“Were you in Ambadya before it was destroyed?” Aladdin asks.
“Of course not. I’ve been a jinni for four thousand years. Ambadya was razed long, long before that.”
“Who were you? Where did you live?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I stand up, dropping the lemon, and turn to look down on the city. “It’s too hot out here. Let’s go inside. I’ll teach you how to properly enter a room based on who is already there, and whether they are sitting, standing, or eating.”
Aladdin groans. “I’m sick of playing prince. Let’s pick pockets.”
“No.”
“Wait a minute, Smoky . . .” He leans in close to study me, mimicking Jalil’s habit of raising one eyebrow ridiculously high when suspicious. I can’t help it—his expression makes me giggle—actually giggle, like a little girl. “Do you even know how to pick pockets?”
“Of course I do,” I lie. “I’ve picked a thousand and one—”
“Yes, yes, you’ve done it all a thousand times, I get it.” He raises a doubtful brow. “So prove it.”
• • •
“Him,” Aladdin murmurs. “The one with the feather on his hat. He’s got a pipe in his left pocket.”
We’re in the palace gardens, pretending to admire a massive statue of King Malek. Many nobles are out today, lounging around the pools and fountains, strolling beneath the shade of the trees. Nearly as vast as the palace itself, the gardens spread in a luxurious carpet of green, organized in perfect symmetry. One could walk for hours out here and never find the end of them.
Our target is a man a bit older than Aladdin, walking in our direction. We stand in a more secluded spot. Our back is to him, and when he passes behind us, Aladdin coughs.
I turn and run straight into the man and quickly slip my hand into his pocket, but the pipe is too deep to reach.
“You clumsy wench—Gods above! Are you trying to rob me, girl?” The nobleman seizes my wrist and yanks it from his pocket. My hand comes up with the pipe clenched in it. I stare at him, horrified.
“I . . .”
We’re standing by a tall, neatly trimmed hedge, and without another word I grab the nobleman and drag him into the bushes with me; we burst through the other side into a private clearing populated with small, half-tame deer, which startle and flee. Surrounded by tall shrubs and trees, we’re hidden from view of anyone else walking by.
“I’ll have your head for this!” the man rages. “I’ll have you whipped!”
Aladdin climbs through the hedge after us. I’m gripping the man by his coat, while he spits curses at me, his face turning bright red and his beard flecked with spittle.
“What are you doing?” hisses Aladdin.
“I don’t know!” I stare at him helplessly. “I panicked!”
Rolling his eyes, Aladdin turns to the man. “Shut it, will you?”
“I’ve never been so—mph!”
Aladdin clasps a hand over his mouth, holding him in a headlock. “Easy, old man. Gods, we’re not going to murder you.”
I let go of him and let out a long breath. The man ceases struggling and glares hard at me.
“All right, listen up,” Aladdin says. “See, this is all part of a game. A sort of treasure hunt. It was all Prince Darian’s idea, I might add. Between you and me”—he drops his voice to a whisper—“I think he’s a bit insane. But if you want to complain, talk to him. I’m sure he’d be reasonable about it. I’m going to let you go now. Don’t yell, or I might have to gag you and let you sit here till dark.”
Slowly he releases the man, who whirls angrily but doesn’t shout out. He straightens his hat and coat, looking from Aladdin to me.
“I never . . . Young people these days!”
“Yes, we’re a rotten lot,” agrees Aladdin. “Go on, now. If you run into Darian, be sure to give him a piece of your mind.”
The man hurries off with many backward glances, his face still red. Then Aladdin lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.
“I got the pipe,” I say, holding it up.
He stares for a minute, blinking, and then bursts into laughter. A few curious deer stick their heads through the shrubs to see what the racket is. Aladdin doubles over, laughing loud enough to startle birds from the trees overhead, and after a moment, I start laughing too. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long, long while, and it feels wonderful. We sit on the grass and laugh until our faces are red and we’re out of breath.
“You are the worst thief I have ever seen,” declares Aladdin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got it, didn’t I?”
“My grandmother could pick pockets better than that! Though that’s not quite fair; my grandmother was the best pickpocket in Parthenia. She taught me all her tricks. Drove my mother crazy.”
Taking advantage of the private spot, I shift into a tiger and roll on the grass, groaning with pleasure. The few deer remaining panic at the sight and dash off.
Aladdin lies beside me, his hands flung wide, eyes closed, and face turned to the sun. The sky is brilliantly blue, and the grass lush and deep. I stretch out, relishing the cool dirt under my claws. Then, with a sigh, I shift back into a girl and sink into the grass.
“If you had a wish to spend,” says Aladdin suddenly, “what would you do with it?”
My eyes are half shut, my thoughts slow and lazy. “Spend a day in Ashori, eating grapes.” I don’t add that I’d also be free, without a lamp or a master in sight, staying as long as I pleased and answering to no one.
He rolls on his side, head propped on his hand. “Really? Grapes? You could wish for anything—but you’d wish for grapes?”
“I take it you’ve never had an Ashori grape.” I shut my eyes and imagine it. “They’re sweet and plump and perfectly crisp . . . the last Lampholder used to order them by the shipload.”
“Huh.” He pulls up a small white daisy that’s sprouted in the grass. “I must have one of these grapes.”
I open one eye. “Is that a wish?”
He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers—and find myself brushing Aladdin’s hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little.