head. “Caspida’s inside, with Sulifer and the physicians. No one has come out.”
“Excuse me,” I say, backing away. “I should go back to Prince Rahzad.”
The girls nod distractedly, not noticing that the corridor I take leads in the opposite direction of Aladdin’s rooms. When I’m alone, I shift into a small sand-colored lizard and scurry back toward the king’s chambers.
I weave through the feet of the nobles gathered outside the door, dart over one guard’s boot, and slip beneath the door. Tongue flicking, I cross several opulent chambers before I reach the king’s bed. The air here is thick with simmon smoke, and the people gathered around his bed all wear cloths tied over their mouths and noses. Caspida kneels by the bed, her hands wrapped around her father’s. She is still wearing her Fahradan gown.
The physicians stand in a cluster on one side of the room, and judging by their grim expressions, they have given up. A group of women huddle at the foot of the bed, weeping. Sulifer and Darian stand over the bed, silent and pensive.
Malek’s skin is yellow and crusty, his cheeks sunken, his eyes ringed with shadows so dark they’re like smeared kohl. His breath comes ragged and uneven, his chest barely rising at all.
Caspida’s eyes are dry and fixed on her father’s face, burning with ferocity, as if she is trying to will him back to life. I crawl up the post of his bed and hang upside down from the ceiling, held in place by the sticky pads on my lizard toes. My round reptilian eyes enable me to see everyone at once.
Sulifer is holding a sheet of parchment and an inked quill, and he bends over his brother, speaking in a low voice.
“For the good of the people, Malek,” he says, “you must ensure that this transition be as stable as possible.”
“Leave him alone!” Caspida snaps. “He’s dying, you vulture!”
Sulifer regards her with pity. “Even on his deathbed, a king has responsibilities. Take notice and learn, Princess.”
She glares as he leans lower and puts the quill into Malek’s hand, holding his brother’s wrist so the king can press the tip to the parchment.
“Please, brother,” Sulifer murmurs. “Your people will sing praises of your wisdom and foresight. With a king and queen to rule after you, they will feel safe, and your enemies will tremble. For who can stand against ones so well matched as my son and your daughter? Let your last act bless their happiness and ensure your legacy.”
Malek’s feverish eyes rove from Caspida to his brother, and he moans.
“Get away!” Caspida rises and throws a finger toward the door, her eyes burning at her uncle. “I will call the guards!”
“Stop acting like a spoiled child,” Sulifer says patiently. “Your father is dying, and you insist on throwing tantrums.”
“Baba, please,” she says, taking her father’s face in her hands. “I love you. Don’t do this.”
“It was he who arranged this match years ago,” Sulifer says. “Will you defy his wishes now, when he is a breath away from the eternal godlands?”
“He was led by the nose,” she fires back. “This was your doing! You swayed him to your will when he was left weak by my mother’s death!”
“You dare call the king weak?” Darian interjects hotly. “You dare question his will?”
“You dare to usurp him!” she cries. “And to manipulate a man at his weakest! I won’t let you bully him into signing your stupid decree!”
Sulifer bares his teeth angrily. “Will you defy him until his last breath?”
She stares into her father’s face, her eyes dazed. “Of course not. Baba, I will do whatever you tell me to. But please, let it be your will, and none else’s.”
Malek murmurs something.
“Baba?” Caspida bends over him. “What is it?”
“Best . . .” he groans. “Best . . . thing for you . . . Keep you safe.”
“Baba?” Caspida’s eyes fill with dismay.
Sulifer stares down his nose at her. “The king has spoken. Step aside, Princess, and let him make his dying will.”
He brushes Caspida aside, holding up the parchment and supporting Malek’s arm as the king signs. Caspida’s face turns ashen, and Darian looks away, hiding a small smile.
“It is done,” intones Sulifer. “The king’s will is known. Signed and witnessed.”
“The king’s will is known,” murmur the physicians. “We stand witness.”
Darian takes Caspida’s arm. “Even on this tragic night, we have cause to be glad. Your father has given us a great gift, Cas. Don’t spoil it by being selfish.”
Suddenly Malek gasps, his eyes growing wide, pupils constricting. The physicians rush over and fuss, but there is nothing they can do. Caspida throws herself to her knees beside the king.
“No, no, no,” she murmurs, her eyes tearing up at last. “Baba, please!”
Malek’s eyes find hers. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and she leans over in anticipation, but the only thing to come out of him is a long, thin breath that trails off, until his lungs are empty and do not rise again.
“My brother has departed to the godlands,” intones Sulifer. “Sweet may he rest.”
“Sweet may he rest,” echo the physicians.
The women begin wailing and tearing their clothes. One holds a jar of ashes and begins throwing them in the air. As the physicians hasten to begin performing the death rites that will send Malek’s soul into eternity, Caspida stands and slips out of the room.
Unsticking my toes, I follow her.
She runs out of the king’s chambers, bursts through the nobles standing around, and ignores her handmaidens when they call to her. Her gown flapping around her legs, she runs up and down the palace corridors, losing the few people who try to follow her. I have to drop to the floor and shift to a cat to keep up, my paws silent on the stone. Caspida weeps as she runs, leaving a trail of dark spots on the stones where her tears fall.
Eventually she stops in front of Aladdin’s rooms. There she stands for a moment, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around herself as she struggles to control her breathing. She stops sobbing and scrubs her face with the hem of her gown.
Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and knocks on Aladdin’s door.
It opens at once.
“Zahra, I’m so—” He freezes. “Princess Caspida.”
“Prince Rahzad. Can I come in?” she asks.
Aladdin glances up and down the hall, then nods and stands back. Caspida slips inside, and just before he shuts the door, I dart through. Aladdin notices and watches me warily. I sit in the corner, my tail curled around my paws, watching impassively.
Caspida stands in the grass courtyard, looking small and lost. Her loose hair is tangled from running, and her feet are bare. Aladdin approaches her slowly, his face etched with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“My father has died,” says Caspida flatly.
Aladdin stops and shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs and looks away, her jaw tight.
Hesitantly, Aladdin walks to her. “Is there . . . anything I can do?”
She blinks rapidly, holding back more tears. Her body is rigid and tight, as if she’s poised to flee. “I came to accept.”
“Accept?”
“Your offer of marriage.”
Aladdin’s mouth opens and shuts. He blinks at her, stunned.
“Well?” she snaps. “Are you going to gape, or are you going to say something?”
“Um. I don’t think . . . I’m not sure you’re in a frame of mind to really make a decision like that. Your father just died. You should be mourning him, not—”
“Sulifer made my father sign a decree just moments before he—he passed. It says that I must marry within two days, before I am crowned, or I must abdicate.”
Aladdin’s lips form a perfect circle. “And . . . you’ve come to marry me instead of Darian.”
“The decree doesn’t mention Darian by name—only that I must marry a prince.”
Aladdin chews his lip, his eyes creasing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“You said you wanted to help me! Well, this is it. This is me asking for help!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Of course I’ll help you. I just want you to be sure this is what you want.”
“I want you to marry me,” she says firmly. “And then I want you to summon your army.”
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