“I know,” he says, with a wicked half smile. “I just like it when you get angry with me. Smoke comes out of your ears.”
“It certainly does not.”
I open the door to reveal two young nobles. One I recognize: Raz, the tall archer who was there the night the princess kidnapped Aladdin.
The other noble is a handsome young man with a Tytoshi complexion and dreadlocks tipped with silver. I can tell at once that he is brother, likely even twin to Nessa, the princess’s jinn charmer and handmaiden. Does he too carry a jinn-charming flute?
I bow to Raz and greet the Tytoshi in his native fashion: by pulling my hair over my shoulder and tugging the ends, displaying my untipped locks and thus my inferior status. A look of surprise and then appreciation flits across his features. Then he turns and bows to Aladdin, and I step aside.
“Greetings, Prince Rahzad, and welcome to Parthenia. I am Vigo, son of Vigor. This is Lady Razpur nez Miran. We’ve come to escort you to dinner.”
Aladdin bows stiffly—unfortunately, it is the one that ought to be used only for naval officers—and steps through the door. Raz and Vigo flank him, trying to look indifferent but exchanging looks of curiosity behind his back. I trail behind, head bowed demurely, eyes and senses straining to pick up every detail.
“We heard about your journey here,” says Raz. “You must tell us more sometime. To survive an attack by maarids on the open sea—that’s remarkable!”
“Yes,” adds Vigo. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it? Almost too remarkable.”
Raz shoots him a cross look, and the Tytoshi shrugs.
We are led through a tiled courtyard and then down a long walkway framed by a series of elegant white arches, through which the sky can be seen deepening into twilight. A servant girl in a gray robe flits from arch to arch, lighting cleverly concealed candles that, when lit, make the arches seem to glow as if enchanted. On either side of us, cypress trees pruned into perfect spheres give off an earthy, rich scent.
Raz shoos away a white peacock that lands on the walk in front of us, then extends an arm toward a low building with a graceful minaret roof. Though covered, the walls are open to the outside, and I can spy the court seated on cushions within.
“This way, Your Highness. Your servant, of course, may join the others in the kitchens.” Though this last remark is directed at me, Raz does not make eye contact. She waves dismissively in the other direction, at a plainer stone building with several smoking chimneys.
I nod and walk toward it, but once I am out of sight, I duck behind the cypresses and shift into a peacock. Not my favorite form. My legs are spindly, and bobbing my head will leave my neck sore later, but it is the safest way to get into the dining hall. Several other peacocks wander in and out of the building freely. No one will notice one more.
Thus disguised, I strut into the open, my long tail feathers dragging behind me, and boldly enter the dining hall.
The court dines in two groups: men and women. They are separated by lattice screens, symbolically more than anything else, for it is easy to spy one another through the screens, which many of the young men and women do. Their flirtation is ignored by the older nobles. In the back of the room, a musician strums a gentle melody on a tall harp, and I recognize in the tune hints of the songs once sung in your court, Habiba. The men are seated in a large circle around an array of dishes that are continually replenished by gray-robed servants. They carry in bowls of rice, steaming flatbread, kebabs of lamb, beef, and chicken. Even to my peacock form, the smells of cinnamon and saffron are delicious.
I find Aladdin seated between Vigo and an old, hairy nobleman who reeks of garlic. My master nods eagerly as Vigo points out which dishes he should try. I note with chagrin that he’s already drunk half a glass of wine. Not a good sign, with the evening still young and the Amulens watching him like hungry leopards looking for a sign of weakness. Not openly, of course. Their glances are sly, but the suspicion is there, burning behind their pleasant expressions.
I scan the room for any sign of the king or his brother, but neither seems to be present. We haven’t seen either since our first day in the palace.
Tonight’s dinner features nobles of middling to high rank, judging by their clothes and manners. But on the women’s side of the room, I spot Caspida surrounded by her handmaidens. They whisper and laugh and sip wine, casting curious looks through the screen. To see them now, they look innocent and harmless as doves, nothing like the little fighting unit that kidnapped Aladdin.
I strut around the perimeter of the room, listening in on conversations, hoping for mention of any jinn prisoners. But the talk is disappointingly mundane. I edge in to Vigo and peck at his coat, searching for a hidden flute, until he swats at me and I am forced to flee.