Prince of Cahraman: A Retelling of Aladdin (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 2)

by Lucy Tempest

  The entry hall was littered with bodies, some ripped apart from their initial fight against one another, others fatally stabbed or beheaded with precision. Only one was an intact body, its neck broken.

  I didn’t know why that struck me as the most terrifying. The bruising on its greying throat didn’t look like the imprint of Ayman’s gauntlets, neither were they big enough to be Cyrus’s hands.

  The last thing I needed to consider was the presence of another kind of monster.

  “Are they all dead?” Fairuza shuddered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  “Seems so,” I slurred, exertion catching up with me as my legs wobbled and the world swayed. The coppery stench of blood mixing with the dust made my waterlogged head swim with nausea.

  Urgency subsiding, I slowed my pace, allowing myself to be sluggish, unsteady and exhausted.

  Suddenly, something cold and heavy slammed me into a wall. I heard a deafening crack inside my head. My sight flickered like a dying fire as my knees hit the ground.

  I couldn’t get back up, couldn’t lift my eyelids to see what was bearing down on me. But I didn’t need to see it. I felt its breath, heard its teeth separating. My drained body had had enough and refused to move away. It started the fainting process before my mind could join it.

  I couldn’t even call for Cyrus.

  Its teeth neared my bruised cheek as I sagged against the wall, ready to be claimed by the darkness, to be dead to the world before it killed me. But an enraged shout followed by the sound of sprinting dropped a fleck of wakefulness into me.

  Twitching lids cracking open, I saw a woman charging the ghoul that had me pinned. It jerked up and off me to rip something from her hands and she only reared back and rammed her forehead into its own.

  Cora!

  Fairuza dropped to my side, pulling at me, begging me to get up, but my eyes fell shut again.

  Pain sparked through my face, rousing me as the stinging remains of a slap buzzed under my bruised cheek.

  “Wake up!”

  At Fairuza’s shout, I somehow made it onto my knees, and with my hands on her shoulders, I got back to my feet. The wave of disorientation that hit me as I stood threatened to knock me back down.

  “What happened?” I slurred, knees buckling, head too heavy for my neck.

  “Sh-she attacked it with a shovel,” Fairuza stuttered, struggling to keep both of us upright. “Then she head-butted it—like a bull!”

  I let out a delirious giggle, “Bullheaded.”

  Deciding that she was too much trouble, the ghoul turned from Cora and threw itself back at us. Cora thwacked its head with the shovel again and it fell at our feet as we stumbled against the wall. It clawed at my leg, but Cora landed knees-first on its back and gripped its neck.

  It flailed pathetically in her grip as she heaved and growled, strangling it with a force that darkened its face to murky grey.

  A brief crack filled the air then it went limp in her hands.

  I didn’t realize I’d slid off the wall until Cora caught me, her embrace lifting me to my toes. I sagged against her, body heavy like a vat of mead.

  I could only choke, “Thank you.”

  Cora only gave me a tight squeeze I couldn’t return, then swung me over the dead body as Cyrus and Ayman arrived.

  Ayman’s silver armor had been completely painted black, and Cyrus’ hair and shirt had been plastered to him with sticky blood, the dried splatters on his face framing his features, like they had been purposefully painted on him. With the way it contrasted with his skin and outlined his jaw, it made me think how regal he’d look with a short beard.

  Nearly drowning had certainly jumbled my priorities, because his appearance ought to be the last thing on my mind right now. But even smeared in all the evidence of a true bloodbath, the sight of him filled me with wonder and soothed the pounding in my head and chest.

  Cyrus rushed over, dripping axe in one hand, the other bloody and outstretched towards us. “Miss Greenshoot, we told you to stay back.”

  Cora just held out a hand for his axe. They traded, Cyrus handing her his weapon and holding out his arms to me. I stumbled towards him, reaching up to steady myself on his shoulders, but he bent down and scooped me up.

  Screaming foot blissfully off the ground, and not caring that he reeked of blood and sweat and I was a total mess, I let myself sag in his strong hold.

  “Are you hurt?” His eyes searched my face, etched with worry. “Did they scratch you? Bite you?”

  “No,” I said dazedly, the smoking tendrils of sleep curling in my head, behind my heavy eyes. “I’m…I’m…”

  “Safe,” he promised. “I have you and I’ll take care of everything. You can rest now.”

  And for the first time in ages, I did feel safe, looked after, cared for.

  Delirious with relief, I finally let go and everything went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The world rocked and rumbled beneath me to a steady beat. An incessant gallop of hooves and a chafing spin of wheels.

  But what had dragged me from the depths of darkness was the cacophony of voices arguing. My head on someone’s lap and my feet on another’s.

  Groaning, I shifted, opening my eyes to be met with the head of a long-haired ghoul. My heart rammed against my ribs hard enough to bruise both, but I couldn’t move yet, couldn’t even lurch.

  Then I realized what I was looking at, the setting before me slowly making sense, and I no longer needed to.

  The ghoul’s head sat by Ayman, and had Fairuza pressed against the end of their seat. The russet sunset cast dramatic light and shadows into the carriage as it circled the base of the mountain, leaving it behind.

  It was a conical, purple mountain, smaller than I’d thought when I’d been lost inside. On its plateau wasn’t a palace like Sunstone, but what looked like a giant bird’s nest.

  I realized that my head was in Cyrus’s lap while my feet lay in Cora’s.

  I couldn’t understand what they were saying. It required effort and I had no more to expend. But I got the idea when Cora reached over and punched Fairuza in the chest, right between her breasts.

  That very spot between my own ribs spasmed, and I felt the urge to cough along with Fairuza. Knowing Cora, this had to be a weak point exploited by fighters, and today she had proved to be far stronger than I’d imagined. Maybe Cora’s mother hadn’t lied about her being fathered by a god. Anaïta smiling at me as I floated away from her underwater shrine proved that gods existed.

  Having nearly died three or four times in the span of a few hours kept me stunned silent, unable to even tell them I was awake. I just lay there, reeling, my eyes aimed at either Cyrus’s jaw or the end of the carriage, where the girls’ seated stand-off looked less like a princess and a farm girl locking horns, and more like a rabbit trying to intimidate a mountain lion.

  It took me back to our talk in the water. Even while admitting she had little influence and would only be traded in alliances, she still had riches and kings in her family, and power by extension. But in sheer, immediate power, Cora’s rough hands trumped Fairuza’s tiara. I had no power in any form.

  “Not even pigs would eat you!” Cora spat venomously, fist poised for another hit.

  Cyrus gripped her shoulder, pulling her back. “That’s enough.”

  Cora pried his fingers off her, eyes flashing. “Enough is when she bleeds.”

  Fairuza coughed, fists protectively covering the spot Cora had hit. “You lay one more finger on me and I’ll destroy you.”

  Cora bared her teeth in a snarl. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Fairuza slid a fearful look at the ghoul’s head, the one Cora had killed with her bare hands, then tried her best to sneer. “I’d do far worse than hit you. I’d have all your mother’s exports boycotted, and bankrupt your entire region.”

  Cora let out a big, mocking laugh. “And when will you issue this order? When you become Queen of Cahraman in thirty years? Or whe
n you go back home and nag your uncle into refusing food from the most fertile region in the Folkshore, so he can starve your people and cripple your economy?”

  “We’ll farm our own crops!” Fairuza seemed back to her prideful self, each threat returning my sour opinion of her and making Cora’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “This will create a surplus in your produce that will devalue your currencies. And when your land falls we’ll invade.”

  Cora snorted, settling back and crossing her long legs. “Farm your crops in what new land? Will you magically change your soil? Stop growing your own native fruits and exports? End your wine industry because you decide to grow wheat and sugar cane instead of grapes and berries? And will you also import people from Lower Campania to farm them for you? If you don’t, your crops will fail and your people will starve, revolt and overthrow your family. Then the most powerful duke will ascend as your new king, reinstate trade with us, and stabilize your land. Oh, and one kingdom ‘boycotting’ our exports won’t cause a surplus, it will merely lower the prices of some produce or we’ll reschedule their trade during the colder months.” She massaged her fingers, saving the first crack of her knuckles for dramatic effect to make Fairuza jump. “You don’t understand anything about how lands are run, do you?”

  “I understand what I need to know.”

  “Which is evidently nothing.” Cora continued cracking her knuckles, making my own knuckles itch to be popped. “If you had an ounce of common sense, you would have known that to rule a land, you need to understand its native magic and be on good terms with whoever wields it. But you don’t care, do you? Throwing around threats about your power to a woman who could dry out this land’s lakes, wells and only river?” Cora popped her wrists, squeezing them, as if channeling her urge to throttle Fairuza. “Do you even understand that arid lands like Cahraman and Almaskham need magic to support their populations? Did that cross your mind at all when you antagonized instead of negotiated with that witch queen? Do you even know what negotiating is?”

  “I’ll do—”

  “Nothing. Because you can’t do anything,” Cora cut her off coldly. “Except cause problems for the rest of us!”

  Fairuza looked faint, but still persisted. “If you’re so confident that assaulting me will have no repercussions and you could run your land in your sleep, how did my being punished by the witch affect you?”

  “Because you took my friend with you, you writhing larva!” Cora yelled, intimidating in her anger. “She nearly died!”

  Warmth lit up within me at her concern, at remembering how she’d strong-armed her way into the rescue mission. As had Cyrus.

  But what surged deep in my soul towards each of them was its own kind of gratefulness, Cora’s was a softer blossom of affection than the one I felt towards him.

  Cyrus fearlessly massacring his way through monsters to reach me then carrying me to safety would forever be a precious, perfumed moment in my life, worthy of an epic poem among tales of chivalry.

  But Cora killing my attacker with her bare hands was an embodiment of my feelings for Bonnie, of how I’d do anything to keep the beast away from her. Yet it was a grim reminder that she’d done for me what I had yet to do for Bonnie.

  But one thing was certain. Cora had irrevocably earned my trust. She deserved I tell her everything.

  Fairuza pressed against the door in an insecure hunch. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. She knows that.”

  “Whether you’re an arsonist or an idiot, breaking a lantern on a haystack still burns down the barn.” Cora set her hands on my legs, palms burning against my clammy skin. “Meant it or not, you still caused it.”

  Looking more cornered by the second, Fairuza choked, “Never did I expect to be educated on manners by someone who can’t use a knife and fork.”

  “Never did I expect a princess to not know the difference between manners and morals,” Cora said snidely. “I may eat with my hands, but I haven’t tried to do away with my competition. Twice.”

  Fairuza’s face burned red, then she seemed to give up and turned to stiffly face her window.

  I looked up at Cyrus, who had his elbow perched on the window and his face in his palm, staring thoughtfully out the window as we approached Zhadugar.

  “This feels like one of the many arguments my aunt and Lady Rostam had, doesn’t it?”

  I thought he was speaking to me, until Ayman grumbled, “Their tiffs were at least entertaining. The effort they went through to insult each other indirectly was a sport in itself.”

  Cyrus chuckled tiredly, rubbing his forehead, smearing it further. “Do you think any of this would have happened if Lady Rostam was still here?”

  “No,” Ayman said at once. “Knowing her, the magic test would have been something benign like having them look in an enchanted mirror or trying to trap a jann.”

  Benign? Nariman was capable of being benign?

  “Trapping a jann!” Cyrus exclaimed. “Why didn’t we have that option? That would have been far safer than putting them in a room with Marzeya.”

  Ayman tsked, the click echoing through his helmet. “Too late for that. Besides, what would you do with a lesser genie?”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Have it grant menial wishes?”

  I finally found my voice. “Didn’t you say there was a ring that granted wishes?”

  Everyone jumped in their seats.

  Cyrus and Cora helped me sit up. My world swayed, like there was still water sloshing through my head. Gripping both to steady myself, I surveyed the carriage from the new perspective, reading their faces.

  Fairuza remained in her corner, hands still curled over her chest, which rose and fell heavily, betraying her blank expression. Ayman, covered in his blood-blackened armor, only inclined his head at me. I turned to face Cyrus first, who was unbothered by his sticky, filthy state but emanating concern for me, dark brows lowered, clear eyes searching my face.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, tenderly touching the side of my temple, like he was feeling for my mind’s pulse.

  At his soft touch, my heartbeat slowed to a quiet ebb and flow that spread under my skin in a flushing wave, melting away the the icy echoes of the ordeal.

  Next moment, that same touch set my heart painfully pounding. Now he’d risked his life for me, my feelings for him had soared from intense to unbearable.

  Unable to withstand dealing with them now, I was thankful for Cora’s distraction as she pressed her palm against my forehead.

  “You feel warm.”

  “I feel like I need to sleep for a hundred years,” I mumbled, groggy and tired.

  Fairuza let out a small cough.

  I met her eyes, all that we’d gone through in the mountain flipping through my memory like the windblown pages of a picture book. I wondered if her horrified gaze meant she was reliving those events, too.

  The carriage came to a stop as I reached for the sapphire necklace on my collarbones. Ayman jumped down first, opening the door for us. Cyrus got out, hand held up for me. I took his hand, but I couldn’t get up. I was stuck to my seat like there was an iron trunk on my lap. Fairuza broke our staring contest by getting up. But she was cowed back by Cora, who stuck her hands under my arms and lifted me up.

  Practically handing me to Cyrus, Cora then snatched up the ghoul’s head and stepped down. Fairuza was the last one out.

  Cyrus attempted to steady me, but my leaden legs tugged the rest of me down with them. He caught me before my knees could hit the dunes and all I wanted was to drop my face into his shoulder and fall back asleep.

  Pressing an arm against my back, he started to scoop me up. I eagerly awaited another embrace to happily fall asleep in, but Ayman blocked him.

  “We have company now. Wouldn’t want anyone to accuse you of favoritism at this delicate stage.” Ayman extended his arms. “Not to mention, after swinging about that war-axe for an hour, you could throw out your back.”

  Cyrus threw a look in the other car
riages’ direction. “Are you implying that I’m weak or that she’s too heavy for me?”

  “To be fair, she is quite tall.”

  “Cora is taller,” Cyrus argued.

  “Cora’s almost as tall as me. Be glad it wasn’t her you had to carry.”

  Cyrus snorted dismissively, but stepped aside, allowing Ayman to pick me up.

  It was a rough, quick sweep that made me yelp, and the press of his cold, splattered armor against my back and the backs of my thighs bit through my still damp clothes.

  I still gave him my best appreciative smile. He wanted to avoid problems for both of us. I also didn’t want to be forced to walk and I didn’t want Cyrus hunched with an aching back tomorrow.

  “You joining us?” Cyrus asked Fairuza, who remained standing, looking right at me.

  I touched the necklace, felt the smooth oval stones and the bands of gold that linked them, and turned away from her. I had nothing to say to her, nothing Cora and I hadn’t already thrown at her.

  The three of us caught up with Cora at the top of the elevation overlooking the Zhadugar valley. The sunset glow had given way to dozens of giant lanterns that made the city a glittering pit. In front of the other carriages were Farouk, Loujaïne, Ariane and shooting towards us, arms outstretched and kicking up a sandstorm was Cherine.

  “ADAAA!” She nearly tripped over her skirt as she slammed herself into Ayman to get to me in his arms.

  Wincing at how he must feel at this, I removed my arm from around his neck, almost tipping myself out of his hold, to hug her back.

  “What happened? Where did you go? Are you hurt?” Cherine pulled back, her face shining with wetness, wrinkling her nose. “You all smell like death! Did you nap in a butcher shop?”

  Cora raised the ghoul’s head. “Close.”

  Cherine reared back with a screech of horror. The rest of our group closed in, their demands no different than hers.

  “Apparently, the thing in our old quarters wasn’t a ghoul,” I told Cherine, patting Ayman’s shoulder. Even beneath the hard armor, I could feel him stiffen against me.