“Higher and higher we climbed, with the Great Falls of Oznar thundering around us, and the rocs screaming as they dove at us.” Aladdin leans in, and his wide-eyed audience holds its breath. “But don’t forget! We carried with us arrows made of ivory, which is of course the only thing known to kill a roc. We fired as we climbed, holding them at bay, until at last we reached the summit, where the mother roc waited on her nest. A nest as vast as this palace!” He spreads his hands.
Gasps rise all around, and I blink, catching myself wrapped up in his story. Aladdin is silver-tongued indeed, and though his stories grow more improbable each night, he never fails to draw a crowd. Where he draws these fantasies from, I cannot say. I may have invented Istarya, but Aladdin brings it to life. There is so much more to this thief than I had imagined, and the nobles are not the only ones who begin to fall under his spell.
Too often I find myself listening raptly to his tales when I should be on the watch for Zhian, a realization that fills me with alarm and confusion. I remind myself why I am here, what I am seeking.
I remind myself of the cost of failure.
“Are you completely shameless?” I ask Aladdin later that evening, after the gaming and drinking and storytelling finally end, somewhere well north of midnight. Vigo walks with us, he and Aladdin both tipsy and leaning on each other. The Tytoshi boy has grown accustomed to Aladdin and me chatting as equals, and asks no questions, but his assumptions are plain in the way he looks at us and smirks.
“What?” asks Aladdin, eyes wide with innocence.
“She was twice your age, and you had her blushing like a virgin.”
He shrugs, throwing an arm around Vigo’s shoulders. “I liked her necklace. It was a fine necklace, wasn’t it, Vigo?”
“Very fine. So fine,” slurs Vigo.
“See? Vigo liked her necklace too. Why, I liked it so much . . .” With a wink, Aladdin pulls down the sash around his waist just enough to reveal a flash of ruby.
“You stole it.” I run a hand over my face.
“You have got to teach me how to do that,” says Vigo.
“Here,” says Aladdin. “Let’s practice with Zahra. Zahra, put on this necklace.”
“Oh, look!” I cry, stopping and opening a door. “Vigo’s room.”
“Mmhm.” Vigo groggily claps Aladdin on the shoulder. “Horse racing tomorrow—you going to come, Rahzad?”
“Definitely.”
I place a hand against the small of Vigo’s back and propel him to his door. “Good night, Vigo.”
The Tytoshi stumbles inside, and I shut the door, wincing a little when a loud thump sounds inside.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
I slip an arm around Aladdin and support him the rest of the way. He coils a strand of my hair around his finger and murmurs, “Where would I be without you, Zahra?”
He is so close that his breath warms my neck. “You’d be in the desert, a pile of bleached bones, that’s where.”
“Mm. Right. Have I ever told you thanks, by the way? I don’t thank you enough. Vigo thinks you’re my concubine. Did you know that?”
“Here we are!” I say, a bit too loudly, as I shoulder open the door and pull him into our chambers.
He chuckles and drops onto the divan. “Your face is red.”
“It’s not!” I turn away, hiding my flushed cheeks, but then he grabs my hand.
“Don’t go.”
Startled, I tense and nearly shift into smoke. He watches me, his gaze steady—if a bit glazed—and his grip on my hand warm. Hesitantly I sit beside him, pulling my hand away. He leans back with a sigh.
“Storm’s about to break,” says Aladdin.
I look out to the courtyard, where a strip of the dark sky is visible. Swelling clouds obscure the stars, and wind bends the fig trees before rushing into the chamber. The flames in the lanterns flicker out, leaving us in darkness. A moment later, lightning pulses in the belly of a cloud, illuminating Aladdin’s face for a heartbeat. His eyes are on me.
As thunder breaks, low and angry, I open my hand and conjure a flame over my palm. Yellow light flickers over Aladdin’s features as his gaze lowers, and his lips part slightly.
“I’ll get some candles,” he says.
“Don’t.” I pass the flame back and forth between my hands. “It wouldn’t work. The fire isn’t real. It’s just a part of me—shape-shifting magic. It won’t set anything ablaze.”
The flame reflects in his eyes, while outside, the storm rolls in from the sea, filling the air with the smell of salt. The sheer curtains hanging in the arches billow and snap. Lightning flashes in rapid succession, white-hot sparks thrown from the anvil of the gods.
Aladdin lifts a hand and passes it slowly over my palm, through the slender flame playing across my skin. The fire dances at his touch, and a shiver runs through me, making the hair on my neck stand on end, as if he’d run his fingers through my hair.
I meet his eyes, feeling the vibrations of the thunder outside echoing in my chest.
The way he looks at me—steady and silent, bold and bright—makes me feel as if the storm outside were trapped inside me, thunder and rain and light, rolling and crashing.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “How could anyone believe you were just a servant?”
I close my hand, the flame vanishing, and wrench my gaze from his.
“You’re drunk,” I say.