“Just one more thing...” I look around the room, spot a gold spoon on the tray of tea Khavar and Nessa brought, and pick it up. I hold it in the coals of the brazier, which are still hot from the night before. In minutes, the gold is cool enough to shape. With a few quick movements, I peel away most of the gold and use the rest to form a ring. As the metal cools, the outside is impressed with the prints of your fingers, Habiba, which I wear like gloves. It seems fitting, given that the bride is of your blood. Before the metal cools completely, I use my nail to impress Eskarr glyphs into the inside of the band, representing undying love. The ancient symbols, which carry a magic of their own, glow white before fading into the ring.
“Here,” I say. “It’s all right, the metal has cooled.”
Aladdin takes the ring and turns it over. “Zahra, you’re a wonder.”
“It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
He swallows and nods, then hands it back. “You must carry it for me.”
“I can’t.” I back away, lifting my hands in refusal. The ring bearer must be the groom’s closest friend, one who symbolically carries his deepest trust and affection. Usually that person is his brother or oldest friend.
“I want you to,” he says. “After all, this was all your idea. Please, Zahra?”
His gaze is earnest, and my eyes fall to the ring on his palm. Mouth dry, I nod and take it, closing my fingers over it protectively, feeling small and unworthy.
“We should go,” I say gruffly. “You’ve got a wedding to catch.”
Chapter Twenty-One
THE NOBLES FLOW INWAVEStoward the palace temple, watching and whispering like a flock of doves, and they part for Aladdin, who walks ringed by his guards. The crowd wears a strange blend of dark funeral clothes, in keeping with the traditional twenty days of morning for a king, and bright festive colors for the wedding.
We reach the temple to find it overflowing with people. We are barely able to squeeze in, and the looks that follow us are malevolent. There is little love for Aladdin among this court, which until an hour ago had been expecting their own beloved prince to be the one standing at the princess’s side today. But I do spy a few smiling faces among those nobles Aladdin managed to charm in his short time at the palace, and I doubt it will take him long to win over the rest—so long as his true identity goes undiscovered.
Six drummers stand in front of the temple, beating a wedding tattoo that echoes throughout the palace, announcing the arrival of the bride and groom. Around the edges of the room, acolytes swingincense on chains, filling the air with the sweet scent of jasmine and moonflower. Each door is guarded by a priest bearing a prayer staff in one hand and a scroll of holy verse in the other, to ward off evil spirits and discourage jinn from entering. Their efforts are more symbolic than anything, and I pass by without incident.
We are met by Captain Pasha, who escorts Aladdin to a dais in front of the temple, beneath a four-story statue of Amystra, the goddess of warriors and judges. Her stone wings curve around the dais, enclosing it on three sides, while her arms stretch high above her upturned face, holding aloft a sword.
Aladdin stands at the foot of the stair leading up to the dais. He tugs at his collar, his eyes roaming the crowd. Those officials loyal to Caspida stand behind him, while scribes record everything at small wooden desks set to one side of the dais. Little girls strew rose and jasmine blossoms around the temple while singing a soft, sweet melody.
With Aladdin in place, Caspida enters from the left. The princess wears a long, trailing gown of white, embroidered from neck to hem with tiny white roses, with one arm bare and the other draped with sheer silk. Her hands and wrists are covered with red henna that stands out in contrast to her olive skin. Gathered into braids beneath a simple silver band, her hair is studded with the same tiny white blossoms that are also sprinkled on the dais and down the stairs. Caspida’s handmaidens follow her, dressed in shades of green, like the leaves of a rosebush with Caspida as the flower.
Two priests step forward to officiate. One carries a pot of burning embers, and the other a sprig of an olive branch. He taps Aladdin’s shoulders and forehead with the branch, symbolically purifying him, and then casts it into the bowl, where it burns in seconds. Then the priests scatter rice around Aladdin and Caspida’sfeet, a symbol of good luck and fortune to come. At last two acolytes take a length of red silk and hold it over the couple’s heads, and the priests begin intoning the words of binding, their sentences interspersed with lines sung by a young acolyte boy with a voice as sweet as honey.
Aladdin is as edgy as a beggar in a guardhouse. He watches Caspida sidelong and tries to mimic her actions. I’m half afraid he’ll run. Caspida, on the other hand, is serene as a swan, her face composed and regal. She doesn’t meet Aladdin’s eyes.
I try to be happy for them, Habiba. Truly I do. And a part of meishappy for them—I have grown fond of them both, and to see them joined makes me believe some stories do end happily. Here is one wish I didn’t twist. Two lives I didn’t ruin.
And yet...
Part of me feels shriveled and rejected. I am the weed cast out of the rose garden. I am the crow chased out of the dovecote. I am where I belong, and shouldn’t that be enough? Doesn’t that merit some sense of happiness or, at the least, fulfillment? Haven’t I won the more important prize—freedom?
Then why, Habiba, do I feel as if I have lost something instead?
I force the question out of my mind. There are more important things to focus on, such as the prolonged absence of Darian and Sulifer, which has not gone unnoticed by the gathered nobles. The vizier and the prince leave a hole in the assembly, and it seems I am not the only one this worries. Caspida’s handmaidens are also alert and watchful, keeping an eye on the crowd. A clumsy murder attempt in the baths cannot be their only plan, so what are they waiting for? My eyes sweep the rooftops, looking for a hidden archer, but I see nothing suspicious. Still, something pulls at me, something that isn’t quite right.
Aladdin and Caspida repeat the words given to them by the priests, speaking vows of troth, fidelity, and love that neither truly feels. A few more minutes, and they will be wed in truth. Instead of feeling relief, I feel as if I’m about to be hanged, waiting for the floor to drop and my neck to break. My unease grows like a swelling wave, rushing inexorably to shore.
Maybe it won’t come. Maybe after his failed attempt to drown Aladdin, Darian cut his losses and ran. Maybe Sulifer decided he’d much rather spend the rest of his life fishing on the coast of Qopta than scheming of ways to manipulate this court.
Tense with unease, I turn back to the ceremony, which is moving to a close. An acolyte brings out a beautiful jade tea set. Once Aladdin and Caspida exchange rings and serve each other a cup, they will be officially wed in the sight of gods and men.
“In the presence of Imohel and these witnesses,” says one of the priests, “this man and this woman have come forth to bind their fates together. What token do you bring as a seal of this union?”
Aladdin turns to me, and I open my fingers to reveal the ring. He stares at it, his hand hovering over mine.
“Take it,” I whisper.
He swallows and picks up the ring, turning it over slowly, light flashing off the symbols carved into the metal. Then his eyes lift and meet mine.
