The Forbidden Wish(35)

“What am I doing?” I whisper. I know where this road leads, for I have traveled it before. I don’t dare follow it again, no matter how tempting it is. If only it were as easy to smother the fire leaping inside me as the one in my palm.

Finally, my stomach twisting, I rise and go to the door, face flushed and hands trembling. I gather myself and shift into smoke.

I spend the rest of the night prowling the halls, and once, briefly, I almost think I can feel the faintest wisp of . . . something. A force, writhing below. Not human. But then it is gone, and when I try to pursue it, I nearly go too far from the lamp. I stop, frozen at the edge of my unseen leash, and stand for several long minutes, unable to go forward, afraid to go back.

? ? ?

The next morning, I am lounging in the courtyard in the form of a tiger, swatting lazily at flies, when a knock sounds on the door. Instantly I re-form into a girl and run to open it.

It is Khavar, her snake coiled like a living necklace across her collarbone.

“My mistress Princess Caspida requests your presence in her chambers,” says the girl in a bored tone. “Immediately. If convenient.”

“I’ll have to wake him,” I reply. “He’s—”

“Not him. You.”

I stare at her for a moment, then slam the door. As an afterthought, I open it again and say, “Just a minute,” before shutting it again in her face.

I go into Aladdin’s room, where he dragged himself into bed at some point during the night, and whip aside the heavy damask curtain, letting the sunlight pour in. Aladdin, throwing a hand over his eyes, cries out and falls off the bed.

“What are you—why—!?”

“I’ve been summoned to see Caspida.”

He groans and massages his head. “It hurts. Everything hurts. Light. Sounds. Ugh . . .”

“Next time,” I say cheerfully, “maybe you’ll think before letting the jackals get you stinking drunk. If you’re going to throw up, do it outside. I’m not cleaning up after you.”

“Gunhhh . . .”

“I’m going to see Caspida. Don’t go out if you can help it. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t let go of my lamp. Your ill manners we can explain away. My evaporating in front of Caspida’s eyes we can’t. Aladdin.” I pull his hands from his face to be sure he understands. He squints and moans pathetically. “Do you hear me or not?”

“Right. Now go away. Leave me ’lone.” He pulls the blanket off the bed and covers himself, curling up on the floor.

Leaving him, I open the door and smile at Khavar. “I’m ready.”

Caspida will want to interrogate me about Aladdin, I am certain. It is easier to invite me, his only female household member, unless she wants to ignite scandalous gossip. Good. I had been hoping for this. Perhaps I can finally get a clue to finding Zhian.

Khavar leads me through the palace, through arches and doorways and stone courtyards. We pass many servants but few nobles; I suspect Aladdin is not the only one waking to a headache this morning. The palace is built to allow as much light and fresh air as possible inside, with many open arches and windows. The cool morning air is filled with birdsong and the sound of running water from the many fountains in the courtyards, and we pass the flock of peacocks I’d taken up with at dinner a week ago. Several run up to me and peck curiously at my shoes. Khavar hisses at them, and they scatter.

“In here,” sighs Khavar, swinging open a narrow cedar door. The rooms inside are wide and open, connected by arched doorways hung with sheer silk curtains. Similarly to Aladdin’s chambers, they open to a courtyard, as well as a wide, shallow pool. The room Khavar leads me into is lush with carpets and cushions, silk and embroidery.

Caspida’s handmaidens are all here, and there is one other presence: An elephant calf stands in the center of the room. The girls are idly painting designs onto its skin, and they give me curious looks before turning back to their work. Raz is halfheartedly firing arrows at a pillow across the room, her shots flying dangerously close to Nessa’s head but finding their target every time. Nessa seems hardly to notice.

Caspida lounges on a long cushion in front of the elephant and offers up handfuls of apple slices, which the calf picks up with its trunk and tucks into its mouth. She giggles when it tugs her hair, asking for more, and for a moment I see her for the girl she is and not the queen-to-be she presents to her court.

The princess glances up when I enter, her hand pausing above the bowl of apples. The calf nudges her with its trunk.

Caspida wears only a white kurta and skirt, her feet bare, but the fabric is encrusted with delicate embroidered flowers that must have taken a very skilled seamstress several months to create. A simple gold stud is pressed into her nostril, and a delicate chain hangs from it to her earlobe, brushing her smooth cheek.

“You must be Zahra.”

I bow low. “Your Highness.”

“Hungry?” She lifts the bowl of apples and pushes aside the elephant’s trunk when it tries to grab the fruit.

I look at the bowl, then at Caspida, reading the unspoken words in her eyes. This is an ancient game that I have seen played, won, and lost many times over. Take the fruit, and I am demonstrating that my loyalties to my master can be tested, perhaps broken. Decline, and she will know that I am his to my last breath.

“You do me honor,” I say, and I take an apple slice.