The Forbidden Wish by Jessica Khoury Page B

are ruled by a drug addict.
    Caspida stands to one side of the throne, her hand perched on her father’s shoulder, as if she is pouring her own strength into him. She looks quite transformed from the girl who spat and sparred in the Rings the night before, though her eyes are a bit tired. Shewears a gown of pale gold, with sheer red silk draped over her shoulders. Tassels hung from the hem of her dress brush the tops of her sandals, which are studded with gemstones. She regards Aladdin’s glamoured face without a hint of recognition; her eyes are cool and appraising, and a little suspicious.
    I sense a flutter of panic from Aladdin at the sight of Caspida, but he calms when my glamour holds and recognition does not flare in her eyes.
    As Jalil and Aladdin approach the throne, I hang back in the shadows of the pillars and watch closely. Guards stand at the base of each column, so still they might be statues themselves, and they don’t stop me from walking along the wall beneath the friezes. Other servants move in the shadows, and nobles gather in groups of four and five, talking in hushed whispers while regarding Aladdin with open curiosity. I blend in with them, a shadow myself, within full hearing and view of the dais.
    The king makes an effort to sit up straighter as my master bows low before him, but his eyes are dull and uninterested. There is power in this room, but it does not sit on the throne.
    The court crier, a barrel-chested man wearing a tall peaked hat, is announcing the king: “. . . Malek son of Anoushan son of Arhab son of Oshur, King of Kings, King of Parthenia, King of Niroh, of Beddan and of Mon Asur, Chosen by Imohel, Blessed by the Gods, Favored of Amul, King of the Amulens . . .” On he drones, listing a seemingly endless litany of titles, until at last he turns to face the king and introduces Aladdin.
    â€œI present to your Exalted Majesty for your pleasure, Rahzad rai Asnam, Prince of Istarya.”
    The list ends there, almost humorously brief compared to Malek’s. Aladdin, throughout the length of the arduousintroduction, remained bent at the waist, as he’d been instructed by Jalil. Now he rises, face blank, and waits for Malek to speak.
    Except Malek has fallen asleep.
    Jalil coughs and looks down at his feet. Aladdin, reddening, starts to say something to him, but the man on the other side of the throne bends and whispers in the king’s ear, and Malek blinks furiously and looks down at Aladdin. Then the man straightens and fixes his eyes on my master, and one of his hands lingers on the side of the throne.
    While Malek greets Aladdin with a formal rehearsed speech, offering him hospitality and wishing him health, I watch the man who’d awoken the monarch. The similarity between him and the king is apparent, now that I look for it. Vizier Sulifer is the heartier, stronger version of his older brother, his flesh filled out where Malek’s caves in. They have the same brow, the same arched nose, and the same round jawline—traits also shared by Sulifer’s son, Darian, though of course he is not present. It will take the king’s nephew at least a week to make the journey back to the palace. So these are the Anadredcas, the Amulen dynasty who inherited your great legacy, Habiba.
    When the exchange of formal greetings ends, Malek slumps in his throne as if fatigued and lets Sulifer take over. The other men seem to accept this with relief, as if they see their king as a figurehead or a puppet. As if they are thinking,
Finally, the fool is finished.
Only Caspida looks concerned for him, and she squeezes his shoulder, her eyes flickering to Sulifer as he steps forward.
    Aladdin’s eyes are deceptively blank as he regards the man who killed his parents. Sulifer stands in front of the throne and stares back at him. He wears robes cut in precise military fashion, dyed deep blue and hemmed with silver. A ceremonial sword, its