The Forbidden Wish(32)

Zhian is here, somewhere. Below, Darian said. I’ve seen staircases leading down to lower levels of the palace, but have been unable to follow them. I have to find a way to draw Aladdin down there, giving me a chance to find where Sulifer keeps the bottled jinn.

I don’t have much time left. A week and more has already passed, and the moon is a quarter full.

I swirl around in the lamp, thinking hard. Everything’s falling into place now. Nardukha sent a maarid to the city to be captured, so it could tell Sulifer about the ring to lead him to me. But the ring didn’t seem to work for Sulifer or Darian. Why, then, did it speak to Aladdin? Who created it, and why? Again and again I find myself back at the same questions.

I curl and think in my lamp, slow, lazy smoke, waiting for morning so that Aladdin can let me out again.

? ? ?

“Where do you go at night?”

Startled, I blink at Aladdin. “What?”

“Every night you slip out. You think I don’t notice. You’re gone for hours, and sometimes you come rushing back, all smoke, into your lamp.”

We’re sitting beneath a small canvas shade at the edge of a chaugan field. Horses gallop about on the grass, their riders leaning down with their mallets to whack a small ball from one end of the pitch to the other. Nobles look on from their shade along the sides, like we do, spending more time gossiping and drinking than watching the game. It’s been a long time since I last saw chougan played, and that was the day it was invented by the Blood King of Danien. The rules seem much the same all these centuries later, except that original match was played not with wooden balls but the severed heads of the king’s enemies.

I much prefer the modern version.

Aladdin and I are temporarily alone. Visitors come and go, mostly curious nobles—and a good many of them young, female, and coy. Aladdin lounges like a king, a tray of fruit at one hand, a flagon of expensive wine at the other. I stand behind him, ready to wait on his every whim, though so far I’ve met all his requests with scowls.

Aladdin twists around in his seat to stare at me, clearly not letting me get out of answering.

“I like to roam,” I say with a shrug. “My kind are more active at night, you know.”

He raises his eyebrows as if he hasn’t considered that, then turns back around to watch the game.

“The Rings are so much more exciting than this,” he says, yawning. “I ought to take a few of these rich boys down to town one of these nights, show them some real entertainment.”

“That would be a bad idea. Spending too much time around those familiar with you will weaken the glamour hiding your true identity.”

He sighs and pulls a few grapes from the tray beside him, but instead of eating them, he just rolls them in his hand. His eyes are locked not on the game but on the pavilion erected on the other side of the field. Darian sits here, with his friends, Caspida at his side. The prince and princess don’t talk or even look at each other; he chats with his boys, and she sits stiffly, her eyes roaming the crowd.

Sulifer appears at the far end of the field, surrounded by ministers and military officers who vie for his attention. Aladdin’s eyes follow the vizier, and one by one, he squeezes the grapes in his hand until they pop. Shadows haunt his eyes, and he grinds his jaw so hard I fear he will break a tooth.

“Why do you not hate the jinn?” I ask, diverting his attention.

Aladdin turns, the anger in his face dissipating. “Hate the jinn?”

“Every other person here would just as soon strike off my head as say hello if they knew what I was.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Didn’t really have to deal with jinn, staying inside the city all my life. And anyway, how could I hate you? Without you, I wouldn’t be here.”

He might hate me if he knew I’m using him, manipulating him, leading him into danger and worse, all for my own selfish reasons. What would he say if he knew the truth? Perhaps I should tell it to him. Perhaps I need to see the hate in his eyes, to stifle the lightness in my stomach whenever I look at him. But the truth turns to smoke in my throat, and I choke it down.

“Prince Rahzad!” a sunny voice calls out, and Vigo saunters over, twirling something in his hand. My teeth clench when I realize what it is—a jinn-charming flute, identical to Nessa’s. “Enjoying the game?”

Aladdin grins and stands up, shaking hands with the Tytoshi. “It’s a damn bore.”

Vigo’s head tips back, and he lets out a booming laugh. “I couldn’t agree more, friend! These Amulens will watch it for hours a day! What about in Istarya? What do you do for sport in this fabled island kingdom we hear so little about?”

Aladdin waves a hand. “Oh, you know. Lots of water stuff. Wrestling sharks and things. And in Tytos?”

“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t been there since I was a boy. I’m heading down to the city to do some work.” He taps his flute to his forehead. “Want to come along? Playing this thing all day gets damn tedious, but afterward, there are some fun girls I could introduce you to. That is, if, uh . . .” He glances at me.

Aladdin does too, and he catches the look in my eyes. He turns back to Vigo. “Thanks, man, but I’ve already promised to play dice later.”

“Right, sure.” Vigo grins and raises his eyebrows at me, then slaps Aladdin on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, man!”