Page 37 of The Wishless Ones
“No, it’s not,” Jafar replied with a sigh. The Sultana was far too interested in them to get rid of them. Something else was at play here. Rohan’s stomach gurgled, and Jafar sat down on a dark cushion threaded with Maghrizi blue so he’d follow suit.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Rohan said, sitting down beside him.
“Eat up, then,” Jafar said. He had yet to tell Rohan about what he’d learned from the caravan leader: that the prince of Maghriz was likely dead. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, but everything had changed in the past hour.
Now they were tolivein the palace. Almost like princes.Maybelike princes. For reasons still unknown. Jafar wondered if there was a correlation there, but he was too frazzled to see it.
All he knew was that he needed those rubies, and that Rohan was looking at him like it was his fault they hadn’t found the golden scarab yet.
“We’ll return to the House of Wisdom once we are situated,” Jafar promised. “I have no notion of what’s to come.”
Everything about this felt like he was under Baba’s control again, and he had to shake his head more than once to remind himself that no, he was free, he was no longer trapped. But he didn’t yet feel as though he could safely deny—and thereforedefy—the Sultana any more than he had just attempted.
His appetite disappeared when his worries filled his belly, and he didn’t hide a smug look when Harun returned and saw his untouched plate.
“Where to now?” Jafar asked, and Rohan dug his elbow into his side, but Jafar couldn’t care less.
Harun ignored him and turned for them to follow. As Rohan licked pomegranate molasses off his fingers, Iago snatched up one last lauzinaj in his beak, rose-sweet syrup dripping down his chin. He bit into it as discreetly as he could—which was not at all, considering its many thin layers of flaky pastry—before hopping back on Jafar’s shoulder. It took everything in Jafar not to fling him and his sticky feathers off.
As much as Jafar would have liked to demand answers from Harun, he didn’t want the royal vizier mistaking his curiosity for fear, and so he kept quiet. After a winding walk through the halls of the palace, Harun paused before a door, waiting for a guard to open it even though it would have taken him about the same amount of time to do so himself.
“Here are your quarters,” the royal vizier said, brandishing a hand toward the open door. “I’m certain you’re accustomed to sharing, but there are separate bedrooms.”
Condescension oozed from his tone, and Jafar loathed the way he’d said “accustomed to sharing” with the assumption that they were poor and had huddled in a hut. He looked the royal vizier straight in the eye, raising a single brow. He wouldn’t even bother talking to him. Iago cleared his throat imperiously.
“Thank you,” Rohan said, squeezing between them and heading inside. When he stepped out of Harun’s line of sight, he pulled a face bidding Jafar not to lash out.
Jafar worked his jaw.Fine.
He walked past the vizier and closed the door behind him. The antechamber comprised a short hall with carved tables against the walls, cushioned seating with a collection of pillows beneath sconces, and doors on either side leading to matching bedrooms, with a third door leading to a bath at the end of the hall.
“And thankyou,” Rohan huffed, slumping back against the wall. “First you disrespect the Sultana in her own throne room, then irk that man. Are you trying to get us killed?”
Jafar exhaled. He remembered Rohan’s being overly cautious after Mama had died, too. Death came with a shroud, an aura of foreboding that blanketed the ones it left behind. They might have survived the fire that took Baba, but nothing could save them from the reminder of how fragile life truly was.
“We’re safe,” Jafar said. “I’m not callous, but I won’t allow them to order us around when we owe them no allegiance.”
“He has a point,” Iago said.
“Oh, don’t run your mouth,” Rohan snapped.
Iago mimicked him and hopped off Jafar’s shoulder, flapping around the antechamber and ducking his head into the rooms. Jafar did the same. Each of their beds was big enough for four, the cushions piled upon them enough for a family back in Ghurub. The bath smelled fresh and clean, and looked just as tidy.
“At least these are rooms meant for guests and not servants,” Jafar said. “That’s promising. We should probably settle in.”
Rohan didn’t move. “I don’t—”
A knock sounded at the door.
Jafar glanced at Rohan, ignoring a waver of uncertainty before he answered it. The Sultana stood on the other side.
“I am thrilled you decided to stay,” she said, as if she’d given them much of a choice.
She stepped inside, setting a plate of pistachio-topped cookies and garnished dates on the sideboard table. Rohan’s eyes lit up.
“And what do you think of the House of Wisdom?” she asked.
“I barely had time to explore,” Jafar said, and then pursed his lips. He still needed his rubies, and for that, he needed to be more…what had the Sultana called Rohan? Diplomatic. “But I don’t think I can put my feelings into words.”
