This time, his eyes are open, and he is staring at me.
“You’re very pretty,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, “for a jinni.”
“Have you met many jinn?”
“No.” His lips curl into a dazed grin. “But I’ve met a lot of pretty girls.”
I check his bandage; the bleeding has stopped, but he’ll need a fresh dressing soon.
“Why did you help me?” he asks softly. “Back in the desert, you distracted Darian so that I could get the lamp. Why?”
“You took an arrow for me.” He couldn’t have known it would not harm me. He acted without thinking, from some instinct deep inside himself—the same instinct that prevented him from wishing for Darian’s death. “Now we are even, thief.”
“We’d better—” He cuts off with a hiss, his hand going to his shoulder. He is silent for a moment, his eyes shut, as if he is trying hard to push down the pain of his injury. Then at last he says in a tight voice, “We’d better get moving. We have to slip into the city before they shut the gates for the night. Once they close, they don’t open till dawn. Not for anyone. There are jinn in these hills.” He pauses, then gives a little laugh. “Though I guess that doesn’t bother you.”
The walls of Parthenia rise in the distance, and it will take a hard, fast walk to reach it by sunset. But he sets out gamely, stopping only to strip a small fig tree of its fruit before leaving the riverbank. We follow a dusty track through low hills covered in scrubby bushes and loose stones.
We near the gates just as the guards are preparing to shut them. The doors are massive, heavy slabs of oak, and they must be drawn closed by a pair of elephants. The soldiers are busy tethering the huge animals to the doors. On either side of the gate, enormous stone gryphons glare down on us with blank eyes.
“Hurry,” says Aladdin, breaking into a run. “They won’t wait for us.”
I sprint to catch up, then, just steps from the gate, I stagger as a spasm of pain twists my gut. A shudder passes through me, and I double over, unable to take another step.
Looking up, I spot them immediately: glyphs carved into the stone bases the gryphons stand upon. Symbols of Eskarr, the language of scorsmiths to bind magic to objects. These read jinn, demon, repel, and other similar words. They were put there to turn away any of my kind who might try to enter, and their power rakes over me like claws. It seeps through me like poison, tainting my smoke sickly green.
“Zahra, are you all right?” Aladdin asks, halting beside me.
I shake my head and struggle to stay on my feet as my head reels. It’s like being caught in a landslide. Shaza said I was the only one with a chance of getting through these gates—but even I might not be strong enough. I try to force myself into motion with the thought of freedom, but all I can manage is one half step before my stomach twists violently and I drop to one knee. The sea wind batters me, and I wish I could turn to smoke and let it carry me away.
“It’s warded,” I whisper. “Against the jinn. I can’t . . . I can’t get through.”
The doors suddenly groan, and I look up to see the elephants beginning to move, drawing them shut. Alarmed, Aladdin looks at the gate, then back to me. “Zahra, you have to go through. If you don’t, the guards will know what you are. They’ll kill us both right here. Killing jinn and anyone who sympathizes with them—that’s what they do. They’re Eristrati.”
He says the word as if I should know what it means, and I study the guards closer. They all carry spears of iron, their shafts carved with more Eskarr glyphs. These are no ordinary soldiers; they are armed to fight jinn, and they know what they’re doing. Four thousand years may be quite a long life, but I’m not ready to be done living just yet. Not when I’m this close to breaking free of my cursed lamp.
“I can do it,” I murmur.
“Are you sure?” He’s studying me as if he’s worried I’ll pass out. I very well may.
I nod, not entirely certain but willing to try. Not because I’m truly worried the guards will kill us—Aladdin does have two wishes left, and I’m far from unskilled in defending myself. But because I know this is it. This is the last chance I’ll ever get. If I fail, I don’t even think I’ll protest when Nardukha strikes me down. I can’t take another year in that lamp, much less an eternity, not when a chance at freedom is so close.
“I have an idea,” I say. “But I’ll need your help.”
“Hurry,” he says, watching as the doors swing inward. Already they are half closed.
I conjure a small puff of smoke beneath my dress, letting it settle over my stomach, making me round as a melon. Add the pain in my eyes and my tight breathing and I am the perfect image of a woman going into labor. Aladdin looks down, makes a strange noise deep in his throat, then nods.