Page 14 of The Wishless Ones
“Never,” Rohan said.
By the time the three of them finished discussing their plans—or debating, because Iago had much to say and Rohan liked none of it—darkness was easing into the sky, and Jafar deemed it safest to spend the night in the storeroom. The desert cold was working its way through the many crevices and gaps in the stonework, but it would have to do.
“But it’s so dusty,” Iago whined.
“Sleep in midair, then,” Rohan said.
“The more I get to know you, the more certain I am that you have no brain,” Iago retorted.
“Enough, both of you,” Jafar cut in. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be lying on a musty blanket in this dusty old storeroom, either.
He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to track down the scarab halves or the genie. He didn’t want to bring his parents back—Baba was better dead, and Mama…well, Mama had been gone far too long. Jafar didn’t think she’d like the man he’d become.
She hadn’t been here to stop it.
Besides, Jafar didn’t know if a genie couldbringsomeone back to life. Surely even wishes came with limits. They were already limited numerically. Jafar exhaled long and slow. None of that mattered. He didn’t care for the lamp. What mattered was that Rohan did—deeply.
And that is where the problem lies, no?
Jafar turned on his side, his back to the wall. Across the room, in another corner by a row of rickety shelves, Rohan lay facing the other wall, still and unmoving. He wasn’t crying, as Jafar had expected, though Iago’s presence might have had something to do with it. He bit back a sigh.
At first, Jafar hadn’t known why he’d lied to Rohan about the lamp.
Jafar had been only two when his brother was born, and Rohan was so tightly woven into the fabric of his being that there were times when Jafar felt he would cease to exist without him. With Mama dead, Rohan became Jafar’s tail, his twin. When Jafar ate, Rohan ate. When Jafar slept, Rohan slept. When Jafar went outside to play with the other boys, Rohan came with him. When Baba beat Jafar, Rohan winced as though he shared the pain.
The only time they were apart was when Jafar was locked away. Though Rohan would visit him from the other side of the door, he couldn’t see how Jafar coped. Jafar bottled up his hurt, letting it ferment into something darker, biting his tongue as he was beaten again, and again, and again.
As much as Rohan liked to believe he’d built a better relationship with Baba than Jafar did, it was really onlybecauseJafar’s relationship with Baba had been so sour and strained. Men like Baba needed someone to villainize, if only to convince themselves that they had good hearts. It was as if Baba had a bottle of anger that needed depleting every day, and if he hadn’t hated Jafar as much as he did, half of that would have sloshed over to Rohan instead.
So hearing those words from Iago when he’d spoken ominously from the other side of the door,your brother swayed him over, hurt far more than Jafar had originally realized. Did that mean Rohan agreed with Baba’s assessment of Jafar, or was there another reason? Jafar didn’t trust Iago any more than he trusted the rain, but something nagged in the back of his skull, giving him pause, and so he had lied. It was the safest route at the moment.
If all went well, he’d never have to tell Rohan the truth: he wanted that pair of enchanted rubies his mother had spoken of, more realistic than a golden scarab and more attainable than a genie. More capable of getting them what they needed, even if that meant leaving their parents in their graves.
After Mama had ensnared him with the story all those years ago, Jafar had tried to learn all that he could about the rubies—especially the actual history surrounding them. Truth and facts. According to one of the tattered books he’d found in Mama’s room, the earliest known account of the rubies was about a distraught sheikh ousted from his rightful throne.
An old woman gifted the man the rubies, and despite his initial hesitance, he eventually came to a point where he had nothing left to lose. He used the rubies to influence and control, trapping those around him under his spell. He could persuade someone to bring him food, someone to paint their walls in garish hues—or even in the blood of their enemies. Still, controlling another was not an easy task. There was work involved, unlike rubbing a lamp and prattling off a wish. That alone had caught Jafar’s interest. Knowing the rubies required work was yet another reason why Jafar trusted the rubies more than he trusted in a genie.
But as with all things, the rubies had their limits, too, and it was almost a game of cunning and strategy, for the sheikh had to carefully select whom he persuaded in order to make his way back to the top.
The top, in this case, was the kingdom of Maghriz that everyone salivated over today. What Jafar had always loved most about the story was that the sheikh ended up claiming a throne that wasn’t even his own.
And he did it all himself.
If Jafar had those rubies in hand, he would be just as strategic, just as cunning, and everything else would fall into place: appreciation for who he was and his capabilities. And then, to placate Rohan, perhaps he’d utilize the rubies to find the scarab and genie, too.
Regardless, he was free now, and when he finally drifted off to sleep, he did so with a smile on his face.
As the early morning sun brightened the dusty skies, Jafar and Rohan crouched behind a ledge overlooking the lower village. Half of Ghurub sat on a low hill, the rest just beneath it. From here, he could see the last of the smoke rising from the remains of their house. Behind them, the caliph of Ghurub’s mansion stood even more magnificent because of the rise it had been built upon.
“He could be ratting us out in there,” Rohan said, glancing back at the mansion.
Thehein question was Iago, and though Jafar wouldn’t admit it, he’d considered it, too.
Fortunately, Iago saved him from having to respond by swooping toward them with a swoosh. He flew like a drunk man walked, and nearly rammed into a date palm on his way. Jafar sighed. Of all the allies he could have had.
Then again, Iago’s ability to fly was starting to prove useful already. Jafar needed a way to keep the caliph distracted for a while, and Iago was making that job easier by scoping out the place for them.
“Well?” Jafar asked, watching a maid enter the mansion through the back doors.
