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.
He laughs low in his throat, then nods. Leaning back, he rubs his face wearily. “It must be nearly dawn.”
Already the storm begins to dissipate, its fury spent. Light rain falls on the courtyard, soft and pattering, darkening the stones. I rise and search for flint to light the lanterns, but before I find it, Aladdin falls asleep on the divan, still sitting upright, his head dropping toward his chest.
Gently I ease him onto his side, pushing away pillows and drawing a cashmere blanket over him. He sighs, shifting slightly, and I wait until he falls still again before sitting across from him. For several long minutes I watch him sleep, my chest aching strangely. I should go and search for Zhian in the few hours before dawn, but I can’t pull myself away.
I reach out and brush Aladdin’s hair back, my fingers lingering in his black curls. I can feel his life force crackling like sparks on my skin. So bright, so brilliant this mortal boy, here and gone so quickly, a strike of lightning.
“What am I doing?” I whisper. I know where this road leads, for I have traveled it before. I don’t dare follow it again, no matter how tempting it is. If only it were as easy to smother the fire leaping inside me as the one in my palm.
Finally, my stomach twisting, I rise and go to the door, face flushed and hands trembling. I gather myself and shift into smoke.
I spend the rest of the night prowling the halls, and once, briefly, I almost think I can feel the faintest wisp of . . . something. A force, writhing below. Not human. But then it is gone, and when I try to pursue it, I nearly go too far from the lamp. I stop, frozen at the edge of my unseen leash, and stand for several long minutes, unable to go forward, afraid to go back.
• • •
The next morning, I am lounging in the courtyard in the form of a tiger, swatting lazily at flies, when a knock sounds on the door. Instantly I re-form into a girl and run to open it.
It is Khavar, her snake coiled like a living necklace across her collarbone.
“My mistress Princess Caspida requests your presence in her chambers,” says the girl in a bored tone. “Immediately. If convenient.”
“I’ll have to wake him,” I reply. “He’s—”
“Not him. You.”
I stare at her for a moment, then slam the door. As an afterthought, I open it again and say, “Just a minute,” before shutting it again in her face.
I go into Aladdin’s room, where he dragged himself into bed at some point during the night, and whip aside the heavy damask curtain, letting the sunlight pour in. Aladdin, throwing a hand over his eyes, cries out and falls off the bed.
“What are you—why—!?”
“I’ve been summoned to see Caspida.”
He groans and massages his head. “It hurts. Everything hurts. Light. Sounds. Ugh . . .”
“Next time,” I say cheerfully, “maybe you’ll think before letting the jackals get you stinking drunk. If you’re going to throw up, do it outside. I’m not cleaning up after you.”
“Gunhhh . . .”
“I’m going to see Caspida. Don’t go out if you can help it. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t let go of my lamp. Your ill manners we can explain away. My evaporating in front of Caspida’s eyes we can’t. Aladdin.” I pull his hands from his face to be sure he understands. He squints and moans pathetically. “Do you hear me or not?”
“Right. Now go away. Leave me ’lone.” He pulls the blanket off the bed and covers himself, curling up on the floor.
Leaving him, I open the door and smile at Khavar. “I’m ready.”
Caspida will want to interrogate me about Aladdin, I am certain. It is easier to invite me, his only female household member, unless she wants to ignite scandalous gossip. Good. I had been hoping for this. Perhaps I can finally get a clue to finding Zhian.
Khavar leads me through the palace, through arches and doorways and stone courtyards. We pass many servants but few nobles; I suspect Aladdin is not the only one waking to a headache this morning. The palace is built to allow as much light and fresh air as possible inside, with many open arches and windows. The cool morning air is filled with birdsong and the sound of running water from the many fountains in the courtyards, and we pass the flock of peacocks I’d taken up with at dinner a week ago. Several run up to me and peck curiously at my shoes. Khavar hisses at them, and they scatter.
“In here,” sighs Khavar, swinging open a narrow cedar door. The rooms inside are wide and open, connected by arched doorways hung with sheer silk curtains. Similarly to Aladdin’s chambers, they open to a courtyard, as well as a wide, shallow pool. The room Khavar leads me into is lush with carpets and cushions, silk and embroidery.