She shuffles, her nose wrinkling. He offers you a deal.
“I made a deal with Nardukha once before, and paid a terrible price for it.” I narrow my eyes and take a step toward her, my hands curling into fists. “Why should I trust him again?”
Her head whips up, her teeth flashing. The humans with their cursed charms have trapped and bottled one of our own, holding him deep in their warded city. No jinn may enter, for their protection is strong, and to pass through their gates or fly over their walls is death to us. But not to you—not to Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away. As Shaitan, you alone may be able to pass through the wards and get inside the city.
“So he wants me to rescue this jinni,” I say doubtfully. “But I know Nardukha. No jinni is worth that much trouble to him, none but—” I pause and swallow.
The ghul laughs humorlessly. The jinni they hold is no mere burning ifreet or dripping maarid, but our Lord’s own son.
I can picture him at once, though I have not seen him in more than a thousand years. We last parted with angry words, as we always did. Sun-Burns-Bright, Scale-of-the-Red-Dragon, He-Who-Makes-the-Earth-to-Shake. To me, he has always been Zhian, the name given him by the Akbanu people when they worshiped him, thousands of years ago. He always did love parading around like a god, demanding offerings and temples from the humans he terrorized.
“The humans have captured Zhian?” I ask, laughing until Aladdin stirs fitfully. “He must be utterly humiliated. The great jinn prince—bottled up like a common maarid. How did the humans do it?”
They are stronger than they were. These Amulens have grown tough and clever, fighting us as they have all these years. And whose fault is that?
For once, I’m happy to take the blame. How proud you would be of your people, Habiba, still carrying on the fight these hundreds of years later! And to think they’ve even captured the great jinn prince himself.
I cross my arms, smiling a little. “And what do I get in return?”
Shaza pauses a long moment before replying, and when she does, her thoughts drip with disgust. The Shaitan offers you freedom.
Chapter Five
I DROP MY ARMS, as smoke turns to flame inside me.
What? I reply. The jinn tongue feels rusted in my thoughts, but I am too stunned for spoken words.
The ghul sniffs. These are the terms. Turning away, she points at the silver crescent hanging low in the sky. The moon will die tomorrow night, and be reborn again. It will grow fat, then it will grow weak, and then it will die once more. On that moon death, if you have not freed the jinn prince, then the Shaitan shall shake the skies, and death will rain upon you and all the humans in that city. But succeed, and he will sever the bond that binds you to the lamp, and you will return to Ambadya a free jinni.
She gives me a sly smile over her shoulder. But if you make one mistake, he will come, and a deserved traitor’s death he will give you. Do you know what that means?
I do. I have seen jinn executions before. They last for days. When you’re practically immortal, there’s no end to the torture you can endure, and the jinn are experts at wringing every last drop of pain from their victims. My chest tightens at the thought. I may be one of the strongest jinni alive, but I can feel pain, and I can be killed.
“Yes,” I whisper, then I cough a little and repeat in a louder voice, “Yes. I accept Nardukha’s deal. Tell him . . . tell him he will see his wretched son within the month.”
It shall be so.
And just like that, the ghul is gone, slipping away into the shadows and rock, blending into the earth from which she was made, leaving me trembling. I lift my face and stare wonderingly at the stars above.
Freedom.
It’s a dream I never dared to dream. I cannot even imagine what it would be like. Ever since I became jinn, I’ve been bound to my lamp. The concept is foreign, as distant and untouchable as the new moon behind its black veil. But for the first time, I feel hope. And I know I will do everything in my limited power to seize it.
The sun rises, and the Parthenian gates open. Two roads—one from the east, one from the west—lead to the city, and carts and travelers slowly make their way inside. No one sees us nestled among the rocks upriver. The sun peaks and then begins sinking again, the trees’ shadows growing long, and still Aladdin sleeps as if dead.
There is no more sign of Shaza or any other jinni nearby, but I keep careful watch. I turn Nardukha’s deal over in my mind, pondering how to accomplish it. It is one thing to say I will do it—another entirely to pull it off. Parthenia is a large city, and there’s no telling where Zhian is being kept. It’s not as if I am free to wander around looking, either. I’m bound to Aladdin as long as he has the lamp. But I won’t let that stop me. I won’t let anything stop me—not human or jinn. Because for the first time in four thousand years, I, Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Smoke-on-the-Wind, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away, have a chance at freedom.