by Lucy Tempest
“I wish I knew what moved and opened you so I could get a good nap,” I grumbled to the book as I picked it up.
Like a wet soap bar, the book slipped from my hands and landed flat open again. Esfandiar, a dark-haired man in an open kaftan stood in the dusty, stone-paved ruins of an open temple. His hair and clothes blew in the wind as he gazed up at a fiery creature with clawed hands whose bottom half was a windstorm spiraling out the mouth of the bottle he held.
Was that what was inside my ring? A genie? Had it just answered me?
And had it answered both questions? If genies didn’t have to be in bottles, could they be in rings and lamps, too? Was that the thing Nariman had trapped inside hers? It seemed very likely. If only I could be sure.
“I wish I knew if you, or the lamp, hold genies.”
Waiting for an answer, I held out my hand but the carnelian stone only gleamed innocently.
Either wishful thinking was toying with my sanity or this was wish fulfillment.
To a minor extent.
Some wishes were answered, I thought—reheating my tea, fading a stain from my dress or locating things I couldn’t find. On others, it did nothing at all. Any request that had anything to do with transportation went ignored. No matter how I phrased the wish, the Fairborns did not appear and I did not end up in the king’s personal vault.
In other words, it was useless.
It was early light by the time I’d given up and turned on my side, my last thought being of Cyrus’s proposal.
What felt like minutes later, I awoke to Cora kicking open my door with our breakfast balanced atop her head.
Groaning, dead tired and sore all over, I swung my legs off the bed. I only remembered my broken toes when I took a step towards the table and it was like I’d stepped on lightning. My foot flared with searing, cramping pain that collapsed my leg beneath me.
Missing the bedpost, I fell flat on my face before Cora could catch me, hitting the woolen carpet with a stinging, scraping slam.
Pain flooded my entire body. I landed in a twisted angle that had the floor collide with the fading bruise on my cheek. I could already feel it growing bigger and bluer than it had been before.
Cora peeled me off the floor, lifting me upright and keeping my feet at a hover. “You alright?”
“No.” I yelped, feeling my toes spasm again. “I hate this.”
“It will heal.”
“Not just my foot, everything else. I have been in nonstop stress for years and it got worse last month, and every time I think I can enjoy a moment of peace, life finds a way to kick me in the teeth. I am just so tired.” I sobbed in between frustrated heaves, clutching her shoulders. “I just wish everything would stop hurting and—”
Like dust blown away in the wind, the pain all over my body instantly disappeared, only fragments of it remaining in the air to tell that it was once there.
I waited for a few seconds, in case my mind had tricked me into ignoring it, then I moved my weight off Cora and onto my feet.
Nothing. There was nothing but a faint, negligible sting, a quick-fleeting, irritating numbness that accompanied waking in a bad angle.
The ring’s red stone gleamed with a passing flash, too bright to be reflecting the light.
Clenching and unclenching my toes, feeling the firm nails that weren’t there a minute ago, I stared at the ring with slow-settling shock.
It healed me!
“That’s an ugly ring,” Cora commented, offering me a plate as she chewed her dried fig, the seeds crunching between her teeth like sand.
“What would you know?” Distracted by the ring once again, I sat on the floor by the table, trying to figure out how it worked. “The only jewelry you have are coral beads and woven arm bands.”
“Just because I don’t own any gems doesn’t mean I can’t tell which are pretty. I would have all the jewels if I could.” She nudged the bowl of yoghurt my way. “Quick, the heat here spoils everything fast.”
Obliging her, I spoke through a mouthful. “What’s the difference between a genius and a genie again?”
She slowed her chewing. “Genii are the living essence of every object. It’s like being haunted but not really, since it isn’t someone else’s soul tied to it, just a kind of consciousness in the object. Sometimes it can project a human-like form that talks to us. I’ve only ever seen field genii, they keep us updated on how the soil is doing.”
“And genies?”
“Genies are more like nymphs in a sense, fairy-like, magical and mischievous, made from a certain element and you can catch them or they can possess you.”
I swallowed my food before fully chewing it. It scraped my throat as it slipped down, roughening my squeak to a croak. “Possess us?”
“Mm. Or was that an ifrit?” She cupped her chin, squishing her mouth up thoughtfully. “I can’t tell the difference. Ifrits and genies’ domains stop at Almaskham I think. I don’t know. I think people trap them in bottles or lanterns.”
I leaned in. “How do you trap a genie?”
She shrugged. “I just know that’s where you can find them.”
So, either this ring had its own sentience in the form of a genius, or it was a genie trapped in the ring. The same went for the lamp.
Since a genius didn’t sound formidable enough, I’d bet on a genie. Especially since it picked and chose what it would do for me, like it had moods.
A thrill coursed through my pain-free body as I gazed at the ring. It had proved its power to me in the most amazing way, and for the first time since I’d been dragged into Cahraman, I felt confident that I had a plan. A plan that could actually work, without compromises or sacrifices. I could keep my promise to the Fairborns to save them, and to Cyrus to be with him forever.
But for now, I had another promise I needed to keep.
Right on time, a knock on the door had me rushing out on a newly mended foot to open the door for Ayman.
I told Cora a brief explanation and headed over to Cherine’s room. She and Ayman followed me.
As soon as Cherine opened her door, I entered, leaving them outside. “He’s here.”
With an excited squeal, Cherine giddily clapped her hands. “How did you convince him to come? Are we sure he’s not going to run away? He better not run again because I am tired of chasing after him! Ladies are supposed to be chased not do the chasing themselves.”
I peeked out of the room. Ayman was hiding behind a column. I motioned for him to come over. When he didn’t move, Cora pushed him, knocking him out of hiding.
As he approached, Cherine immediately recognized his armor.
Her level of excitement plummeted as she pointed at him accusingly, “You? You’re him? Cyaxares’s personal guard?”
Ayman remained still and silent, if it weren’t for the heavy breathing one would think it was an empty suit of armor.
“It’s definitely him,” I assured her.
Cherine came closer, hands clasped up under her chin, eyes shining up at him wondrously. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I know,” he responded gruffly.
“Why do you keep hiding from me?”
“I didn’t want to scare you off.” The aching vocal crack that splintered his words hit me like an arrow.
“Scare me? Why would you scare me?”
He looked at his feet.
“Take off your helmet,” Cherine ordered. “I need to finally see the man I’ve been dreaming of for weeks.”
He looked at me first, sighed then carefully started removing it.
She raised her arms to hurry him up, too short to reach his shoulders, let alone his head. He bowed to her and she carefully removed it, letting his long white hair fall out past his shoulders and gleam in the morning light pouring in through the mounted windows.
With a final fidget of hesitation, he raised his head, revealing his face.
Her smile vanished before her mouth fell open.
Before I could breathe, Cherine
let out a blood-curdling scream. “The ghoul!”
Then she bolted to her bathroom and locked herself inside.
I was a bigger idiot than I ever thought I was.
A huge part of me had feared this might happen. I had still been stupid enough to hope it wouldn’t.
Cora strolled in, idly swinging her arms. “She’s still going on about that ghoul?”
Ayman turned to face her, shoulders hunched insecurely.
Cora stopped, looking from his face to the helmet beneath his arm. “I assume you’re the ‘ghoul?’”
“It would appear so,” he said quietly.
“Huh.” Was her only response.
How I wished Cherine could have reacted this nonchalantly. But, as the witch-queen had said, not much scared Cora.
Cora approached Ayman, scrutinizing his appearance. “Was your mother a dryad—a white poplar nymph?”
He watched her every step with nervous eyes, backing away. “No, she isn’t.”
“You sure? Their hair tends to be the same color as their leaves, and you fit the look.”
He shook his head as he pushed back his hair. “I am no nymph, genie, ifrit, or ghoul. I’m just a man unfortunate enough to be mistaken for one.”
I found my voice, approaching him carefully, hand reaching for his shoulder. “Ayman, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d react that way.”
He raised his hand, blocking mine. “I did. I told you she would.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, finding no words to do my regret justice.
“It doesn’t matter. We tried. I’m never trying again.”
“Ayman…”
He just put back his helmet then walked out.
The moment he was gone, Cherine was out, yelling and screaming accusations that I’d brought the ghoul to her room.
I didn’t have time for this.
The bottle corking my emotions didn’t pop, it shattered. “I wish you would shut up and forget all about that stupid ghoul idea already!”
Cherine’s mouth slammed shut with an audible clack of her teeth.
Her eyes glazed over for a second in a distracted, daydreaming pause, then she snapped out of it with a shake of her head. “What were we saying? I got lost in thought for a minute there.”
Cora let out a raspy “Ha!”
Cherine touched her forehead lightly. “Did I hit my head? I seem to have forgotten what I was about to say.”
Cherine wasn’t kidding. She had forgotten what she’d been saying.
Just like I’d asked for her to.
Cherine walked away in a trance and reentered her bathroom.
After a moment of stunned silence, I hurried back to my room. Cora followed me there with stuttering nostril puffs of tight-lipped laughter.
The moment we were inside, she said, “So, should I guess how you performed the miracle of shutting Cherine up, or are you going to tell me?”
I raised my hand. The stone obliged and gave her a brilliant flash.
She squinted at it then hummed, “Did Cyrus give it to you?”
I nodded, still dazed.
She nodded, impressed. “So when’s the announcement? Today or tomorrow?”
There was no hiding anything from her, was there? I sighed. “Tomorrow.”
Whatever was hiding in this stone, it did grant wishes. It ignored some commands, but the ones it answered were indeed major.
But maybe it didn’t ignore me. What if I was just making wrong commands and there was a method to getting it to respond consistently?
At that thought, I needed to test something.
I took it off, handed it to her. “Try it. Wish for something.”
Eyebrows raised, she took it, placed it on her little finger, the one where it fit, cleared her throat. “I wish I had a tray of baklava.”
I huffed a laugh. Of course that was what she’d ask for.
When nothing happened, I said, “It doesn’t seem to work that way. Wish for something in your own body. I wished that I stopped hurting, and it answered that wish.”
“I wish my hair was darker,” she said at once.
Nothing. Her hair remained as golden as her wheatfields.
I told her to ask for things that had worked for me. They didn’t work for her.
She started to take off the ring and I rushed to add, “Make me do something.”
Quirking an eyebrow, she said, “I wish Ada clucked like a chicken.”
I felt no compulsion to obey her.
She finally handed it back. “Seems like this thing has your name on it.”
I took it from her and walked to the window, heart racing as fast as my thoughts.
I held the ring up against the rays converging through the glass and watched it catch the light in an unremarkable shine.
If what Cora said was true, if it only answered my wishes, then it was more incredible than I’d thought. Not only power, but power that was all mine.
Every inch of me tingled as I remembered Marzeya’s words. This was how I could level up to Nariman, how I could surprise and defeat her.
But first, I had to learn how to wield it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The mood in the royal dining room this morning was the heaviest it had been.
I didn’t know how much of that was my perception and how much was genuine tension.
I watched everyone around me, trying to read the room.
Ayman wouldn’t meet my gaze as he stood on Cyrus’s side, farthest away from Cherine, who still had no recollection of their meeting or what I’d done to her. Cora entertained herself by picking the hardest pears and carving patterns into them.
Fairuza had skipped breakfast again, further cementing how much she had given up and making me feel even worse. Loujaïne had beaten Ariane to her seat.
Any other day, I would have been uncomfortable about her directly facing me. But it wasn’t Loujaïne who worried me today. It was Cyrus.
He was on-edge for some reason, not touching his food and twisting the silver pearl ring around his finger as he stared ahead at the empty seat at his end of the table.
“What is it?” I asked, setting a hand on his under the table.
Cyrus checked the winged clock behind me, his brows twitching in a brief frown at Ayman. “Any minute now.”
“Any minute for what?”
He squeezed my hand, eyes hard as they returned to the door. “Your final test.”
The doors opened and Cyrus stood, followed by everyone but Aurelia. I pushed out of my chair, dusting any crumbs or creases on my dress.
Two guards entered, followed by a stony-faced Master Farouk, who bowed in a man in a white suit with a printed gold pattern.
“His Majesty, King Darius of Cahraman.”
There truly was almost none of Jumana Morvarid in Cyrus.
Everything from the golden skin, bowed lips, prominent cheekbones and thick, brown hair was all passed down from the king. The only difference aside from the laughter lines and the strands of grey scattered throughout his father’s brown hair and beard, were the eyes. Cyrus’s eyes were the bright green of northern lights—according to Marzeya the one thing he’d gotten from his mother—while Darius’s were the same cutting silver as his sister’s.
I found myself not looking at the king, but at my future.
If everything went as happily as I planned, then within thirty years this would be Cyrus.
The king strode into the room, stopping behind his chair at the head of the table with arms open out to his sides, smile broad, but not reaching his eyes
He greeted us with a rough voice heavy with age and smoke. “The Final Five, it is a great pleasure to finally see you for myself.” He stopped, doing a quick headcount while avoiding looking at Aurelia. “Final Four then. Please, introduce yourselves.”
Normally, the first person to bump us out of the way to present herself would have been Fairuza. The uninterrupted silence from her absence was jarring.
Ariane
took over for her by leading the introductions. “Your Majesty, I am Princess Ariane of Tritonia.”
Darius nodded at her. “House Labraudos, great lineage. I believe your mother, the queen, is a descendant of one of your gods?”
“Mother is the demigod daughter of our sea god, Your Majesty,” Ariane said proudly, which piqued Cora’s interest. All Mistresses of the Granary claimed to be the daughters of gods, including Cora’s mother, who claimed Cora was a field god’s daughter.
Not that I would put this possibility past either of them. If my clunky ring was housing a genie, then Cora and Ariane could well be the blood of the gods.
“And you?” Darius asked Cora, his expression steady as she arranged her ornately carved pears.
She smiled tightly. “Cora Greenshoot, my mother’s Mistress of the Granary.”
Offering Cora a respectful nod, the king then shot his sister a judgmental expression, most likely wondering why Cora of all the real noblewomen remained among the Final Five.
“No need to ask who you are,” Darius said to Cherine as she proudly curtsied. “But I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the one next to you.”
I opened my mouth and the words froze in my mouth.
“Father, this is Ada of Rose Isle,” Cyrus answered for me.
Darius sat in his chair, setting his hands atop the table. “Is she mute?”
I snapped out of it, shaking my head.
The king eyed me blankly for a second then forgot about me in favor of Aurelia, who was giving him the harshest glare I had ever seen. Jumana had been her only niece, the only girl in her family, and she’d died here, possibly because of him.
Cyrus hadn’t mentioned much about his mother yesterday. He’d only told me who she was but not what had happened to her. I again had to wonder how much he knew, and how much of it was true.
“The good impression starts now,” Cyrus whispered tensely. “My proposal means nothing if not sanctioned by our reigning king.”
His words struck me like a lightning bolt.
All I could utter was, “You said we just needed his blessing.”
“That’s what I thought. The rules of the competition state that the king and council would have to accept my choice as long she passed all the tests. But this morning I discovered that the results of the Bride Search still fall under royal marriage law, where the king’s approval remains the decisive factor.”