Pitch black. No sound but his own ragged breathing. The world had dropped into a bottomless hole and there was no beginning, no end. Only darkness and cold.
"Arran?" Inna's voice drifted toward him from some place far away, like an echo in a long tunnel. Which made no sense, because she was stuck in the opposite cell.
"Are you all right?" he shot back.
No answer. Worry clenched his guts, so he scrambled to his feet—quite the challenge with his hands still bound—and pressed his chest and face against the iron bars. "Inna?"
The darkness blinked. Two blazing red eyes, flames and mist and churning lava, opened mere inches from Arran's nose.
Screaming, he reeled backward and nearly tripped over his own feet. A sharp jolt of pain pinched his still injured ankle and annihilated part of the soothing effects of Zohra's ointment. He tumbled onto the cot.
He thought he heard Inna call his name, but the sound was muffled, dreamlike.
The torches outside his cell flared up again, though their fire burned green and blue, contributing to a haunting atmosphere. The air inside compressed within the walls and the building pressure weighed him down, clogged up his airways. His blood sang an anthem of death in his ears. If hell were a prison, this was what Arran imagined the cells to look and be like.
The bars did not stop the creature of shadows and flames; it passed through them like water, seeping onto the floor and swirling in a dense, shapeless mass of smoke. The eyes remained fixed on Arran, pinned him to the cot with an intensity that scorched his skin. Arran's instincts told him to run, but the Amulet's now colder weight in the hollow of his neck reminded him of the role he had to play.
However, the djinn didn't need to be reminded. "MASTER." Its speech scraped against the inside of Arran's skull, not so much a voice as a thought planted into his brain.
He cleared his throat. "I suppose."
"WHY DID YOU CALL ME?"
Whatever you do, don't faint. "I need a favor."
The djinn laughed—at least, that was how Arran interpreted the hollow boom reverberating in the air, like a thousand doors slamming shut at once. "I DO NOT BESTOW ANY FAVORS, NOT EVEN ON MY MASTER. IF YOU WANT MY HELP, MAKE A WISH AND PAY THE PRICE."
More than one alarm bell rang in his head with increasing insistence. Wishes? Price? Inna had been right; the djinn's services were not free of charge. "How many wishes do I have?"
"YOU ASK THE RIGHT QUESTIONS."
"That's not an answer," he grumbled under his breath. Those red eyes pierced his own, though, reading every thought behind his—hopefully—straight face.
For just a moment, the tornado of darkness and smoke took the shape of a man, tall and broad-shouldered and imposing. Arran blinked, and the silhouette had dissolved again.
"THREE WISHES. FOR EVERYTHING I GIVE YOU, YOU GIVE SOMETHING BACK TO ME. THE PRICE IS NEGOTIABLE."
"And when I've used up all of my three wishes?" The djinn didn't respond. Its—or his?—offer was clear: after those three wishes, the deal was over.
Only three wishes. Would it be smart to use one of them now already? His imprisonment in these dungeons was without doubt only the beginning of a whole series of misfortune and pursuit by faceless enemies. At some point, his life might depend on those wishes, even though the djinn was obligated to protect him from direct harm.
In that moment, an icy venom slithered through his veins. Shuddering, he looked down at his arm, just in time to spot a dark line, a cursed parasite, crawling under his skin. He might need the djinn to get rid of that particular problem as well.
An idea, risky but necessary, popped into his head. The price is negotiable, the djinn had said. Let's see if that also rang true for this situation.
With feigned disinterest, Arran swung a casual leg out of the cot and ran his gaze over the djinn from head to toe, avoiding its eyes on purpose. He sighed. "I don't know about this. Changing the color of the light and muting my friend in the other cell aren't exactly trustworthy examples of infinite power."
A breeze scratched his cheek with its frozen talons. "MY POWER IS NOT INFINITE. I CANNOT CURE YOUR CURSE. YOU CANNOT WISH FOR MORE WISHES. I CANNOT BRING SOMEONE BACK FROM THE DEAD."
Arran scoffed, indignant, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Really? Any more shortcomings?" His bold question was met by stony, wintry silence. "I mean, all those stories speak so highly of djinns. You're supposed to be practically almighty spirits. And now you tell me you can't even revive a dead person." He stared down at the Amulet, stroking its triangular outline with a finger. "I think I'm going to find another djinn who can give me whatever my heart desires. Gods, there are sorcerers who got more power in their little—"
An invisible, unyielding power smacked him against the wall and squeezed his throat shut until black dots danced across his vision. The djinn's red eyes bored into his, so close Arran feared they would burn his eyelashes. Still, he refused to back down, sensing that he was close to breaking through that wall of arrogance that seemed to come for free with terrible amounts of power. "Have I hurt your feelings?" he wheezed.
A low, monstrous growl rocked the cell, rattled the iron bars. Terror paralyzed his muscles and his heart thumped at a frenetic speed, preparing for the final blow. Arran looked death in its blazing eyes, but the words to beg for his life stranded at the back of his throat. His tongue malfunctioned, tied to the roof of his mouth.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU ARE BUT A PETTY HUMAN. I COULD SNAP YOUR NECK WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT."
"Tough threats, but I'm still your master," Arran managed to spit out. "You can't hurt me."
That fast, the strain on his throat loosened and the djinn retreated, although he still invaded Arran's personal space. Arran coughed his lungs out, tasting blood on his tongue, and his legs trembled with untapped adrenaline. Another one of Inna's outcries caressed his ears, though so quiet it might as well have been a wishful figment of his imagination.
Just like he could be imagining the docile, embarrassed bent in the djinn's posture. "You'll have to work on your manners. I think you owe me an apology." No answer. Not that he had expected one. This was a creature of pride, that much was plain to him. "You nearly strangled me to death. That's against the rules. Get the princess and me out of the palace unharmed and I'll forgive you."
A shot in the dark. Arran didn't know what the consequences were if a djinn defied its master. If it broke the rules of its contract to a new owner. He just hoped he had provoked this djinn enough to trick it into helping him escape without having to give up a wish.
A flash of blinding light. Arran shielded his eyes when they started to water and stumbled backward. The Amulet grew warmer with the inherent flame that always burned inside it. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and discovered that he experienced no difficulty doing so. The constant suffocation that had plagued him since the djinn's appearance was gone.
Two cool, surprisingly calloused hands cupped his face. Careful, he cracked one eye open and found Inna's face hovering in front of his. Relief softened her delicate features, the sharp incline of her cheekbone.
"Habi Onshra, are you all right?" she asked, her voice quavering at the end of her question. "I called your name, but I couldn't see past that darkness in your cell ... What happened?"
With gentle fingers, he pried hers from his face, although he held onto her hands a second longer than necessary. "I believe I just fooled a djinn. I— Wait, how did you get into my cell?"
Inna bared her teeth in a pearly grin and gestured at the bars that spanned one wall of his cell. Or rather the lack thereof. The magic-repressing cuffs around their wrists had disappeared as well. Arran's mouth dropped open, but mirrored Inna's broad smile as he realized that his impulsive plan had worked.
"We can discuss this later," Inna said, grabbing his wrist to drag him along. Arran wondered when she would stop treating him like a toddler incapable of walking on its own, but bit his tongue not to spoil her good mood. Their situation was already volatile enough; he'd rather not deal with a sulking princess on top of it all.
As they climbed the stairs back to the more comfortable sections of the palace, a subtle aroma of perfume and soap replaced the stale, chill air that had dominated the dungeons. At the top, Inna pushed down the handle of the iron door at an excruciating pace and peered through the crack to scan the corridor behind it. She cursed under her breath.
"Two guards. I don't see any way around them."
"No problem." Arran put a hand on her shoulder. "I can hide us."
At least, he hoped he could. He had never had to wrap his aura around another person before.
In the blink of an eye, his mind had opened up to the magical energy around him and he spent a brief moment studying Inna's beautiful, scarlet aura. It embraced her, clung to her skin like a possessive lover. Slowly, he reached out with his own energy, caressing the red shroud in a silent request. Inna's eyelids fluttered while their auras melted into a colorful whirlwind.
Electricity flowed through his nervous system at the magical contact. He wavered, placing a hand on the wall to stay on his feet, and Inna let out a short gasp. A feeling of wonder and amazement rushed through him—foreign, not his own—and then the barriers between their minds were raised once more, blocking off any further exchange of sensations and emotions.
"Ira ha suntsuk," Inna muttered, her eyes large and glazed over. "Compatibility."
Frowning, Arran wanted to ask her what she meant, but she had already slipped out the door. He trailed after her, casting wary glances at the guards slouching on either side of the corridor. Their faces were an exemplar of boredom, gazes empty and brow lowered to the point of crossing their eyes. Still, Arran held his breath until they had turned the corner.
He had expected the princess to lead them back to the secret entrance to the underground tunnels, but she kept going up stairs instead of down. He dared not ask her for an explanation not to blow their cover, and she seemed so certain they were going the right way.
But then again, Inna always wore this air of infallible confidence around her, so maybe he shouldn't trust her so easily.
Soon, they stood once again before the doors to Inna's apartment. No guards patrolled the area and Arran didn't spot a stranger's aura on the other side. As far as he could see, the coast was clear, yet the tight knot in his stomach warned him to remain cautious.
Inside the apartment, mellow, golden sunlight poured into the rooms—each as large as his entire house—through the large windows that presented passersby with a spectacular view on the lush palace gardens. The sun's position indicated that it was well past noon. Hours lost in the gloom of the dungeons.
Once the door had closed behind them, he restored their visibility.
Inna went straight to what he assumed was her living room, although to him, it looked more like a parlor fit for fifty guests. Zazi lifted her green head when they entered and slithered off a heap of cushions to greet the princess. From the soft, guttural noises Inna made, he concluded that they were having another one of those creepy, mental conversations. Hopping from one foot to the other, he continued to scan their environment for intruders with conspicuous impatience.
"Zazi says Rabyatt left me a message," Inna said, pointing to an envelope resting against a vase with sunflowers, both vase and flowers worth quite a few coins. The sunflowers' heady scent soothed Arran's nerves to a certain extent while he went to retrieve the letter for her. She ripped the envelope open with one finger and read, her gaze flying across the paper.
"Don't you think it's a bit pointless to leave a letter for you in your apartment after you had just been arrested?"
She chuckled. "The Sphere of Truths must have shown him our escape."
A gentle breeze nudged the balcony doors open, making them screech in their hinges. Arran jumped, which elicited amused laughter from Inna. Grinding his teeth, he threw her a baleful look. "Look, the love letter is cute—believe me, truly heartwarming—but shouldn't we worry more about getting out of the palace first? The guards will find out about our disappearance sooner or later."
"What do you think I'm doing, oh wise criminal?" she retorted, the gold in her eyes burning like fire. "Rabyatt suggests we visit his family in Rasir. If we lie about our identities, they'll offer us refuge."
He crossed his arms. "And how in Tarka's name do you plan to travel to Rasir?"
"Wait here." With her snake coiled around her neck like a shawl, she strode out of the room. Arran watched her go, eyebrows raised to impossible heights on his forehead. She returned a few minutes later, carrying a carpet on her shoulder.
Contrary to some of the other decorations in the room, this carpet looked rather ordinary to him. Worn, even, woven with faded orange, blue and indigo threads that were coming off at the corners. Simple, geometric patterns instead of intricately detailed images. The thick, purple fringe around the edges was downright tacky. "Do you bring your favorite carpet on every trip, Serafina?"
He loved how she bristled every time he called her by her full name. "It's a flying carpet, idiot."
He stared at her, open-mouthed.
She loosed an exaggerated sigh. "My aunt's taste in gifts is a bit outrageous, to put it mildly. This carpet has been enchanted. I've never used it to fly to the city because I didn't want to alarm the guards, but it's a faster means of transport than a camel. And I don't feel like spending weeks in the desert without the necessary supplies to survive the trip." She patted a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
"In barely five minutes, you have both arranged transport and food?"
She blushed. "I keep a secret stash of snacks below my bed. There's wine too. And two flasks of water."
Habi Onshra, was there a bone in this girl's body that wasn't prepared for every pessimistic scenario possible?
"What are we waiting for, then?" he said.
As if on cue, the apartment's front doors banged against the walls and heavy footsteps thudded in the hallway, stomping their way. Swearing, he exchanged a panicked glance with Inna, but the princess gave a knowing smirk.
"I got this," she whispered.
A dozen guards stormed into the living room, teeth bared and swords ready in their hands. Zazi hissed at them, Arran swallowed as his heartbeat went into overdrive, but Inna faced them proudly, hands folded behind her back. Her posture betrayed no unease.
One of the guards stepped forward, a muscular man with polished armor and a long, azure cape swirling around his legs. His face consisted of harsh, strict lines and his eyes were hard as stone, although they softened upon gazing at the princess. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I'm afraid we'll have to escort you back to the dungeons."
Inna angled her head, her expression the epitome of an innocent, little girl. "You know that I have not committed the crimes which my father accuses me of, Captain," she replied, steady and cool. "I have no intention of participating in this charade for a moment longer."
A subtle movement drew Arran's attention to the floor, where the princess tapped a foot on the carpet. Holding his breath, he shuffled closer, thankful for Inna's distraction.
The guards widened their stance in anticipation of a struggle, yet the captain of the royal guard only sighed. "Then you know I have no choice."
His hand crept toward the weapon belt around his waist, yet Arran would never know what he had been reaching for; a deafening roar shook the ground and knocked some of the guards off their feet. The captain whipped his head around, fixating the balcony doors, where shadows blocked out the sun and liquid darkness spilled into the room. Arran gripped the Amulet, almost painfully hot against the palm of his hand.
The darkness was a living thing, hooking its claws into the poor guards' flesh and penetrating their noses and mouths to choke off their screams. It tossed them around the room before smacking them against the floor, coughing, gagging, eyes bulging and red. Sinister laughter bounced against the walls and ceiling, and Arran swore he spotted violent, crimson eyes amidst the chaos of shadows.
The captain, who had been spared from the attack so far, drew his sword and pointed the tip at Inna's throat. From this angle, her face was hidden from him, yet he imagined the calm, stoic look in the princess's eyes as she met the captain's gaze.
"Whatever you're doing, stop this now," he hissed, wide-eyed and pale in a strange combination of angry and pleading.
Inna let out a low, quiet laugh that raised the hair on Arran's arm. "Manipulating darkness does not form a part of my skill set, Captain," she said. Her voice boomed across the room without being raised, the voice of a true princess. No, a queen. A queen who expected her subjects to obey her. "I would have drowned you with the bathwater."
A savage snarl distorted the captain's thin-lipped mouth. He pressed his sword even harder against the princess's throat, until a thin trickle of blood trailed down her neck. The sight of it poured oil onto the fire in Arran's heart, but he remained frozen in place, trusting the djinn to take care of the captain as well.
And he did. A swirling column of smoke manifested itself next to Inna and lashed out at the sword with a sliver of shadow. The weapon blackened and crumbled to ashes at the captain's feet. The man craned his neck to behold the spirit of darkness, wetness staining his pants at his crotch. Taking advantage of this momentary diversion, Inna backed away from him until she collided with Arran's chest. He supported her with one hand, listening to her quickened breath, but the expression on her face was one of awe instead of fear. Like a statue, she overlooked the spectacle in front of them with an unnatural stillness.
The djinn spoke, and everything went quiet. "LEAVE AT ONCE, OR I WILL CRUSH YOUR BONES ONE BY ONE UNTIL DEATH ITSELF WILL HEAR YOU SING WITH PAIN."
The captain's eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the white sclera as his legs gave out and he collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs. A silence louder than a clap of thunder ensued. The djinn's form shrunk and expanded, and again it adopted that vague outline of a human man.
"I SUPPOSE THAT SUFFICES."
The smoke evaporated, revealing the scattered group of guards on the floor, each in a different state of stumbling or crawling out of the apartment. Most of them avoided to gaze directly at Arran and Inna.
The princess threw her hair over her shoulder and stared down at the captain's unconscious body. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Captain. Anyway, it was nice catching up with you. We should do that more often."
Arran gave her an incredulous look. "Really?"
A mischievous grin played on her lips, a stark contrast to the authoritative woman she had been while addressing the captain. "I'm just being polite. Let's get out of here."
She sank down to sit cross-legged on the carpet. Arran followed her example on instinct. The carpet started to move, and he watched the ground sink further and further below their feet as it lifted both of them in the air with considerable ease. Without further ado, they shot out of the open balcony doors, toward the sky and freedom.
The sudden speed caused him to fall forward, but Inna caught him in her arms before he could fall to his death. "You know, your djinn kind of spoiled my fun. I would've loved to give those idiots a taste of my magic for defying me."
"My djinn?" His voice sounded shrill, even to his ears.
To his surprise, she gripped his hand and squeezed. "Your djinn, but our responsibility. We're in this together now."