The Forbidden Wish(28)

“Greetings, Prince Rahzad, and welcome to Parthenia. I am Vigo, son of Vigor. This is Lady Razpur nez Miran. We’ve come to escort you to dinner.”

Aladdin bows stiffly—unfortunately, it is the one that ought to be used only for naval officers—and steps through the door. Raz and Vigo flank him, trying to look indifferent but exchanging looks of curiosity behind his back. I trail behind, head bowed demurely, eyes and senses straining to pick up every detail.

“We heard about your journey here,” says Raz. “You must tell us more sometime. To survive an attack by maarids on the open sea—that’s remarkable!”

“Yes,” adds Vigo. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it? Almost too remarkable.”

Raz shoots him a cross look, and the Tytoshi shrugs.

We are led through a tiled courtyard and then down a long walkway framed by a series of elegant white arches, through which the sky can be seen deepening into twilight. A servant girl in a gray robe flits from arch to arch, lighting cleverly concealed candles that, when lit, make the arches seem to glow as if enchanted. On either side of us, cypress trees pruned into perfect spheres give off an earthy, rich scent.

Raz shoos away a white peacock that lands on the walk in front of us, then extends an arm toward a low building with a graceful minaret roof. Though covered, the walls are open to the outside, and I can spy the court seated on cushions within.

“This way, Your Highness. Your servant, of course, may join the others in the kitchens.” Though this last remark is directed at me, Raz does not make eye contact. She waves dismissively in the other direction, at a plainer stone building with several smoking chimneys.

I nod and walk toward it, but once I am out of sight, I duck behind the cypresses and shift into a peacock. Not my favorite form. My legs are spindly, and bobbing my head will leave my neck sore later, but it is the safest way to get into the dining hall. Several other peacocks wander in and out of the building freely. No one will notice one more.

Thus disguised, I strut into the open, my long tail feathers dragging behind me, and boldly enter the dining hall.

The court dines in two groups: men and women. They are separated by lattice screens, symbolically more than anything else, for it is easy to spy one another through the screens, which many of the young men and women do. Their flirtation is ignored by the older nobles. In the back of the room, a musician strums a gentle melody on a tall harp, and I recognize in the tune hints of the songs once sung in your court, Habiba. The men are seated in a large circle around an array of dishes that are continually replenished by gray-robed servants. They carry in bowls of rice, steaming flatbread, kebabs of lamb, beef, and chicken. Even to my peacock form, the smells of cinnamon and saffron are delicious.

I find Aladdin seated between Vigo and an old, hairy nobleman who reeks of garlic. My master nods eagerly as Vigo points out which dishes he should try. I note with chagrin that he’s already drunk half a glass of wine. Not a good sign, with the evening still young and the Amulens watching him like hungry leopards looking for a sign of weakness. Not openly, of course. Their glances are sly, but the suspicion is there, burning behind their pleasant expressions.

I scan the room for any sign of the king or his brother, but neither seems to be present. We haven’t seen either since our first day in the palace.

Tonight’s dinner features nobles of middling to high rank, judging by their clothes and manners. But on the women’s side of the room, I spot Caspida surrounded by her handmaidens. They whisper and laugh and sip wine, casting curious looks through the screen. To see them now, they look innocent and harmless as doves, nothing like the little fighting unit that kidnapped Aladdin.

I strut around the perimeter of the room, listening in on conversations, hoping for mention of any jinn prisoners. But the talk is disappointingly mundane. I edge in to Vigo and peck at his coat, searching for a hidden flute, until he swats at me and I am forced to flee.

Suddenly the room falls silent and everyone stands. Aladdin scrambles to imitate them, bowing low as a small group enters from the courtyard. When I see who it is, I ruffle my feathers.

It is Darian and three of his friends. The prince is wearing a tight-fitting black kurta hemmed with elaborate embroidery over black trousers and a gold sash. He nods to the room, and everyone sits again, with several nobles shifting aside to give him room.

“Prince Darian!” A nobleman raises his wine cup. “Good to see you back! How was your hunt?”

“Rotten,” says Darian. “There’s not an antelope left for a hundred leagues around that isn’t smaller than a dog. The damn ghuls have eaten all the good game.”

The others greet him warmly, drinking to his health. Darian greets them all by name, but his eyes keep flickering to Aladdin. He gestures for the others to sit, then nods to my master.

“I do not believe we have met,” he murmurs.

Aladdin bows, remarkably composed. “I’m Prince Rahzad rai Asnam of Istarya.”

“I know your name. I would be a poor host if I did not know everything about my guests, don’t you agree? Though apparently on the topic of Rahzad of Istarya, there is remarkably little to know. It almost makes one wonder if he wasn’t conjured from a story.” Darian flicks his wrists and holds his hands out for two servants to quickly wipe them with warm, moist cloths. Then he sits, and Aladdin mirrors him. The prince breaks off a piece of bread and dips it in oil and spices. “I hear you ran into trouble with the jinn.”