The Forbidden Wish(67)

Six drummers stand in front of the temple, beating a wedding tattoo that echoes throughout the palace, announcing the arrival of the bride and groom. Around the edges of the room, acolytes swing incense on chains, filling the air with the sweet scent of jasmine and moonflower. Each door is guarded by a priest bearing a prayer staff in one hand and a scroll of holy verse in the other, to ward off evil spirits and discourage jinn from entering. Their efforts are more symbolic than anything, and I pass by without incident.

We are met by Captain Pasha, who escorts Aladdin to a dais in front of the temple, beneath a four-story statue of Amystra, the goddess of warriors and judges. Her stone wings curve around the dais, enclosing it on three sides, while her arms stretch high above her upturned face, holding aloft a sword.

Aladdin stands at the foot of the stair leading up to the dais. He tugs at his collar, his eyes roaming the crowd. Those officials loyal to Caspida stand behind him, while scribes record everything at small wooden desks set to one side of the dais. Little girls strew rose and jasmine blossoms around the temple while singing a soft, sweet melody.

With Aladdin in place, Caspida enters from the left. The princess wears a long, trailing gown of white, embroidered from neck to hem with tiny white roses, with one arm bare and the other draped with sheer silk. Her hands and wrists are covered with red henna that stands out in contrast to her olive skin. Gathered into braids beneath a simple silver band, her hair is studded with the same tiny white blossoms that are also sprinkled on the dais and down the stairs. Caspida’s handmaidens follow her, dressed in shades of green, like the leaves of a rosebush with Caspida as the flower.

Two priests step forward to officiate. One carries a pot of burning embers, and the other a sprig of an olive branch. He taps Aladdin’s shoulders and forehead with the branch, symbolically purifying him, and then casts it into the bowl, where it burns in seconds. Then the priests scatter rice around Aladdin and Caspida’s feet, a symbol of good luck and fortune to come. At last two acolytes take a length of red silk and hold it over the couple’s heads, and the priests begin intoning the words of binding, their sentences interspersed with lines sung by a young acolyte boy with a voice as sweet as honey.

Aladdin is as edgy as a beggar in a guardhouse. He watches Caspida sidelong and tries to mimic her actions. I’m half afraid he’ll run. Caspida, on the other hand, is serene as a swan, her face composed and regal. She doesn’t meet Aladdin’s eyes.

I try to be happy for them, Habiba. Truly I do. And a part of me is happy for them—I have grown fond of them both, and to see them joined makes me believe some stories do end happily. Here is one wish I didn’t twist. Two lives I didn’t ruin.

And yet . . .

Part of me feels shriveled and rejected. I am the weed cast out of the rose garden. I am the crow chased out of the dovecote. I am where I belong, and shouldn’t that be enough? Doesn’t that merit some sense of happiness or, at the least, fulfillment? Haven’t I won the more important prize—freedom?

Then why, Habiba, do I feel as if I have lost something instead?

I force the question out of my mind. There are more important things to focus on, such as the prolonged absence of Darian and Sulifer, which has not gone unnoticed by the gathered nobles. The vizier and the prince leave a hole in the assembly, and it seems I am not the only one this worries. Caspida’s handmaidens are also alert and watchful, keeping an eye on the crowd. A clumsy murder attempt in the baths cannot be their only plan, so what are they waiting for? My eyes sweep the rooftops, looking for a hidden archer, but I see nothing suspicious. Still, something pulls at me, something that isn’t quite right.

Aladdin and Caspida repeat the words given to them by the priests, speaking vows of troth, fidelity, and love that neither truly feels. A few more minutes, and they will be wed in truth. Instead of feeling relief, I feel as if I’m about to be hanged, waiting for the floor to drop and my neck to break. My unease grows like a swelling wave, rushing inexorably to shore.

Maybe it won’t come. Maybe after his failed attempt to drown Aladdin, Darian cut his losses and ran. Maybe Sulifer decided he’d much rather spend the rest of his life fishing on the coast of Qopta than scheming of ways to manipulate this court.

Tense with unease, I turn back to the ceremony, which is moving to a close. An acolyte brings out a beautiful jade tea set. Once Aladdin and Caspida exchange rings and serve each other a cup, they will be officially wed in the sight of gods and men.

“In the presence of Imohel and these witnesses,” says one of the priests, “this man and this woman have come forth to bind their fates together. What token do you bring as a seal of this union?”

Aladdin turns to me, and I open my fingers to reveal the ring. He stares at it, his hand hovering over mine.

“Take it,” I whisper.

He swallows and picks up the ring, turning it over slowly, light flashing off the symbols carved into the metal. Then his eyes lift and meet mine.

“Zahra . . .” He closes his hand over the ring. “I can’t do it.”

My mind freezes. I open my mouth but cannot even form a thought to speak.

Aladdin turns around and draws a deep breath, lifting his chin. “I’m sorry, Princess. But this has to stop.”

The crowd breaks out into whispers, while Aladdin and the princess stare at one another with equal regret and relief. The priests exchange baffled looks.

“Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?” one asks.