The Forbidden Wish (16 page)

“This,” I say, gesturing at myself, “this isn't me. This isn't what I look like. This body you see belonged to someone else, long, long ago, and like the monster I am, I stole it. It is a mask. A lie.”

“I don't care what you look like.”

“You say that, but you
do
. Would you have kissed me if I looked like this?” With a burst of smoke, I shift to a wrinkled crone. Aladdin swallows but doesn't look away. “Or like this?” I shift into a scarred, ugly man with warts on my face. Aladdin blanches.

Shifting back to my girl form, I sigh deeply and tug at my clothes. “This is just a shape. You're not seeing
me
.”

“Then show yourself to me,” he pleads. “I want to see you, Zahra. I want to know who you really are.”

I stare at him, then, without a word, slowly shift into a whirling column of red smoke glowing with red light.

“I have no form,” I say, my voice shifting and multiplying, a dozen voices speaking at once. “I have no name. I am the Slave of the Lamp, and your will is my will. Your wishes are my commands.”

He shakes his head stubbornly but takes a step backward. I swell and advance, driving him deeper into the room, flashing from within like a thundercloud. I grow and fill the air, driving him choking and coughing to his knees. I press my smoky hands against the walls, curl around the columns, overwhelm him.

“Zahra, stop!” he cries. “Please!”

At once I shift and stand before him as a girl once more. Cautiously he looks up, his eyes wide with pain.

“Do you see now?” I ask tonelessly.

He's breathing heavily, his bare chest beaded with sweat. “Just answer me one question. Do you feel anything for me? Is there even a chance—”

“No.” Gods, how the lie burns my tongue.

He hesitates, then nods once. His eyes flood with confusion and hurt, and he rises and turns away from me, his shoulders hunched.

Bowed beneath the weight of shame, I turn and go to the door. I pause before stepping through to say, “I never wanted it to come to this. I'm sorry.”

Then I flee down the corridor, bumping into a smoldering brazier. It rocks precariously, lit embers raining to the floor and bursting around my feet like tiny exploding stars. I lean against the wall, my face in my hands, for several long minutes. I've never so felt out of control before, my body making decisions before my mind can
catch up. I'm still shaking, and I breathe in and out through my mouth, trying to calm myself.

I shouldn't have kissed him, Habiba. But I didn't know what else to do. The words were there, rising in his throat, words of freedom, words of death. Better to kiss him and leave him than to let him make the Forbidden Wish.

I must find a way out of the city, to set Zhian free and then get as far from here as possible before I become any more entangled with this human boy.

Dimly, I realize someone nearby is shouting, and I pull myself out of my fog. Something is happening at the other end of the palace. A servant runs past me, laden with scrolls. I call to him, but he ignores me and hurries on. I follow swiftly, and the shouting grows louder. Then, over the sound, cuts a sharp and chilling wail.

“The king!” cries the voice. “The king is dying!”

“
Z
AHRA!”

I'm running through the palace when I hear Nessa's shout, and I turn to see her hurrying down the corridor. I wait for her to catch up. She's breathless and wild-eyed, her dreadlocks slipping free of the knot they'd been bound in.

“Did you hear?” she asks.

“Yes. Where's Princess Caspida?”

“With her father. I'm headed there now.”

“I'll come with you.”

Nessa and I race down the corridor. Word must be spreading of the king's bad turn, because people are beginning to emerge from their rooms, and the halls are filled with whispers.

We reach the king's chambers, which are near Caspida's and just inside the lamp's perimeter. A small crowd has already gathered, mostly nobles in their nightgowns, their hair and makeup still
remaining from the night of revelry. A group of guards block the door, repelling any who try to enter.

“Nessa!”

Khavar and another handmaiden are standing nearby, and they wave us over.

“Any word?” asks Nessa.

Khavar shakes her head. “Caspida's inside, with Sulifer and the physicians. No one has come out.”

“Excuse me,” I say, backing away. “I should go back to Prince Rahzad.”

The girls nod distractedly, not noticing that the corridor I take leads in the opposite direction of Aladdin's rooms. When I'm alone, I shift into a small sand-colored lizard and scurry back toward the king's chambers.

I weave through the feet of the nobles gathered outside the door, dart over one guard's boot, and slip beneath the door. Tongue flicking, I cross several opulent chambers before I reach the king's bed. The air here is thick with simmon smoke, and the people gathered around his bed all wear cloths tied over their mouths and noses. Caspida kneels by the bed, her hands wrapped around her father's. She is still wearing her Fahradan gown.

The physicians stand in a cluster on one side of the room, and judging by their grim expressions, they have given up. A group of women huddle at the foot of the bed, weeping. Sulifer and Darian stand over the bed, silent and pensive.

Malek's skin is yellow and crusty, his cheeks sunken, his eyes ringed with shadows so dark they're like smeared kohl. His breath comes ragged and uneven, his chest barely rising at all.

Caspida's eyes are dry and fixed on her father's face, burning
with ferocity, as if she is trying to will him back to life. I crawl up the post of his bed and hang upside down from the ceiling, held in place by the sticky pads on my lizard toes. My round reptilian eyes enable me to see everyone at once.

Sulifer is holding a sheet of parchment and an inked quill, and he bends over his brother, speaking in a low voice.

“For the good of the people, Malek,” he says, “you must ensure that this transition be as stable as possible.”

“Leave him alone!” Caspida snaps. “He's
dying
, you vulture!”

Sulifer regards her with pity. “Even on his deathbed, a king has responsibilities. Take notice and learn, Princess.”

She glares as he leans lower and puts the quill into Malek's hand, holding his brother's wrist so the king can press the tip to the parchment.

“Please, brother,” Sulifer murmurs. “Your people will sing praises of your wisdom and foresight. With a king and queen to rule after you, they will feel safe, and your enemies will tremble. For who can stand against ones so well matched as my son and your daughter? Let your last act bless their happiness and ensure your legacy.”

Malek's feverish eyes rove from Caspida to his brother, and he moans.

“Get away!” Caspida rises and throws a finger toward the door, her eyes burning at her uncle. “I will call the guards!”

“Stop acting like a spoiled child,” Sulifer says patiently. “Your father is dying, and you insist on throwing tantrums.”

“Baba, please,” she says, taking her father's face in her hands. “I love you. Don't do this.”

“It was he who arranged this match years ago,” Sulifer says.
“Will you defy his wishes now, when he is a breath away from the eternal godlands?”

“He was led by the nose,” she fires back. “This was
your
doing! You swayed him to your will when he was left weak by my mother's death!”

“You dare call the king weak?” Darian interjects hotly. “You dare question his will?”

“You dare to usurp him!” she cries. “And to manipulate a man at his weakest! I won't let you bully him into signing your stupid decree!”

Sulifer bares his teeth angrily. “Will you defy him until his last breath?”

She stares into her father's face, her eyes dazed. “Of course not. Baba, I will do whatever you tell me to. But please, let it be
your
will, and none else's.”

Malek murmurs something.

“Baba?” Caspida bends over him. “What is it?”

“Best . . .” he groans. “Best . . . thing for you . . . Keep you safe.”

“Baba?” Caspida's eyes fill with dismay.

Sulifer stares down his nose at her. “The king has spoken. Step aside, Princess, and let him make his dying will.”

He brushes Caspida aside, holding up the parchment and supporting Malek's arm as the king signs. Caspida's face turns ashen, and Darian looks away, hiding a small smile.

“It is done,” intones Sulifer. “The king's will is known. Signed and witnessed.”

“The king's will is known,” murmur the physicians. “We stand witness.”

Darian takes Caspida's arm. “Even on this tragic night, we have
cause to be glad. Your father has given us a great gift, Cas. Don't spoil it by being selfish.”

Suddenly Malek gasps, his eyes growing wide, pupils constricting. The physicians rush over and fuss, but there is nothing they can do. Caspida throws herself to her knees beside the king.

“No, no, no,” she murmurs, her eyes tearing up at last. “Baba, please!”

Malek's eyes find hers. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and she leans over in anticipation, but the only thing to come out of him is a long, thin breath that trails off, until his lungs are empty and do not rise again.

“My brother has departed to the godlands,” intones Sulifer. “Sweet may he rest.”

“Sweet may he rest,” echo the physicians.

The women begin wailing and tearing their clothes. One holds a jar of ashes and begins throwing them in the air. As the physicians hasten to begin performing the death rites that will send Malek's soul into eternity, Caspida stands and slips out of the room.

Unsticking my toes, I follow her.

She runs out of the king's chambers, bursts through the nobles standing around, and ignores her handmaidens when they call to her. Her gown flapping around her legs, she runs up and down the palace corridors, losing the few people who try to follow her. I have to drop to the floor and shift to a cat to keep up, my paws silent on the stone. Caspida weeps as she runs, leaving a trail of dark spots on the stones where her tears fall.

Eventually she stops in front of Aladdin's rooms. There she stands for a moment, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around herself as she struggles to control her breathing. She stops sobbing and scrubs her face with the hem of her gown.

Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and knocks on Aladdin's door.

It opens at once.

“Zahra, I'm so—” He freezes. “Princess Caspida.”

“Prince Rahzad. Can I come in?” she asks.

Aladdin glances up and down the hall, then nods and stands back. Caspida slips inside, and just before he shuts the door, I dart through. Aladdin notices and watches me warily. I sit in the corner, my tail curled around my paws, watching impassively.

Caspida stands in the grass courtyard, looking small and lost. Her loose hair is tangled from running, and her feet are bare. Aladdin approaches her slowly, his face etched with concern.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“My father has died,” says Caspida flatly.

Aladdin stops and shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “I'm so sorry.”

She shrugs and looks away, her jaw tight.

Hesitantly, Aladdin walks to her. “Is there . . . anything I can do?”

She blinks rapidly, holding back more tears. Her body is rigid and tight, as if she's poised to flee. “I came to accept.”

“Accept?”

“Your offer of marriage.”

Aladdin's mouth opens and shuts. He blinks at her, stunned.

“Well?” she snaps. “Are you going to gape, or are you going to say something?”

“Um. I don't think . . . I'm not sure you're in a frame of mind to really make a decision like that. Your father just died. You should be mourning him, not—”

“Sulifer made my father sign a decree just moments before he—he passed. It says that I must marry within two days, before I am crowned, or I must abdicate.”

Aladdin's lips form a perfect circle. “And . . . you've come to marry me instead of Darian.”

“The decree doesn't mention Darian by name—only that I must marry a prince.”

Aladdin chews his lip, his eyes creasing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“You said you wanted to help me! Well, this is it. This is me asking for help!”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Of course I'll help you. I just want you to be sure this is what you want.”

“I want you to marry me,” she says firmly. “And then I want you to summon your army.”

Aladdin's face goes still. “My army.”

“You
have
an army, right?” Her gaze darkens dangerously.

“Uh . . . sure. I mean, of course.”

“Well. How soon can they be here?”

“Um. I don't know. A month, maybe?” Aladdin glances anxiously at me, and I look down at my paws.

She nods. “Good. We must begin drawing up battle plans.”

“Battle plans,” he echoes tonelessly.

“My scouts report that there are jinn gathering in the hills—more than we have ever seen.”

I straighten, my cat's ears alert.

“Something is brewing out there,” Caspida continues. “And it can be nothing good if there are jinn involved. We fear they are going to launch an attack, and we must be ready. Your men can help, can't they?”

“Of course.” Aladdin glances at me in a silent plea for help. I remain right where I am, sitting on one of the cushions he'd kissed me on just minutes earlier.

“Princess, perhaps I should walk you back to your chambers. Your friends might be better able to comfort you.” He hesitates, then adds, “I'm really sorry about your father. I lost mine when I was twelve. I know what it's like.”

“Do you know what it's like to feel an entire kingdom suddenly fall on your shoulders?” she asks sharply, and then she squeezes her eyes shut. “I'm sorry. That was rude. You must think I'm pathetic, running in here like this.”

Aladdin gently catches her hands and lifts them. “You're not pathetic. And you're right. I don't know what it's like. But I do know that you can bear it. I know that you are strong enough and that you are surrounded by people who will stand by you through every moment. You aren't alone, Princess.”

Her eyebrows pinch together, and she draws a steadying breath. “I should go back. My father . . . I must make arrangements.”

Aladdin nods. “Let me help.”

“Later,” she says. “Tonight I must keep the death watch.”

Suddenly she rises on her toes and brushes her lips against his, awkward and hesitant. His brows lift in surprise, and his eyes dart briefly to me. Envy flares in me, but I stamp it down ruthlessly.

All I wanted was for Caspida to accept the marriage proposal, and here she is, not a moment too soon. Usually I am the first to dismiss the idea of destiny, but perhaps in this case I would make an exception. Aladdin got his princess after all. Perhaps this once, a wish won't end in misery and loss—at least, not for the humans. The prospect should make me glad. But I am a selfish spirit, and it doesn't.

Caspida rushes away as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving Aladdin dazed in the grass. He stands there for a moment, his shoulders drawn tight as a bow. Then he walks inside, takes a clay jug from
behind a pillow, and drinks long and deep. When he lowers the jug, he totters toward me and collapses on the cushions.

“Well.” He lifts the jug to his lips, his eyes wide and unfocused. “I guess I win after all.”

With a ripple of smoke, I shift and am human once more. I sit by him and stare at the floor, trying to feel a sense of relief.

“Congratulations,” I say.

“So now what?” He drinks again, hurtling toward intoxication. “I wish for an army?”

“It would seem so.”

Maybe I should just tell Aladdin the truth about Zhian and the deal I made with the jinn. But can I bear the disappointment in his eyes when I confess that I've been manipulating him all along, tricking him into a marriage he doesn't want, just to serve my own ends?

“Zahra, what happens to you when I make my last wish?”

“When your third wish is granted, you will cease to be my master. You may possess the lamp, but you cannot call me. I will return to it and await the next Lampholder.”

Abruptly he stands and walks across the room. When he reaches the wall, he turns and stares down at me. “So to win my revenge, I must lose you.”

“It would seem so.” And I
must
find a way to free Zhian before that happens, or we will all be lost. Nardukha is watching closely, and my time shrinks with the moon. There are jinn gathering in the hills.

“Zahra!” In three steps he runs to me, grabs my shoulders, and searches my eyes. “Don't just stare like that! Say something!”

“What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do,
Aladdin? Beg you not to make a wish? Insist that there is another way? There isn't.”