Aladdin seems to notice none of this. He stares at me deeply, imploringly, waiting for me to speak. But I can’t. I am rigid with shock and fear and . . . if I am entirely honest, a tiny flicker of hope. My hand closes over the ring.
“Far be it from me,” says Caspida in a frosty tone, breaking the silence at last, “to stand in the way of such love. This wedding is over.” She turns to the crowd. “There will still be a feast later and dancing through the night. Priests, thank you for your service, but I believe we’re done here.”
She seems indifferent as the moon. But I can see deeper than the skin and sense she is bewildered and embarrassed, eager to get away. Her Watchmaidens flock to her, pulling her aside with murmurs of concern.
Aladdin watches only me. “I know you must think I’m an idiot,” he whispers, “but will you give me a chance? Will you let me start over?”
I back away, pulling my hands from his.
“Zahra, what’s wrong?”
“I am poison.”
His brow creases. “I don’t believe that.”
I back up until I’m on the edge of the dais, feeling like a cornered animal. He doesn’t understand, just like you didn’t understand, Habiba. Why do you humans insist upon courting destruction? Aladdin’s eyes are hurt, waiting for me to respond, but my voice sticks in my throat.
“Zahra,” he says softly, “do you love me?”
“I—” I shouldn’t. It’s wrong, it’s dangerous, it’s forbidden.
He stares pleadingly, waiting. “Zahra?”
“What of your vengeance?” I whisper, my words unheard in the noise rising from the crowd. “What of your parents? All your life you have lived for this moment.”
He shakes his head. “I’m tired of living for the dead. I want to live for you.”
“Aladdin, we can’t. You must not say such things!” I look around wildly, wondering who can hear us. If Nardukha heard these forbidden words, the price would be catastrophic. “The risk—”
“You are worth every risk. I know what I want, Zahra. Do you?”
“I—”
Suddenly a loud, brassy trumpet sounds across the temple. My skin turns to ice, and I almost expect the Shaitan himself to come roaring in. But it is Sulifer who appears, dressed in a black military coat with a sweeping cape, his dark turban adding to his already considerable height. His beard has been trimmed short, enhancing the streaks of gray that run down his chin. Behind him march two dozen soldiers, all wearing armor and helmets, bearing lances and swords. Darian slips in beside them, his face unreadable.
The vizier pauses a moment, taking in Caspida’s icy expression and my and Aladdin’s clasped hands. Then, with a grunt of dismissal, he strides down the length of the temple yard, and the ring of his and the soldiers’ boots is the only sound to be heard. He doesn’t speak or change his expression until he reaches the foot of the dais.
There he stops, his eyes fixed on Aladdin.
“Guards,” he says. “Seize this man. He is not who he claims to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
IN THE SILENCE THAT FALLS, I release a long, slow breath, my eyes falling shut for a moment. My spirit plummets, and I can feel everything around me start to unravel. What gave us away? Did Darian see the lamp after all?
“Use your wish,” I whisper to Aladdin, opening my eyes. “Please.”
“If I do,” he replies softly, “I’ll lose you.”
Caspida has pulled herself together; whatever emotions she’s reeling with after being humiliated at her own wedding, she hides them well.
“Uncle, stand down,” she says. “You are my kin, but I will have you banished or imprisoned if you continue this charade.”
Sulifer doesn’t even blink. “This man stands accused of murder, sorcery, and communion with jinn.”
The blood drains from Aladdin’s face, and an audible gasp sweeps around the room.
“That is ridiculous!” says Caspida. “How dare you—”
“Let him speak for himself,” says Sulifer calmly. “And let him tell us if he is innocent.”
“Of course I am!” Aladdin replies. Dropping my hands, he steps around Caspida and faces the vizier. “You’re mad.”
“Am I?” Sulifer turns to Darian and gestures him forward.
“Enough of this insanity,” says Caspida. “Guards, remove my cousin and uncle from this place!”
Her guards hesitate, but Captain Pasha steps boldly forward. With a wave of his hand, Sulifer brings his own soldiers forward. They lower their lances at the captain, who falters and looks back at the princess. Sulifer and Darian don’t even flinch. They have the power of numbers, and they know it. The audience shrinks away, pressing against either side of the temple, well clear of the bared weapons.