The Forbidden Wish(47)

With a shudder, I slam the book shut.

Suddenly a hand slides around my waist and a voice whispers in my ear, “How about that dance now, love?”

It’s Bad Breath, now well drunk and reeking of wine. He pushes me from behind, into the open, and grabs my wrist tightly. As he tries to force me into a turn, I hiss, “I’ll give you exactly three seconds to contemplate the mistake you’re making before I break your—”

The man’s eyes go wide, and his lips spread in a grimace as his free hand is twisted behind him—held tightly by a grim-faced Aladdin.

“Step away,” Aladdin says softly, “and you might leave with your arm still attached to your body, you bastard.”

The man moans, but he lets go of me and skulks off, muttering, “Why does this always happen to me?” to himself. Aladdin, pleased with himself, bows to me.

“Can I have a turn? Or do you only dance with cretins like Darian?”

Rolling my eyes, I drop Nessa’s book into my pocket, then hold up my wrist. He meets it with his own, sweeping me into the midst of the other dancers. “I didn’t need your help.”

“A lady shouldn’t have to get her hands dirty on a night like this.”

“Oh, you are quite the prince. So did you sweep her off her feet?”

His expression changes then, shifting from smugness to misery. “She barely spoke ten words to me.”

“I’m shocked.” I smile, turning my back to him, our wrists meeting behind my head. “Did you try poetry?”

“You’re not being helpful.”

Turning to face him, I lean in and whisper, “Wish for her love, and I will deliver it to you.”

He smiles grimly. “Then it wouldn’t be love.”

“And what do you know of love?”

“That it must be a choice.”

“Oh, my na?ve thief.” I pause briefly to meet his gaze. “Love is rarely a choice.”

The music slows, and most of the other dancers drift away to talk and drink. I start to follow, the need to find Zhian pulling at me, but Aladdin says softly, “Just a little longer. I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”

I glance up at him and find his gaze too warm to withstand. I resume dancing but keep my eyes lowered, fighting the knots twisting inside me.

Only two other couples are left: Nessa and Vigo, and Caspida and Darian. The prince and princess move with stiff formality, their steps rote. Darian seems frustrated at the princess’s aloofness.

“She doesn’t love him,” I whisper to Aladdin. “With the right words, you’ll win her over.”

“If you have any ideas to share, I’m nothing but ears,” he replies, his voice suddenly miserable.

My eyes narrow as I study his forlorn gaze. “Why, Prince Rahzad, are you starting to fall in love?”

He blinks, his eyes clearing, and then his gaze locks on mine. I spin away, then back to him, and his copper eyes don’t waver.

“I’m not here to fall in love, am I? I’m here to avenge my parents.”

“Don’t the two work hand in hand?”

Abruptly, he stops dancing and steps away. He stares at me with eyes as deep as the night.

“No,” he replies softly. “I’m not sure they do.”

I stand still, bewildered, as he turns and melts into the crowd.





Chapter Sixteen


EXHAUSTED FROM DANCING, the people move into a grand courtyard beneath a starry sky and colorful lanterns swaying in a gentle breeze. They burn in the night like candle flames, bright and brilliant. I follow, only paying half attention to everyone around me, as I push my sixth sense far and wide and deep, probing for Zhian. I even send out tentative whispers in the silent jinn tongue: Are you there? Brothers and sisters, is anyone there? No reply comes trickling back.

Aladdin is at Caspida’s side. They move in the midst of young lords and maidens, all laughing and flirting. The princess and my master are reticent, not looking at each other. Aladdin glances around, and then his eyes catch mine and hold. I stand apart from everyone else and, meeting his eye, nod pointedly at the princess. He stares a moment longer before turning back to Caspida and making a comment that draws a polite smile.

I find a quiet corner tucked in the tall hedges surrounding the courtyard and sit on the base of a tall statue hidden there. It is a marble sculpture of a gryphon with a face seemingly based on King Malek’s, though this face is stronger and fuller, like the man Malek might have been had he not wasted himself over simmon.

Tipping my head back, the moon and I regard one another silently, like enemies facing off across a field of battle. It is the same moon that met me the night Aladdin brought me out of the vault beneath the desert: barely there at all, merely a sly wink in the deep dark sky.

Two days until it disappears completely.

I let my mind turn to the possibility of failure, something I haven’t even dared consider until now. Shaza had warned that if I didn’t release Zhian in the allotted month, Nardukha would rain death on me and Parthenia. It isn’t hard to imagine what that means.

I still have Nessa’s book in my pocket, and I pull it out and lay it on my lap, open to the first page, where an ink drawing depicts a sorrowful maiden looking down on a city being swallowed by waves.

I’ve seen him destroy cities with fire, with water, with the shaking of the earth. He destroyed Neruby with sand and wind. He destroyed Ghedda, the city in the drawing, by causing the mountain it was built on to erupt. He might have already destroyed Parthenia, if it wouldn’t risk Zhian’s life. It’s a wonder the Shaitan has kept his notorious temper in check even this long. If I fail, he’ll likely let Parthenia and all its people sink into the sea, then send his maarids to search the ruins for Zhian’s bottle.