“You killed her.”
“I loved Roshana,” I whisper. Unable to meet her gaze any longer—there is far too much of you in her, Habiba—I turn away and face the sea. “She was dearer to me than a sister. After more than three thousand years of slavery to cruel and selfish masters, I met your ancestress, the great Amulen queen. Not only clever and diplomatic but a fierce warrioress. Very like you, in fact. And unlike those countless masters who came before, she was kind to me. She saw not an enemy, not a monster, but a . . . a girl.”
“Then tell me why you did it.”
Bowing my head in submission, I draw a deep breath. “I had no choice. I didn’t want to. When the king of the jinn learned how close Roshana and I had become, he came to punish us. We had broken the cardinal rule of Ambadya: that no jinni may love a human. There, on the summit of Mount Tissia, he commanded me to kill her—to strike down my dearest friend. I had no choice, for his power over me is absolute. I destroyed her, and then Nardukha sent his jinn to ravish the city of Neruby as a warning to all humans that his laws must be obeyed. But make no mistake: I can offer no excuses for what happened that day, for it was at my hand that Roshana met her fate. My love was her destruction.”
Caspida stares at me, the lamp gripped tightly in her hands. It is then that I realize it’s not Roshana’s death she is trying to understand, but her mother’s. I may not have killed her myself, but to Caspida, I may as well have.
“For five hundred years my sisterhood has passed down a sacred vow,” says Caspida coldly, “to destroy the one who destroyed our queen. You know this, and you speak these words only to deceive me as you deceived her. You would have me believe that you are capable of love.”
“Believe me when I say I wish that I were not!” Angrily I round on her. “I do not tell you this for myself! Aladdin will die any moment, and the only way to save him is if you make a wish! Please, Caspida—they will kill him at dawn!” I point at the horizon, where the sun is minutes away from rising. “Let me save him, I beg you!”
I drop to my knees before her, doing what I never thought I could: grovel before a human. My pride unravels into smoke, carried away on the wind. Always I have thought myself above these mortals—I, immortal, powerful, able to shift from this form to that. But I let all of that go now, and I beg as I have never begged before. “Do what you like with me after that, but just let me save him!” I dig my fingers into the earth, my eyes damp with tears. My voice falls to a cracked whisper. “Please.”
“Why?”
I raise my face, finding her gaze unyielding. “Because it was my idea. Him wishing to be made a prince. Courting you. Lying all these weeks. I manipulated him and used him, and now they will kill him for it.”
“Why would you lead him into the palace knowing that eventually the truth would come out and he would have to pay the price?”
“Because . . .” I grind my teeth together, wishing the earth would swallow me up. “Because I was trying to win my freedom. Your people had captured the prince of the jinn—Nardukha’s own son. The Shaitan sent me to free him, and in turn, he would free me from my lamp. If I failed, he planned to sink your city into the sea. I had to get into the palace. Aladdin was my only way in.”
“So you don’t deny that you’re a monster. You used him for your own ends.”
I drop my head. “I know what I am. I know nothing can excuse what I did to Roshana, or to Aladdin, or to you. I’ve wronged so many, and there is so much I wish I could take back. I can’t save Roshana. But please—I beg of you—let me save him.”
Caspida lowers to her knees and studies me. I meet her gaze, humbled utterly.
“You want me to believe that you love him,” she whispers.
“Yes.” The word is but a breath, a stir of air in my treacherous lungs. “We’re running out of time. I cannot reverse death or the hours. Time is the strongest magic, and no jinni—not even the Shaitan—can rewrite the past. Once Aladdin is gone, he is gone. Let me save him, and I can help you win your city.”
She stares at me long and hard before shaking her head. “No,” she says at last. “If I must rely on the magic of the jinn to deliver my people to me, then I don’t deserve to rule them. I will not be the latest fool you trick.”
She rises, her eyes hard, and I know nothing I can say will sway her. I plummet into despair, unable to move or think or breathe. This is it. Aladdin will die. I’ve killed him as surely I killed you, Habiba.
Caspida walks to the edge of the cliff, the lamp held in front of her. Her face is solemn, almost sorrowful, and I wonder if she has any regret for what she is about to do. I don’t have the will or energy to stop her. I can only stare blankly at the grass as my spirit drains from me.
“Goodbye, Zahra,” says the princess, and she pulls her arm back, preparing to throw the lamp.
“Do it, Princess,” says a voice, “and I will tear your head from your shoulders.”