Page 16 of The Wishless Ones
Jafar climbed over the ledge before either of them could question him and gestured for the parrot to follow. “Rohan, stay put. Iago, let’s go.”
“No,” Rohan said, and both Iago and Jafar turned to look at him.
“No?” Jafar asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m coming with you,” Rohan said.
Jafar hesitated before nodding. This was what he had wanted, no? For Rohan to come out of his shell. For him to soldier on and stand on his own. But Rohan’s desire to be less coddled always appeared with force and confidence, as if it was always there, as if he used his courage as a weapon whenever he saw fit.
The caliph’s house was wide and welcoming, creamy stone bright against the golden dunes. Pops of color painted each of the windows where the curtains swayed in merriment.
“Poor caliph,” Rohan said as they neared the house.
“Poor tiger,” Iago said.
“It’s the caliph’s own fault for having a beast as a pet,” Jafar said. “Tigers belong outside in the wild, not cooped up like a house cat—or parrot. If I were an animal, I’d be a serpent. No point being a feral cat like that if someone can put me on a leash. Plus, I’d be fast and smallanddeadly.”
“I’d want to be nimble, too. Maybe not deadly, though,” Rohan said.
Jafar cast him a glance. Once, he might have pegged Rohan for a harmless, guileless animal, but now Jafar wondered if Rohan was more cunning than not. “A rat, then.”
Rohan pulled a face, not realizing Jafar was being partially serious. “I like my baths, thank you.”
Jafar laughed as they reached the little grove of date palms near the caliph’s house. He stepped into the shade, toying with the spool of yarn in his pocket that he’d foraged from Baba’s storeroom.
“This is where we part ways,” he told Iago. “Count to twenty and knock on the door.” Then he glanced at Rohan and pursed his lips. He couldn’t stop being an older brother, being a protector. “And you, stay here so you can keep an eye on us both.”
Jafar saw Iago readying to poke fun at Rohan, and Jafar was prepared to feed him to the tiger.
Iago must have seen the look on Jafar’s face, because all he said was “How will I know when to leave?”
“You’ll know,” Jafar said, and before Rohan could protest, he disappeared into the trees.
Rohan tamped down his relief as best he could when Jafar told him to stand guard instead of following him to the tiger’s cage. He leaned back against one of the date palms, and when the leaves rustled with an errant desert breeze, he thought they were speaking to him.
Gaze to the oasis, Rohan.
Jafar said the phrase to him often, when panic was scrambling up Rohan’s throat and threatening to drown him. The words calmed him, slowly bringing him back to the present.
As the studded front door swung open, he saw Iago’s red plumage disappear from view and a maid’s head poke out. Seconds later, from the side of the house, he heard the telltale screech of the tiger’s cage swinging open. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to hear the sound all the way here and wondered if he should be fearing for his life just now.
He peered through the trees, catching a glimpse inside one of the windows to a lavishly furnished majlis. The plush, legless sofa beckoned with jewel-toned cushions, and after a night of sleeping on the stone floor of a storeroom, he was almost willing to leap through the window and curl up on it.
No.Jafar was risking his life for them, for something Rohan wanted. And quickly—when Jafar had a goal in mind, he moved without hesitation and with precision. Still, despite all of Jafar’s reasoning, these trickster ways bothered Rohan. He didn’t want Jafar following in Baba’s footsteps, behaving in accordance with the conniving merchants abundant across the desert.
He caught a glimpse of someone running, the figure appearing and disappearing through the windows. Someone was sounding the alarm. A short yelp made its way to Rohan’s ears, followed by a feline yowl. Trepidation began creeping up his veins.
Then he heard the front door slam shut, and Iago swooped back down toward the ledge.
Rohan supposed that was Jafar’s signal. Maybe. It didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on being a tiger’s snack. He whirled and ran back for the ledge, which was almost invisible amidst the houses and sand dunes spreading out before him except for the red speck where Iago was already waiting.
Rohan dropped beside him, panting and panicked, trying not to feel bad about the mess the tiger was inevitably creating in the caliph’s house.
“You’re dreadfully out of breath for someone who ran downhill,” Iago snarked, hopping on Rohan’s bent-over back.
Rohan was hot and sweaty and agitated, and Iago’s words and talons stabbing needles into his spine weren’t helping. “Keep at it, and I’ll—I’ll—”
“Oh? You’ll what?” Iago taunted. “You can barely stand on your own two feet, and I don’t mean that literally.”
