The Blind Wish

by Amber Lough

  “Well, it seems we have a related interest in this yellow crystal.”

  “Yes. I, um, saw one of your memories once.” I winced as soon as I said it. It had come pouring out unbidden, and I covered my mouth.

  His eyes darkened. “How is that?”

  I gulped. “In the House of Wisdom, there was a shard of memory. It was of you, in the palace’s dungeons.”

  He growled, half turning away. “I will find that crystal and crush it to powder. Tell me, what did you think of your weak grandfather, giving in to the old caliph’s demands?”

  “You weren’t weak!” I exclaimed. “You fought him every day, and the wishes were painful, and binding. You didn’t have a choice. It was pure luck you were able to escape!”

  “Yes, with the help of that snake, Hashim.”

  That wasn’t the point. “But you weren’t weak. I felt the pain you experienced, and it was so much like what burned my lungs when I tried to disobey Zayele’s Fire Wish. But it made you stronger. I used that knowledge, that wisdom, when Ibrahim tried to force me to drown the Shaitan. The only thing you did wrong was to deny Hashim’s request to help his starving parents. You turned him into a monster.”

  Melchior raised a brow at me. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Najwa. Your strength is not in form, like your mother’s was. Faisal must have seen your perseverance and loyalty from the start, and that is why he insisted you be trained into the Eyes.” I looked away at the mention of Faisal, but he continued. “You stood your ground when I believed the Forgotten were enslaved by the Mongol army, but you returned as ordered and did what you could to help our situation. You fought off Ibrahim’s wish, saving many lives. And you have convinced the caliph that we are no longer his enemy. Yes, I misjudged you, granddaughter.” He sighed and turned back to the yellow crystal. “Just as I misjudged her.” His voice cracked, and he sank back onto his knees.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Leave me,” he whispered. Before I could say any more, he pressed his palms against Mariam’s crystal and dove into her memories. His posture softened, and I knew he wasn’t in the present any longer.

  I decided not to revisit Mariam’s and Faisal’s memories that day, with a promise to return when I was ready to learn something new instead of reliving their lives in place of my own.

  —

  In the end, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t as powerful a jinni as my sister. Power wasn’t something I wanted. After a lifetime of war, fear, and superstition, Baghdad was living up to its name as the City of Peace.

  There were still many corners filled with hate, many shadows reaching for blood and nightmare, but under the bright sun of midday, the great dome radiated peace. You could not look up at the sky without feeling the city sigh in relief.

  A single jinni walked alone across the Court of Honor in full view of the black-robed ministers, the peacock throne, and the three men on the dais.

  My hair dripped in gemstones of all colors, and my eyes were lined in glittering mica. I had taken care to wrap a peridot hijab over it all, to mute the brightness, but the gems shone through the sheer weave, catching light and scattering the reflection across the polished floor. My gown was one that Zayele had given me. Its sleeves and neckline were bordered in the colors and weave common to my father’s people. Dressed this way, I must have confused them. Was I jinni or human? Or was I both—a woman with blood of fire and water, ready to be the conduit between the races?

  I lifted my chin and stopped directly in front of the caliph. He had sunk into the throne, no longer the robust man he had been the first time I spied him. But his eyes were just as alert, his mind just as calculating.

  Ibrahim sat on a stool beside the peacock throne. He had taken off his armor, and with it the scowl he had always worn in my presence. Still, he would not look me in the eye. Ibrahim was no longer my enemy, but I would not call him friend.

  Kamal sat opposite his brother, on the other side of the caliph. His head was heavy with the turban of vizier, and at first I thought he was disappointed I had arrived with all my jinni colors, but then he glanced up and smiled. Pride was etched in the corners of his mouth, and I smiled in return.

  “Caliph al-Mansur,” I said, “the People of the Lamp have accepted your request for peace.”

  I bowed and held out the scroll signed by every member of the Diwan. A member of the Court of Honor took it from me and presented it to the caliph. The caliph glanced over the writing, raised a brow at Kamal, and then tapped the scroll against one of the golden peacock heads beneath his arms.

  “Finally, it is over with the jinn,” he said with a sideways glance at Ibrahim. “But we now have enemies of our own race. We received a message today from the general of the Mongol army. He claims he will make his way into Baghdad and burn it to the ground. I have no reason not to believe he is sincere, but if we have the support of your people—your mother’s people—we can save the city.” He paused, brought his fingers to rest against his lips, and stared at me across the echoing space.

  “You have our support,” I said. Delia had already had a glimpse at this letter. She had gone to the enemy encampment in the foothills and stood behind the general while he wrote it. He tied it to the foot of a pigeon and cast it into the sky, never knowing a jinni recorded the entire event. When I had come to the Diwan for them to sign the treaty, they were ready with this news. They knew what the caliph would ask of us.

  “Then I welcome any and all jinn into the city. You may pray at our mosques, you may bathe in our baths, and you may study at our House of Wisdom.”

  I thanked the caliph and backed out of the Court of Honor. As soon as I was clear of the ministers and their dark, heavy robes, I ran to the harem. I was not looking for the women there. I did not want their congratulations, their respect, or even their conversation.

  I threw aside the red curtain, trotted over the path that traversed the harem garden, and went to the grate at the end of the stream. I plunged my hand into the cool water and spread my fingers, feeling for it. After a moment of passing panic, I found it: the remains of the jasmine blossom, slick with decay and stuck like enamel to one of the bars of the grate. Carefully, I peeled it away and pulled it out of the water.

  It was a tiny thing, all gray and mottled and shriveled. Only one bit of a petal remained, but I knew without doubt it was the same jasmine blossom. The very same, because when I uncurled the edge, the tiny flame pulsed, weak and heavy with want of a place to go. I used the edge of my fingernail to scrape it off the petal, and I held it up to the light. I had tried to wish away the pain of not knowing my mother, but I no longer felt any pain. Her memories were preserved, and although I could go to them whenever I wanted, I was happy to leave them there beside Faisal’s. For now anyway.

  I sighed, finally content. The flame sank into my fingertip, blinked once, and was gone.

  And suddenly, I remembered why I had come to Baghdad. It wasn’t because I was in love with the prince, although I certainly wanted to be near him. It wasn’t to watch the humans for the Eyes of Iblis Corps. It wasn’t even because I wanted to end the war.

  I came because Baghdad promised me sunlight and stars.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THEY SAY WRITING the second novel is harder than the first. They also say every novel is equally difficult. Whether “they” are right or not doesn’t matter, because I didn’t write this story by myself. I have been deeply fortunate to have amazing support, and I cannot thank you all enough. You’ve touched my heart.

  Thank you to my writing group for coaching me not only in the writing of a sequel but also in the Art of Debuting. Laurie Halse Anderson, MJ Auch, Suzanne Bloom, Bruce Coville, and Ellen Yeomans, you’re an inspiration and a wealth of love. Bruce, I’m coming back to haunt Clarke Street. Ellen, you’ve nourished me with more than just good food. Hugs to you all.

  My writing partner, friend, and life coach Emma Kress has done more than her fair share in helping me get this book written, revised, and polis
hed. Thank you!

  Thank you to the Fourteenery for the laughs, mischief, and morale, and the Hanging Gardens Tumblr group for keeping me on my toes. Thank you to the OneFourKidLit group too, for making my debut year both fun and supportive.

  Marieke Nijikamp, thank you for your in-depth critiques and frighteningly fast reading. Kaye, thank you for your support, guidance, and heart. and dank je wel!

  A warm thank-you to Alison Kolani and the entire copyediting team. I apologize for the headaches. Sincerest gratitude goes to Nicole de las Heras for the beautiful, jaw-dropping design of both this book and The Fire Wish. Thank you, Lydia Finn, for being my publicity champion and helping to bring these books to the light. Random House Children’s Books has been a dream come true. I am privileged to work with you all.

  Diane Landolf, I would not have written this without your support, your creative genius, or your editorial talent. You are the best combination of cheerleader and slave driver a writer could ask for, and I’m grateful to call you my friend as well.

  My agent, Laura Rennert, deserves more thanks than I have space to mention. Thank you a thousandfold! I can’t wait to share my next book with you—I have a feeling you’re going to like it.

  Mom and Dad, thank you for taking care of the kids and me while I was finishing up the first draft. Mary Lough, thank you for the many, many hours you’ve spent taking care of the family while I was writing. I love all of you.

  Henry and Elizabeth, thank you for your unconditional enthusiasm for my books. I cannot wait till you can read them.

  Finally, Jim, this book is for you, for uncountable reasons. We made it through five years of graduate school (with children!) while I was writing these books. We’re a good team, you and me.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AMBER LOUGH is a lover of foreign words and cultures, nearly forgotten folktales, and groups of three. She spent half her childhood outside the U.S. and speaks Japanese, some Russian, and not enough Arabic, and hopes to add German to her list. She lives in Germany with her scientist husband, two impish children, and a cat named Popcorn. For a pronunciation guide, cast of characters, and more, please visit amberlough.com. Follow her on Twitter at @amberlough.