Page 19 of The Wishless Ones
Yes!Rohan felt lightheaded with relief. He didn’t like lying to Jafar, but he had to do what was best for the ones he loved.
Home for Rohan was wherever Jafar was. He had never faced the same torment Jafar had, for Baba always directed his ire at Jafar. Or Baba would compare the two of them and declare Rohan superior, when he really wasn’t. He was quiet, compared to Jafar. He had no opinions or objections. Baba didn’t care. He loved making Jafar feel inferior.
It all served to make Rohan feel terrible, which in turn made him wallow in guilt for feeling bad when his brother had it worse. Sometimes, when Rohan was feeling especially helpless, he would blame Mama for the way Baba was. If only she’d been better about putting Baba in his place. If only she’d lived longer so she could be there to counter him.
Rohan didn’t think parents understood how deeply their children were affected by their actions.
“It’s very likely,” Rohan said.
Jafar closed his eyes for a brief moment—the shortest of moments, and yet long enough to flood Rohan with guilt.
“At the very least, we should be more wary of him,” Rohan added.
Jafar took a deep breath and released it. Rohan thought it was in relief, that somewhere in his mask of emotions, he was trying to stifle a smile, buthehad no reason to be relieved. Did he?
“Agreed,” Jafar said at last. “He’s a tool, nothing more.”
Rohan smiled, victory flooding through him. He’d successfully planted the seed of suspicion against Iago, and Rohan was free. For now. He vowed then and there to do better. To be more like Jafar, todomore for him as his brother deserved.
He froze at the sound of sand dipping under footfalls. Someone was approaching from behind him.
“The caravan leader,” Jafar whispered.
Rohan quickly tugged his keffiyeh back over his face.
Jafar lowered his head, the picture of an obedient servant. His voice was a low murmur when he said, “Get back to the camel.”
“And leave you here? What are you going to do?” Rohan asked under his breath, turning around.
The caravan leader sauntered over with a bright smile and eyes that were eager for news to spread. His dark hair was dusted in sand, much of it covered by the green headdress wrapped around his head.
“I’m going to get answers,” Jafar hissed. “He won’t talk with you here, and nor can I. Now get back on your camel before yourservantcauses a scene.”
The moment Rohan disappeared, the caravan leader turned to Jafar like a rat to cheese, and Jafar bit back a smile. Some people were far too easy to predict.
“Very good weather today, no?” the caravan leader asked.
Jafar squinted up at the sky through the woven leaves of the date palms. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “I hope it’s just as nice in Maghriz.”
He didn’t think he’d ever used the wordhopebefore.
“Around this time of year? Definitely,” the caravan leader said. “The sun is kinder to us bedouins, and the sands are softer.”
“I’ve never been,” Jafar said in as dreamy and wistful a tone as he could muster. He felt like Rohan just then. “Are they still at war? I thought I heard that somewhere.”
“War?” the caravan leader asked, propping a hand against a date palm. The midafternoon sun fell through the leaves, painting him in dappled light. “No, no. They haven’t been at war in so long!” He lowered his voice. “Are you waiting for your caliph?”
“He’s returned to his camel, why?” Jafar asked.
The man stepped awfully close, and Jafar had to resist the urge to step away. He was still playing the part of a servant, and a servant could have no such grievances.
“Can’t speak so freely in front of a caliph, can we?” the man asked.
Jafar pulled a laugh. “Unfortunately, no.”
“See! You understand me!” The caravan leader chuckled. “As I said, Maghriz hasn’t been at war in many moons. That sultana knows what she’s doing, but”—the man looked around them, even though the majority of the travelers were by the watering hole a good distance away—“you are right. I’ve heard the whispers, too. Something is in the works.”
Jafar gasped. The sound was foreign on his tongue, but he knew what the caravan leader wanted, and a gasp it was. Jafar leaned closer. “Like what?”
