Page 49 of The Wishless Ones
But alchemy was words and ideas, not knives against flesh. The man who had refused to speak was supposed to speak, nothing else. Instead, he had forced Jafar to press and then press a little more, and by the time the prisoner spoke, he had heaved so much that his insides had already begun leaching outside.
“The papermakers…in the East,” the prisoner said, trembling, his voice no more than a quivering mumble. “They mixed bark an-and shredded rags and hemp.” He broke off with a rattling cough, blood gurgling from his lips.
“With what?” Jafar asked. As Iago turned away in pity, Jafar belatedly realized this should be affectinghimjust as much. But all he saw was Baba in the prisoner’s place, and any sorrow he might have begun to feel was quickly overtaken by pure elation.
“Water. Strained”—more coughing—“it. And then…pressed the pulp flat t-to dry in the sun.”
“Incredible,” Jafar said. The human mind was incredible. The ability to create something from nothing fascinated him to no end. He glanced at Rohan. “Did you hear that?”
Rohan was pale and shivering, fixated on the depthless pool slowly widening by their feet. He nodded, but Jafar didn’t think Rohan had heard anything at all. The blood was sticky and dark, and almost made him nostalgic, reminding him of cooking with Mama and her precious pomegranate molasses.
The girl’s voice echoed in his ears:Steer clear of the forbidden. He wondered if she would be horrified right now or share in his captivation.
“Is he—is he dead?” Rohan asked.
His voice was like a hand reaching into the abyss of Jafar’s mind, pulling him out of a trance. Jafar’s breath caught. He stared at his hands, his arms, the veins stark against his skin. He was shaking, he realized. He was shocked. Alarmed.Numb.
Rohan sobbed.
“No—no. He’s still alive,” Jafar said, trying to calm him down. Trying to calmhimselfdown.
Not because he’d done something terrible. Not because he’d caused suffering. But because he had enjoyed it.
“He’s bleeding out of every orifice,” Rohan argued, his words punctuated by his chattering teeth.
Jafar was still shaking, still trying to make sense of the emotions coursing through him. He pulled Rohan behind him and out of the cell, leaving the stench and the quivering prisoner behind. The dungeon was silent as a tomb. The guard had never returned, likely keeled over in a corner wondering if he’d imagined Iago’s impersonation of the Sultana.
Jafar could almostsmellthe fear from the other prisoners until he slammed the iron door closed behind him.
He liked it.
Rohan wrenched himself free and sank to his knees. Drenched in moonlight, he stared at Jafar as if he didn’t recognize him. As if he was…afraid of him.
“That was too far,” Rohan bleated. “Too far.”
“I didn’t know that would happen,” Jafar countered. “But it might have gone a lot faster and smoother had you helped me rather than whimpering like a child. And let’s not forget that this was your idea.”
Rohan shook his head. There were oil spots on his robes and soot was smeared on his hem. He was gasping for air as if he were an unseasoned bedouin floundering under the desert heat.
“And now we have something that can change Maghriz forever,” Jafar said.
Ever since Baba’s death, Jafar had felt a restlessness that wouldn’t abate no matter how many nights had passed or how long a journey they’d put between themselves and their old village.
Now he felt calm.
Rohan threw a finger at the dungeon door. “And that was the cost.”
Jafar leaned against the wall. Moonlight glistened on his fingers. Red. He hadn’t even noticed the blood staining his hands, painting each whorl in stark relief.Bah.
“And—where’s Iago?” Rohan asked.
“Here,” came the reply. Iago crept from the shadows, a tiny figure in the vast blackness of the space. Apprehension stilted his steps, his wings cinched tight against his body. “I don’t know if that was the right thing to do.”
Rohan released a long, slow breath. “It wasn’t.”
Jafar rubbed the red between his fingers, watching it tint more of his skin, until something moved out of the corner of his eye. He looked up furtively, certain it was the royal vizier spying on them again, but it was her.
Moon girl.
