Page 23 of The Wishless Ones
To obey.
Jafar didn’t realize until now that he had taken Baba’s criticism to heart.No more,Jafar told himself. He answered to no one but himself now.
He began walking up the street, jaw set and memories of Baba streaking through his mind, one after the other. Rohan struggled to keep up, bickering with Iago about something Jafar tuned out. It didn’t yet feel like Baba was really gone. He was an entire realm away now, but at times, Jafar felt worse than when he had known Baba was a room over.
He couldn’t let that feeling hinder what he had already accomplished—and had yet to achieve.
Buildings rose to either side of them, some with carvings etched into stone, others with fancy moldings that jutted out at intervals. Some tapered to pointed domes, while others were flat with rooftop terraces.
Jafar had never seen anything like it. He’d never seen a city that had been built forleisure, rather than necessity.
He pointed at Rohan’s map. “Let’s head to that bazaar first. We’re going to need better clothes and a few other things. And then a place to stay for the night.”
As occasional passersby became small crowds and busier storefronts, Jafar spied a sweetshop.Perfect.Rohan would love that.
“Jafar, we really need to—” Rohan began.
“Come on,” Jafar said.
Rohan ran to catch up. “We need to talk about your plan. You can’t go up to the House of Wisdom and expect to be let in simply because you’ve applied.”
“There’s a sweetshop just up ahead,” Jafar singsonged.
“Did you hear me?” Rohan asked.
“Relax, Rohan. I’ll buy you qatayef,” Jafar said.
“Hey, I deserve a little something, too,” Iago said. Jafar ignored him and looked at Rohan with a mock pout.
Rohan sighed. “And cardamom tea, too? With your imaginary money?”
“Of course,” Jafar said, hopes rising as they ventured deeper into the capital city. Date palms swayed, fountains gurgled.
“Are you actually— With what money, Jafar?” Rohan asked in hushed panic as Jafar neared the sweetshop.
It was a stall, really, run by a girl, with a sampling of sweets inside a glass case. Behind her, a woman who might have been her sister poured orange blossom syrup over a fresh batch of basbousa, the buttery and nutty aroma spiraling around them. Cozy cushions had been arranged out in front of the shop, occupied by men sitting cross-legged and chatting in boisterous tones without a care in the world, pouring fragrant streams of tea and passing glasses around.
“A plate of qatayef, please,” Jafar said. “And a glass of cardamom tea.”
The girl behind the glass case blushed when he pulled out a handful of coins with a flourish.
“You had money this entire time?” Rohan sputtered. The men burst into laughter at something completely unrelated.
“If I had used it sooner, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?” Jafar asked.
Rohan grumbled, and then when Jafar winked, a laugh sputtered out of him. Jafar, despite everything looming ahead, warmed inside. This was what he lived for: his brother.
And when Jafar wasn’t careful, it was easy to forget.
Jafar counted the last of the coins he’d brought from home and set off with Rohan and Iago for the bazaar. Their clothes were dusty and worn from their travels, and though Rohan argued that the gatekeepers of the House of Wisdom wouldn’t care, Jafar believed otherwise.
While Rohan perused the stalls, Iago fluttered to Jafar’s shoulder, nails cinching tight.
“When I have new clothes on, we’ll have to revisit where you sit, because it won’t be on my shoulder anymore,” Jafar said, eyeing his talons.
“Sure it will,” Iago said. Jafar enjoyed their raillery. It was different from his back-and-forth with Rohan, and strangely, the fact that it was less sincere and intense made it feel more natural. “We need to talk about your idea to walk up to the House of Wisdom.”
“As I already told my brother, it’s not up for discussion,” Jafar replied, narrowly avoiding a child running across the street, waving a brand-new doll.
