The Forbidden Wish(66)

I tell him to return in five minutes, which gives Aladdin time to hide the lamp in his room. I reluctantly return to it, loath to leave him unguarded for even an hour. I reach out with my sixth sense throughout the fitting, wary as a caged cat, but all goes smoothly, and once the tailor and his assistants are gone, Aladdin quickly releases me again. There follows an endless procession of servants knocking at the door, bearing food, wine, gifts from Caspida—all the traditional items that should have been parceled out over a series of days, now crammed into the few hours left.

It is well after midnight when Aladdin, exhausted, tumbles into bed. I sit in the midst of his gifts: daggers and gold, clothing and carved chests, mirrors and candlesticks. It reminds me of your first betrothed, Habiba: handsome and bold Elikum of Miniivos, and of the elaborate preparations we made for your wedding. Of course, your wedding week ended with the groom being poisoned by a traitor on the eve of the ceremony. We held a funeral instead, and you did not weep until three weeks later. You always claimed you did not love him, but I never believed you.

I can only hope this wedding will end on a better note. To be sure, I stay on watch all night, guarding Aladdin’s door as if the whole host of Ambadya might try to storm in.

? ? ?

Two hours before dawn, I wake him with a soft knock. He stumbles out, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

“Already?” he groans.

“You should go change,” I say. “You’re to be wed in less than an hour, and you can’t meet your bride looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

He draws a breath as if about to speak, but then sighs wearily and returns to his chamber.

I change my garments, swirling and rearranging them into festive blue and gold silk, my hair loose and long. I watch as artful brown curlicues and flowers coil down my arms and over the backs of my hands. The henna is meant for a bride, not a jinni, and with a sigh I let it fade away.

Aladdin emerges minutes later. He wears the rich set of clothes the tailor made for him the night before: a close-fitting coat of muted gold and beige that opens in a split in the front and back, over loose red leggings, and a red cape that hangs over his right shoulder and brushes the floor in front and behind.

“Wait,” I say. I motion for him to sit, then rake my fingers through his hair, conjuring a comb of jade with a tiger handle that I use to part his hair and sweep it into a neat wave high over his forehead. So rich and dark, that hair; I long to bury my fingers in it and kiss his forehead.

“There,” I say. “Let’s have a look at you.”

He cuts a striking figure and will make a handsome groom. I ignore the pang in my stomach the sight of him causes. Let him go, I tell myself. At any moment my bond with the lamp could break, and my feelings for him must break with it. But my heart is a treacherous star, refusing to dim when the sun rises.

“How do I look?” he asks, and he strikes a ridiculous pose, watching to see if he can elicit a laugh.

“Like a fool.” I shake my head. “But a princely one.”

He takes a step toward me, a hand reaching out. “Zahra, I . . .”

“Don’t speak.” I look down, fussing with my gown. “We should go.”

“Of course. You’re right.” His reply is so soft I nearly don’t catch it.

“Just one more thing . . .” I look around the room, spot a gold spoon on the tray of tea Khavar and Nessa brought, and pick it up. I hold it in the coals of the brazier, which are still hot from the night before. In minutes, the gold is cool enough to shape. With a few quick movements, I peel away most of the gold and use the rest to form a ring. As the metal cools, the outside is impressed with the prints of your fingers, Habiba, which I wear like gloves. It seems fitting, given that the bride is of your blood. Before the metal cools completely, I use my nail to impress Eskarr glyphs into the inside of the band, representing undying love. The ancient symbols, which carry a magic of their own, glow white before fading into the ring.

“Here,” I say. “It’s all right, the metal has cooled.”

Aladdin takes the ring and turns it over. “Zahra, you’re a wonder.”

“It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

He swallows and nods, then hands it back. “You must carry it for me.”

“I can’t.” I back away, lifting my hands in refusal. The ring bearer must be the groom’s closest friend, one who symbolically carries his deepest trust and affection. Usually that person is his brother or oldest friend.

“I want you to,” he says. “After all, this was all your idea. Please, Zahra?”

His gaze is earnest, and my eyes fall to the ring on his palm. Mouth dry, I nod and take it, closing my fingers over it protectively, feeling small and unworthy.

“We should go,” I say gruffly. “You’ve got a wedding to catch.”





Chapter Twenty-One


THE NOBLES FLOW IN WAVES toward the palace temple, watching and whispering like a flock of doves, and they part for Aladdin, who walks ringed by his guards. The crowd wears a strange blend of dark funeral clothes, in keeping with the traditional twenty days of morning for a king, and bright festive colors for the wedding.

We reach the temple to find it overflowing with people. We are barely able to squeeze in, and the looks that follow us are malevolent. There is little love for Aladdin among this court, which until an hour ago had been expecting their own beloved prince to be the one standing at the princess’s side today. But I do spy a few smiling faces among those nobles Aladdin managed to charm in his short time at the palace, and I doubt it will take him long to win over the rest—so long as his true identity goes undiscovered.