The Forbidden Wish(11)

Chapter Five


I DROP MY ARMS, as smoke turns to flame inside me.

What? I reply. The jinn tongue feels rusted in my thoughts, but I am too stunned for spoken words.

The ghul sniffs. These are the terms. Turning away, she points at the silver crescent hanging low in the sky. The moon will die tomorrow night, and be reborn again. It will grow fat, then it will grow weak, and then it will die once more. On that moon death, if you have not freed the jinn prince, then the Shaitan shall shake the skies, and death will rain upon you and all the humans in that city. But succeed, and he will sever the bond that binds you to the lamp, and you will return to Ambadya a free jinni.

She gives me a sly smile over her shoulder. But if you make one mistake, he will come, and a deserved traitor’s death he will give you. Do you know what that means?

I do. I have seen jinn executions before. They last for days. When you’re practically immortal, there’s no end to the torture you can endure, and the jinn are experts at wringing every last drop of pain from their victims. My chest tightens at the thought. I may be one of the strongest jinni alive, but I can feel pain, and I can be killed.

“Yes,” I whisper, then I cough a little and repeat in a louder voice, “Yes. I accept Nardukha’s deal. Tell him . . . tell him he will see his wretched son within the month.”

It shall be so.

And just like that, the ghul is gone, slipping away into the shadows and rock, blending into the earth from which she was made, leaving me trembling. I lift my face and stare wonderingly at the stars above.

Freedom.

It’s a dream I never dared to dream. I cannot even imagine what it would be like. Ever since I became jinn, I’ve been bound to my lamp. The concept is foreign, as distant and untouchable as the new moon behind its black veil. But for the first time, I feel hope. And I know I will do everything in my limited power to seize it.

The sun rises, and the Parthenian gates open. Two roads—one from the east, one from the west—lead to the city, and carts and travelers slowly make their way inside. No one sees us nestled among the rocks upriver. The sun peaks and then begins sinking again, the trees’ shadows growing long, and still Aladdin sleeps as if dead.

There is no more sign of Shaza or any other jinni nearby, but I keep careful watch. I turn Nardukha’s deal over in my mind, pondering how to accomplish it. It is one thing to say I will do it—another entirely to pull it off. Parthenia is a large city, and there’s no telling where Zhian is being kept. It’s not as if I am free to wander around looking, either. I’m bound to Aladdin as long as he has the lamp. But I won’t let that stop me. I won’t let anything stop me—not human or jinn. Because for the first time in four thousand years, I, Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away, have a chance at freedom.

When the sun falls behind the city and the towers deepen into silhouettes, I turn back to my master, beginning to grow concerned.

This time, his eyes are open, and he is staring at me.

“You’re very pretty,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, “for a jinni.”

“Have you met many jinn?”

“No.” His lips curl into a dazed grin. “But I’ve met a lot of pretty girls.”

I check his bandage; the bleeding has stopped, but he’ll need a fresh dressing soon.

“Why did you help me?” he asks softly. “Back in the desert, you distracted Darian so that I could get the lamp. Why?”

“You took an arrow for me.” He couldn’t have known it would not harm me. He acted without thinking, from some instinct deep inside himself—the same instinct that prevented him from wishing for Darian’s death. “Now we are even, thief.”

“We’d better—” He cuts off with a hiss, his hand going to his shoulder. He is silent for a moment, his eyes shut, as if he is trying hard to push down the pain of his injury. Then at last he says in a tight voice, “We’d better get moving. We have to slip into the city before they shut the gates for the night. Once they close, they don’t open till dawn. Not for anyone. There are jinn in these hills.” He pauses, then gives a little laugh. “Though I guess that doesn’t bother you.”

The walls of Parthenia rise in the distance, and it will take a hard, fast walk to reach it by sunset. But he sets out gamely, stopping only to strip a small fig tree of its fruit before leaving the riverbank. We follow a dusty track through low hills covered in scrubby bushes and loose stones.

We near the gates just as the guards are preparing to shut them. The doors are massive, heavy slabs of oak, and they must be drawn closed by a pair of elephants. The soldiers are busy tethering the huge animals to the doors. On either side of the gate, enormous stone gryphons glare down on us with blank eyes.

“Hurry,” says Aladdin, breaking into a run. “They won’t wait for us.”

I sprint to catch up, then, just steps from the gate, I stagger as a spasm of pain twists my gut. A shudder passes through me, and I double over, unable to take another step.

Looking up, I spot them immediately: glyphs carved into the stone bases the gryphons stand upon. Symbols of Eskarr, the language of scorsmiths to bind magic to objects. These read jinn, demon, repel, and other similar words. They were put there to turn away any of my kind who might try to enter, and their power rakes over me like claws. It seeps through me like poison, tainting my smoke sickly green.