That’s no ordinary flute, and Nessa is no ordinary girl.
She’s a jinn charmer, capable of hypnotizing my kind with that flute, inlaid with Eskarr glyphs, and trapping us in bottles. I watch her mistrustfully and know that more than ever, we have to get away, and fast.
Because now I know where Zhian is.
Chapter Eight
TURNING AWAY FROM ALADDIN, Caspida signals to her girls, and they gather close around her, out of Aladdin’s earshot.
“Do you believe him?” asks Ensi in a whisper, curling my tail around her finger.
“Of course she doesn’t believe him,” Khavar interjects. “He’s a thief. His very nature is dishonest.”
“I’m not sure I do believe him,” says Caspida slowly, running her finger thoughtfully over her dagger’s blade and looking over her shoulder at Aladdin. He stands with his hands in his pockets, trying to look harmless. “After all, where is Darian? How did the thief escape my cousin and his men and manage to make it to the city before them? Has anyone heard from Darian in the past week?”
Ensi shakes her head. “I’ve been intercepting every message sent by pigeon, and there’s been nothing from the prince.”
“What of my uncle? Has Sulifer had contact with him?”
“Not that I know of. The vizier rarely leaves the council chambers and keeps his business secret.”
“You were right in the beginning, Khavar,” sighs the princess. “We should never have hired a third party to steal the ring back. I should have done it myself.”
“Sulifer watches you too closely,” says Ensi. “You’d have never pulled it off, and if you’d been caught, the consequences would have been too great. Speaking of which, we really should be getting back to the palace.”
Khavar’s snake pulls back and hisses at me, and I hiss in return. Khavar catches its head and pushes it back into her cloak. “Is it really a bad thing, Darian missing? I’ll not shed a tear if he never shows up again. Think of that, Cas. You wouldn’t have to marry him.”
“I doubt it will be that easy,” Caspida replies. “And however much I loathe my cousin, I would not wish death on him.” She pauses, then adds, “A cell in the dungeons with rats for company, perhaps. But not death.” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “We should have destroyed the ring long ago.”
“We couldn’t have known Darian would steal it,” replies Ensi. “It’s stayed safely in that vault for hundreds of years. This isn’t your fault, Cas.”
“Roshana’s ring was mine to guard,” she replies flatly. “I don’t want comfort. I want it found and destroyed. I don’t know what it does, but I know that it’s linked to the jinn, and that’s never a good thing.”
“We really should get back to the palace,” says Nessa. “We’ve been gone too long already.”
“What about the thief?” asks Khavar. “We can’t very well drag him along.”
“Search him,” Caspida says. “Just in case he’s lying.”
Aladdin, who heard this last pronouncement, throws me a horrified look, but I am already moving. I leap out of Ensi’s arms and dash away into the shadows, turning to smoke the moment I am out of sight. I have just seconds before they search Aladdin and find the lamp. I cannot imagine the Amulen princess will be as open-minded about my presence as Aladdin has been, not when her own handmaiden is one of the jinn charmers who likely trapped Zhian.
I blow through a crack in the wall and collect outside, then waste no time in raising a terrible racket. I clang against the warehouse and shout out in a deep, male voice: “Who’s in there? Show yourself!”
Raz, keeping watch, runs inside to alert the others. I turn to wind and blast open the door to find the girls are gone, startled by the noise and vanished into the dark city with soft, hasty footsteps. Aladdin stands alone, untouched. He pats the lamp.
“Nice work,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind having you along when I pull jobs.”
“If you have me along,” I reply dryly, “you won’t need to pull jobs.”
“Fair point.”
Aladdin goes to the doorway and stands staring at the night, his frame rigid. He is a dark current beneath a still sea.
I shift back into a girl, dressed in black silk with tiny white moonflowers sprinkled in my hair. As I wait for him to speak, I idly conjure bangles on my wrists, each inscribed with a verse from the “Song of Roshana,” the poem written in honor of your nineteenth birthday by twelve of the world’s most esteemed poets.
Roshana Mithraya, Warrior Queen,
rode to war on a Jinni’s wings,
Roshana Mithraya, fair and bold,
wielded a sword of steel and gold.
Her foes who looked upon her swore