“It was made for my mother, when she married my father.”
I turn to Caspida and ask in a tone deceptively neutral, “Is she an ancestress of yours?”
“Very distantly, yes.” Caspida rises and joins me in gazing up at the stone face, which isn’t a very good likeness, truth be told. Time has weathered the memory of you, or else I wouldn’t be able to walk freely here, wearing your face. “This is Roshana, the last queen of the Amulen Empire, back when my people ruled all the lands from the east to the west. She is something of a legend among us. Every queen aspires to learn from her mistakes.”
“Her mistakes? Surely you mean her victories.”
“What?”
I frown at her. “Roshana was one of the greatest queens in the world. She ended the Mountain Wars, she routed Sanhezriyah the Mad, she—”
“For a foreign serving girl, you are strangely well versed in Amulen history.”
“I spent a lot of time in libraries as a girl.”
“Were you there to dust the scrolls or read them?”
“Surely Roshana’s victories outweigh her errors.”
“The higher you rise, the farther you fall. For all her wisdom, Roshana was fooled by the jinni, believing it was her friend, and then it destroyed her. Ever since that day, my people have hunted the jinn. There is no creature more vicious and untrustworthy.”
“This is not the story I heard,” I say softly. “My people tell it differently. That the jinni truly was a friend to Roshana but was forced to turn against her. That she had no choice.”
“Surely I know how my own ancestress died,” returns the princess, a bit hotly. “Anyway, it was a long time ago, but we Amulens do not forget.”
“No,” I murmur. “I suppose you don’t. And you’ve grown into strong and clever fighters, from what I hear. That you even have those among you who can trap jinn.”
Caspida watches me closely, a small, curious smile on her lips. “Jinn charmers have been around for centuries. We did not invent the art. Do you not have them in Istarya?”
“I’m afraid we’re among those who would rather bow to the jinn than fight them.”
“But not your master,” Caspida notes. “Isn’t he here to study our methods?”
“What do you do with a trapped jinni? It sounds dangerous. Surely you dispose of them.”
She watches me for a moment, then says, “Perhaps one day I will tell you. Forgive me, but my people’s secrets are not mine to give.”
She is a princess apologizing to a servant. Speaking to me as if we are equals. And it strikes me then, as it had not before, that she truly is your descendant, that some part of your spirit has passed to her. I feel I know her far more intimately than the space of a few minutes of conversation would make possible. I see you in her, and for that, I cannot be angry with her.
“No,” I say softly. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry. Into that or . . . or Roshana. I’m sure your version is the true one.”
“Well, it was a long time ago,” she says graciously. “A different world altogether. And anyway, you’re also right. Roshana defeated Sanhezriyah the Mad, and she stood against the armies of the jinn even when all her allies deserted her. She was a heroine, one of the greatest queens to have lived, in a time when women stood equal to men. But the world moved on, and other lands preferred kings over queens. Their ways of thinking have poisoned our own, and now when they speak of Roshana, they whisper it as if it were a joke. That foolish, capricious woman who trusted her heart, and her kingdom paid the price. They would use her example against me, forgetting all the great things she accomplished.” Caspida sighs and kneels at the edge of the pool. Her reflection shimmers back at her. “But if I could be even half so great as she was, I would count myself fortunate.”
“In that, we agree,” I whisper.
Suddenly my stomach wrenches violently, a feeling I know all too well. Damn it, Aladdin, what are you doing? The lamp is moving farther away, and I am standing at the very edge of my invisible boundary. My stomach tugs again, and I gasp a little.
“Are you all right?” Caspida asks, her eyebrows lowering in concern.
“Just . . . not feeling too well,” I groan. I sidestep toward the pool, trying to alleviate the pain. The longer I resist, the more it hurts, as if someone has reached inside me and is twisting my gut. I can feel my skin getting lighter, preparing to dissolve into smoke, but I strain with everything in me not to turn.
“Zahra!” Caspida stands and puts her hand on my arm. “You’re cold as ice!”
“Ah!” Doubling over, arms crossed over my stomach, I gasp out, “I should go. Something I ate, probably!”
“Of course. I will have Nessa take you to the physician.”
“No—I’ll be all right. Thank you.”
I bow painfully and walk quickly across the pool, Caspida beside me. The girls have managed to calm the elephant calf by bribing it with fruit. They glance at me curiously as I rush for the door. After bidding me a brief farewell, Caspida lets me out.
A few steps, and the pain vanishes. I lean against the wall for a moment and simply breathe, stilling myself. Deep in my chest, I sense the lamp’s movement. Aladdin is somewhere at the other end of the palace, and now he’s standing still, thank the gods. After another moment of rest, I resume walking, wondering what Caspida and her handmaidens must think of me.
I am not far down the hall when I sense I am being followed. The passage has no windows or skylights and is quite dark save for a few smoldering braziers. I turn a corner, as if heading back to Aladdin’s chambers. But then I stop and shift to smoke, rising upward.
When Ensi and Khavar creep around the corner, I shift back into a human, drop from the ceiling, and land in a crouch behind them. Ensi shrieks and Khavar whirls, batting my arm aside, her hand sliding around my throat, her other hand producing a knife. She slams me hard against the wall. Ensi, her eyes wide, holds a handful of red powder that she’d been about to throw in my face. Khavar’s snake rises on her shoulder, hissing.
“Well, well.” I can’t help grinning. “Caspida has a little coterie of girl assassins, just like Roshana did. Do you call yourselves the Watchmaidens too?”
Ensi, looking sheepish, pockets her poisonous powder in a concealed satchel beneath her thin silk coat. “Let her go, Khavar.”
“No,” the other girl snarls. “I don’t trust her. She asks too many questions.” She presses her forearm against my throat, and I wince and suck in a thin breath. “I thought you were sick?”
“I’d listen to your friend, if I were you,” I croak, smiling still.