Page 33 of The Wishless Ones
“Shouldn’t we wait for the head librarian?” Rohan asked.
Jafar pursed his lips and pulled a grin. “No.”
Rohan nodded, gave him a smile that was as lackluster as meals with Baba, and walked away.
Jafar felt his brow furrow, and for a moment, he could only stand still as a heavy, unwelcome sorrow thrummed through his bloodstream. He’d been worried Rohan would question him and he’d have to shy away from a response, but this was somehow worse. This sadness was foreign, a rare feeling. Baba had kept him bubbling with other emotions: anger, dismay, the overwhelming desire to be free of that place.
And now here he was, excited, jubilant, victorious—and lonely.
“Get a load of this place, huh?” Iago said, swooping closer and tugging at his attention. “It’s huge.”
That pulled a smile out of Jafar. An understatement, but some appreciation at least. “Indeed.”
“So why are you just standing there?” Iago asked.
“You’re welcome to hunt around for anything that might give you the answers you need about your…predicament,” Jafar said. “Since you can read.”
Iago deadpanned a laugh. “Very funny, Jafar. But if it’s all right with you, I’ll stick around a little longer.”
Jafar lifted a brow. “To spy?”
“For whom? Your baba?” Iago asked, a note of betrayal in his tone. “Can a parrot not be excited for your new adventure? I just don’t think I’m ready to go soul-searching yet. Besides, I know you’ve got no interest in that genie lamp.”
Again, the words pulled a genuine smile out of Jafar. He was surprised that Iago had noticed.
“What makes you think that?” Jafar asked.
“You were a little heavy-handed when you delivered your pitch to your brother,” Iago said. “I’m not so easily distracted, though. So? What are we really here for?”
Jafar appreciated good perception. “We’re searching for a pair of rubies.”
Iago dropped to Jafar’s shoulder. “Never took you for a guy who wears earrings.”
“Oh, I have something else in mind,” Jafar replied, lips curling in a wicked smile. Iago took flight again, and the two of them passed display case after display case, glass cubes presenting the most unexpected of artifacts, from shimmering gold cuffs to a headdress that seemed to change color as Jafar stared at its rich fabric. “The stories say that the rubies were gathered just like the rest of these artifacts and stored in the House of Wisdom, and judging by the way these are arranged, someone likes to organize by color.”
“Too bad the head librarian isn’t here to lead us to it,” Iago said, reading each of the little placards with interest. He fluttered higher. “Hey, there’s a line of pink stuff that way.”
He immediately dove back down with a hurried whisper. “And someone’s over there.”
Footsteps tiptoed on the other side of the shelves. They were trying to be quiet—and not in the way warranted by a library.
“It’s not Rohan,” Iago said.
Jafar held a finger to his lips, pressing against the shelves and creeping ahead with a terrible, sinking feeling. Someone else was getting to his rubies first. He knew it in his bones.
He rounded the bookcase.
It was a woman. Regal and tall, a cloak on her shoulders. Gray streaked her dark hair. Nothing about her suggested a life dedicated to reading and befriending the written word. The glass case in front of her was empty, as Jafar had feared. But none of this made sense. She didn’t look like a thief—she was dressed for attention, not obscurity.
Iago knocked into a vase, and Jafar caught it before it crashed to the floor.
Oops,Iago mouthed.
And the woman whirled. Jafar froze. Her features were delicate, with a sorrow carved into the bow of her lip. She truly was dressed in finery. Dainty cuts of topaz were threaded throughout her gown, sharp facets catching the library’s warm light. Fine gold chains shimmered from her cloak, which was as dark as Jafar’s robes. He saw a glint of scarlet red in her hands before she tightened her fist and pulled her hands behind her back. His rubies. For a moment, she looked as if she recognized him before her gaze drifted to a figure behind him.
Jafar looked back to find a man in sapphire-blue robes, his dark eyes piercing Jafar as if he’d seen a ghost.
He looked to the woman. “Sultana?”
