The mighty Amulens are ruled by a drug addict.
Caspida stands to one side of the throne, her hand perched on her father’s shoulder, as if she is pouring her own strength into him. She looks quite transformed from the girl who spat and sparred in the Rings the night before, though her eyes are a bit tired. She wears a gown of pale gold, with sheer red silk draped over her shoulders. Tassels hung from the hem of her dress brush the tops of her sandals, which are studded with gemstones. She regards Aladdin’s glamoured face without a hint of recognition; her eyes are cool and appraising, and a little suspicious.
I sense a flutter of panic from Aladdin at the sight of Caspida, but he calms when my glamour holds and recognition does not flare in her eyes.
As Jalil and Aladdin approach the throne, I hang back in the shadows of the pillars and watch closely. Guards stand at the base of each column, so still they might be statues themselves, and they don’t stop me from walking along the wall beneath the friezes. Other servants move in the shadows, and nobles gather in groups of four and five, talking in hushed whispers while regarding Aladdin with open curiosity. I blend in with them, a shadow myself, within full hearing and view of the dais.
The king makes an effort to sit up straighter as my master bows low before him, but his eyes are dull and uninterested. There is power in this room, but it does not sit on the throne.
The court crier, a barrel-chested man wearing a tall peaked hat, is announcing the king: “. . . Malek son of Anoushan son of Arhab son of Oshur, King of Kings, King of Parthenia, King of Niroh, of Beddan and of Mon Asur, Chosen by Imohel, Blessed by the Gods, Favored of Amul, King of the Amulens . . .” On he drones, listing a seemingly endless litany of titles, until at last he turns to face the king and introduces Aladdin.
“I present to your Exalted Majesty for your pleasure, Rahzad rai Asnam, Prince of Istarya.”
The list ends there, almost humorously brief compared to Malek’s. Aladdin, throughout the length of the arduous introduction, remained bent at the waist, as he’d been instructed by Jalil. Now he rises, face blank, and waits for Malek to speak.
Except Malek has fallen asleep.
Jalil coughs and looks down at his feet. Aladdin, reddening, starts to say something to him, but the man on the other side of the throne bends and whispers in the king’s ear, and Malek blinks furiously and looks down at Aladdin. Then the man straightens and fixes his eyes on my master, and one of his hands lingers on the side of the throne.
While Malek greets Aladdin with a formal rehearsed speech, offering him hospitality and wishing him health, I watch the man who’d awoken the monarch. The similarity between him and the king is apparent, now that I look for it. Vizier Sulifer is the heartier, stronger version of his older brother, his flesh filled out where Malek’s caves in. They have the same brow, the same arched nose, and the same round jawline—traits also shared by Sulifer’s son, Darian, though of course he is not present. It will take the king’s nephew at least a week to make the journey back to the palace. So these are the Anadredcas, the Amulen dynasty who inherited your great legacy, Habiba.
When the exchange of formal greetings ends, Malek slumps in his throne as if fatigued and lets Sulifer take over. The other men seem to accept this with relief, as if they see their king as a figurehead or a puppet. As if they are thinking, Finally, the fool is finished. Only Caspida looks concerned for him, and she squeezes his shoulder, her eyes flickering to Sulifer as he steps forward.
Aladdin’s eyes are deceptively blank as he regards the man who killed his parents. Sulifer stands in front of the throne and stares back at him. He wears robes cut in precise military fashion, dyed deep blue and hemmed with silver. A ceremonial sword, its sheath inscribed with Amulen script, is tucked into his red sash. His head is bare, his long graying hair sweeping his shoulders, his beard trimmed short and sharp. There is a cunning in his face that makes me uneasy. Perhaps I should have shifted into a spider, to hang in Aladdin’s ear and whisper advice.
But no. If he is going to truly pass himself off as a prince, he must learn to be a prince. To think like one, to scheme like one, to look wolves like this Sulifer in the eye and be unafraid. This is a crucial moment for us both. I gave him the ship, the clothes, the story he needed to gain entry into this room. But if he is to truly convince these people of his false identity, he must do it here and now—and on his own. I can only stand in the shadows and urge him on silently. I’m adaptable, he told me. I hope he wasn’t lying. Both our fates depend on it.
Sulifer questions Aladdin about his arrival in Parthenia, and my master repeats the story yet again.
“We have not heard of this Istarya before,” says Sulifer.
“I’m not surprised,” Aladdin replies, his voice strong and clear. “It is very small, and our people do not often venture this far north.”
“But you have,” states Sulifer.
“We heard of Parthenia’s strength in fending off the jinn. Naturally I was intrigued, so I came to learn from you, if I could, how you have withstood these monsters. Your bravery and skill are unparalleled, from what I’m told. Not many cities are willing to anger the jinn, and instead they leave offerings to appease them.”
I exhale in relief, feeling a glow of pride. There is not a breath of hesitation in him, not a tremor in his voice. He is as skilled a liar as I have ever known, and I have known a very great many liars, Habiba.
The other men nod and murmur in appreciation of Aladdin’s words, but Sulifer looks him over carefully, his shrewd eyes narrowed. “A pretty speech and a valiant sentiment, young prince. We must speak more of your travels after you have rested. Jalil, show our guest to his rooms, and see that he is given all he requires.”
Aladdin bows low. “My thanks to you, my lord, and to your Exalted Majesty. I have heard of the bravery of the Amulens, and to stand here among you is the height of honors.”
He backs away, briefly bowing to Caspida, and does not turn his back to the king until he reaches the doors. I slip through the crowd and out of the chamber just before the doors shut.
Chapter Ten
WITH MUCH BOWING and exchanged pleasantries, we are left in a set of rooms somewhere near the eastern rear of the palace. There are three chambers—one for lounging and receiving visitors, one bedchamber for Aladdin, and a small servant’s room for me. The chambers open to a small, grassy courtyard populated with white lilies and a fig tree heavy with fruit. I pick a few and pop them in my mouth as I walk around the chambers, taking it all in. The floor, made of smooth black and white clay tiles, is spread with rich carpets, and the open arches leading to the courtyard are covered with gauzy curtains. Aladdin wanders into the bedchamber and flops onto the bed, letting out a long sigh.
“Oh, gods,” he sighs. “They can chop off my head or quarter me or whatever it is they do to impostors, as long as I get one night to sleep in this bed. Then it’ll all be worth it. I might even thank them.”