Page 42 of The Wishless Ones
“AndIsee no reason why we can’t have both,” she announced and lifted her head with a flourish. The fine silver chains threaded through her hair swayed, tiny pearls dotted throughout shimmering. “Tell me something about you that won’t give you away.”
Jafar didn’t have to think long. “I adore the scent of ink.”
“You’re fast,” the girl said with a surprised laugh. “Hmm, I adore the sight of a black moon.”
Both ink and a black moon were the same: dark and full of possibility, promising something new. And she was quick as a viper. He liked that. Her laugh made his heart quiver, a feeling not too different from when Baba would snap at him, or when Mama had been on the floor, gasping her last breaths. He’d never felt the same quiver for somethingnice, and he liked that, too.
“Careful,” Jafar said. “I’ll start to think we’re the same person.”
The girl studied him a long moment, something like remorse flickering in her eyes.
“No,” she said, tilting her head. The light glazed down the side of her neck, and warmth washed down Jafar’s body. “We’re too different for that.”
And then she was sauntering away.
“I’ll leave you to your scrolls, then,” she called, “but do steer clear of the forbidden, hmm? Until next time, ink boy.”
He watched her leave, her walk as proud as her words. She hadn’t even told him her name. The village of Ghurub had its fair share of pretty faces, but none of them had ever sparked Jafar’s interest. It was hard to find someone alluring when they were dull, their minds as small as their town. This girl was different. She walked as though she’d seen the cruelty of the world and remained headstrong regardless.
Jafar started to follow her, but he…couldn’t. He didn’t make it far from the section on alchemy before invisible hands gripped his arms and a fog drifted over his thoughts. The books hummed and beckoned until he couldn’t remember the girl. The scrolls held him in place.We understand you,the shelves seemed to say. Unlike everyone else. Unlike Baba. Unlike Rohan. His brother could wait—he wasn’t ready to listen.
And Jafar needed to find those rubies.
Light spilled from the windowpanes, casting the shelves in a blood-like hue.Strange.Jafar might not always heed the commands of people, but when the written word spoke to him, he listened. Always. He turned back to the pyramid of scrolls and plucked the first one.
Though the Sultana had given them the freedom to explore the palace, Rohan knew everything came with limits, and he wasn’t going to traipse about with reckless abandon. Still, there was a benefit to being a shadow. No one noticed him. Not servants, not guards.
Baba would have liked the palace. Even when they’d been poor, he walked—or strutted, as Jafar put it—as though he had far more in his pockets than lint, as though there were jewels in his headdress and not holes. He would attempt to speak like royalty, and dress like it, too. Now that Rohan thought about it, he was somewhat happy Baba wasn’t here to make a fool out of himself, and by association, Rohan as well.
Maybe he was more like Jafar than he cared to admit. Maybe it was for the best that genies couldn’t revive the dead—if that really was a stipulation. He didn’t know if he could trust Jafar, or if he even wanted to.
This is confusing.Very, very confusing.
Rohan didn’t want to stand still and think about the fact that he’d killed his father and was now finding ways to justify the fact. Maybe he’d ask the genie to make him forget. Maybe all he needed was instruction. To be told what to do so he wouldn’t have to do anything himself. He walked on, marveling at how the palace was a small world of its own, from social structure to culture.
He passed a group of women giggling on their way to the courtyard, excitedly chatting about the prospect of watching guards remove their shirts and spar in the sun. He passed a pair of servants talking about a girl who had been staying in the palace for the past several days. He didn’t know if she had anything to do with the Sultana’s tense and frazzled state—a state that seemed unusual, if the way the rest of her escort behaved was any indication.
And then he paused, a chill creeping up his spine when he heard a tune, a lullaby Mama would hum while she coaxed him to sleep as a little boy. It was a Ghurubi classic that he hadn’t heard in years.A sign,he thought, ignoring Jafar’s warning about looking for them.
He followed the tune to an attendant carrying a tray of steaming food down a hall, her hair bound by a shawl. She struggled with the large satchel at her side until she paused near a guard at the mouth of a corridor. It was darker here, quieter, the air eerie.
The guard sighed. “Food for the prisoner?”
The girl nodded and passed him the tray and the satchel, too. “And a medical kit. They want him clean and lucid for more questioning.”
Prisoner? Questioning?
Rohan felt his pulse in his ears, panic rising. They had to be referring to the prisoner the Sultana had told them about. The one guarding the secret to papermaking. Curiosity tried to spur him forward, out of the shadows and onto the guard’s heels, through that iron door to see the prisoner for himself.
A diplomat,the Sultana had called him.
The Sultana might not have given them reasons to trust her, but she was still a queen with favors to grant, and what if Rohan could make himself useful to her? What if he could get her the information she needed? If only Jafar were here to—No,Rohan thought. He was mad at Jafar and this was his chance to do something on his own.
But then a loudclangechoed in the silence, followed by an angry hiss and several angry voices, making it clear Rohan should not be here.
Never mind, then.Rohan hurried back down the maze of halls, hiding under an archway at the sight of another approaching guard and berating himself for ever leaving Jafar and—No, no, no. He stopped those thoughts in their tracks.
He needed to formulate a plan.Together, you are both as powerful as the golden scarab.Mama had always emphasized working together, as a team. He backtracked through the hall, pausing when the weight of eyes bored into him. He glanced around, seeing nothing until a shimmer of sapphire blue caught the light. The royal vizier. He was standing at the end of the hall, silent as a pillar, watching him with an unreadable expression.
