The Forbidden Wish(46)

Noticing my stare, she laughs and taps the book. “I always get bored at these things. So I brought a friend.” Drawing it out, she flips through the pages. “A history of the greatest queens of the eastern sea kingdoms, going all the way back to the Shepherdess Queen of Ghedda, who offered herself as sacrifice to save her city from sinking into the sea.”

My skin prickles, and I turn and look at her fully, my eagerness to find Zhian temporarily forgotten. “An ancient story,” I say slowly. “Few people know it.”

“I know a lot of old stories most people forget,” she says, running her finger down the spine. “And the Parthenian library is a marvel. One could spend a lifetime exploring it and never even count all the scrolls and books tucked away in there.”

“May I ask, Highness, how a Tytoshi princess finds herself in an Amulen court?”

“I suppose you may, since it’s Fahradan, after all.” She looks across the crowd, her eyes briefly lingering on Aladdin and Caspida. “When a Tytoshi king dies, his successor often cleanses the royal household, murdering his siblings and their children in order to protect his throne—and not without reason. Few Tytoshi rulers die of natural deaths, you know.” She turns back to me, her tone matter-of-fact. “When my grandfather died, my eldest uncle became king. Instead of letting my brother Vigo and me be strangled in our sleep, our mother smuggled us here. We were only babies at the time.”

“And was it your mother who taught you the art of jinn charming?”

The only indication Nessa gives of her alarm at this question is a slight flaring of her nostrils. “I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive me. I noticed your flute the other day. It is carved with Eskarr symbols—not an instrument for idle melodies.”

She studies me for a long moment, her jaw tensing, before replying shortly, “My twin and I earn our keep.” She nods at Aladdin and Caspida. “Your prince and my princess are stirring up quite the gossip.”

I glance around at the watching nobles, who all have eyes for Caspida and her companion. They whisper behind their spiced wine, and not all their expressions are benevolent.

“I’d tell your master to watch out,” Nessa continues. “Darian’s probably in some corner plotting murder.” She looks away, her face impassive, and I sigh. I’m likely to get no help from her in finding Zhian. The crowd presses in on me, until it seems I can hardly breathe. I must get out, must continue searching. I’ve wasted too much time already.

But before I can make a move, a peal of trumpets and a crier announce the king’s arrival. The crowd goes still and silent, watching with bowed heads, and I suppress a groan. Running out now would only draw unwanted attention.

The door atop the stair opens, and Malek leads in a small procession, Sulifer at his right shoulder. The king is hunched and pale, and the bright festival garb he wears looks more comical than regal on his wasted frame. He stumbles down the stairs, nearly toppling altogether before accepting an arm from his brother. Leaning on Sulifer, Malek makes his way to the floor and there pauses to catch his breath. His glazed eyes rove disinterestedly about.

A few snickers bubble out of the crowd, unnoticed by the king. I spot one young nobleman in a far corner—one of Darian’s boys—mimicking the king, tottering around and miming holding a simmon pipe to his lips while smiling vacuously. Darian himself is expressionless, but I have lived long enough to learn to read the emotions beneath the surface. He masks disgust and satisfaction when he looks at the king.

Caspida’s face is as still as the moon. Without a word to Aladdin, she pushes through the crowd and reaches Malek’s side. With a wave she dismisses Sulifer and takes her father’s arm. He seems to rouse from his stupor at her touch, and smiles and pats her hand. She leads him to the throne, helping him sit and arranging cushions behind his back. The crowd begins to lose interest and goes back to their dancing and talking.

“How long has he been like this?” I ask Nessa.

She sighs and watches Caspida and the king with sorrowful eyes. “Ever since the queen died, ten years ago. He was once bright and strong and adored Caspida completely.”

“How did the queen die?”

Nessa’s gaze darkens. “A jinn attack, long ago. They ambushed the queen and all her Watchmaidens while they were on a journey to seek an alliance with Ursha. Our mothers. All gone in a single day.”

Ah. Small wonder then that the princess hates the jinn so deeply. Uneasily, my thoughts wander down paths I’ve tried very hard to avoid: What will happen to Aladdin once I’ve won my freedom? What will Caspida do when she learns he tricked his way into the palace with jinn magic?

Vigo appears suddenly at his sister’s side, grinning wickedly. His dreadlocks are in a thick braid down his back, their silver-tipped ends tinkling. “Come on, Ness! Let’s show them how the Tytoshi dance.”

“All right, ugly, but don’t cry when you can’t keep up.” Nessa smiles and hands me her book. “Hold on to this for me, Zahra.”

They slide onto the open floor and throw themselves into a lively dance composed of jumping, whooping, and twirling, which looks altogether exhausting. The crowd around them cheers and claps along. I watch, smiling a little, recalling entire fields filled with dancing Tytoshi back when I belonged to one of their kings. After a while, I look down at Nessa’s book and open it to the first page. It bears an illustration of the Shepherdess Queen of Ghedda looking down on her city as waves rose to devour it.