“You did the right thing. You shouldn’t have moved,” Ali said quickly.
“But wow!” Jamaal clapped his hands. “The way you swerved and ducked! And then you rushed him! He didn’t even see it coming!” He mimicked the way Ali had maneuvered away from Abbas’s knife. “And then, Princess Jasmine, you tripped him! You knew exactly where to stand to send him tumbling to the ground! I can’t believe I got to meet not only a prince and a princess in person, but real live heroes too!”
Jasmine recognized that look of wonder in his eyes. It was the same expression she’d often had when she’d watched her mother resolving issues with ease and grace. Her father stressed about every problem that arose; it was part of the reason, she suspected, that he relied on Jafar as much as he did. But the effortless and calm way her mother had solved problems was almost a sort of magic unto itself.
“You’re so sweet,” Jasmine said. “But really, if anyone is a hero here, it’s you.”
“Me?” The boy looked at her and then at Ali, confused.
“Of course,” Ali said. “If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have even known how to find that man and the carpet. Your insight led us straight to him. Otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken us? Thank you for all your help.”
“Oh.” Jamaal’s cheeks flushed a bit. “Um, you’re welcome. I’m glad I could help. But I’m just a street rat up to no good. That’s what everyone says, anyhow.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” Ali said. “Don’t accept the labels people put on you. You are no street rat. No matter where you live or your life’s circumstances, you are still worthy.” Ali kneeled down until he was eye to eye with the boy. “I know it’s easy to believe the terrible things people say, even if what they’re saying isn’t true. I know what it’s like to feel unworthy.”
“You?” The boy’s eyes narrowed with skepticism.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he said gently. “And I know you can’t see a better life for yourself than the one you have now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Because I see the person you are. You’ve had a tough life. You’ve had to fend for yourself when you should have had someone looking after you. But those difficulties make you stronger and more resilient. You define yourself through your actions, not anyone’s opinion of you.”
Jasmine watched the way Ali spoke to the boy. The way his dimple deepened. How he truly did seem to understand what the boy was going through.
Any doubts she had vanished.
Prince Ali had to be the boy from the market she’d met. The person who had captured her heart. Nothing else made sense. It had to be him. But this made no sense at all. How could the boy from the streets with his charming pet monkey, Abu, also be the prince of Ababwa? And if he was the same person, why had he not said anything to her about it?
She watched the tender way Ali spoke to Jamaal. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up. But she would definitely ask him about it later. She was not sure why she didn’t feel upset about his not being fully honest with her. Maybe it was because after having spent so much time with him and seeing how gently he spoke to Jamaal now, she trusted he had a good reason for doing so. He had not let her down so far.
“It’s time for us to get going,” Ali told the young boy.
“Aw, really?” Jamaal’s expression dropped. “So soon?”
“Unfortunately, it is,” Jasmine told the boy. “But meeting you has definitely been one of the highlights of my time here.”
“Thank you for forgiving me,” he told the princess. “I am making you a necklace. I was working on it on the rooftop earlier this evening. I’m halfway done. Maybe next time Prince Ali visits, I can give it to him to give to you—or maybe you will come visit us again and I can give it to you myself.”
“I would love that. Thank you.” Jasmine smiled.
Jamaal moved to say something else, but suddenly there was a loud crash. The boy’s expression went from a smile to shock as he was wrenched backward.
Jasmine gasped.
Abbas.
No one had noticed him sneaking toward them from atop the boulder behind them, not until he had leapt down and grabbed the boy. Not until it was too late.
“Nice trick you played on me back there,” Abbas said through ragged breaths. The boy was firmly in his clutches, his sharp blade resting against the boy’s jugular now. “Should’ve known what you were up to. Clever ploy with that rolled-up map.” He glared at them. “But I know better now.”
“Abbas! No!” Ali shouted. “Please. Don’t harm the boy. He didn’t do anything to deserve any of this!”
“Deserve? What does that even mean? As though I deserve to be here?!” shouted Abbas. “You only deserve what you’re foolish enough or smart enough to get.”
“Look,” Ali said quickly. “Here, you want the carpet? I’ll show you how to use it now. It’ll do what you want it to. No games. I swear it.”
“Like I would believe you now?” Abbas sneered. “You think I’m that much of a fool?”
He turned to Jasmine.
“You,” he said. “Any idea how this thing works?”
“I don’t,” Jasmine said quickly. “I swear it.”
“Well, if neither of you can help me get off the ground and away from this godforsaken place, then I guess this boy can just say goodbye.”
“Wait!” Jasmine cried out. “Give me a minute. Please, let me think.”
She looked at the man’s silvery white hair. She thought of the story she had read about this man. The way he had tried to turn the entire world against his own sultan because he wished to mine and extract the gold and silver beneath their mountainous region.
Jasmine had wondered what happened to that man from the legendary tale, for the story had simply ended when his life’s work, the map of buried treasures, went up in flames. But now, she knew. She was looking directly at what his punishment had been: a lifetime in a remote prison in the outcroppings of undeveloped Ababwa. Even now, after all this time, he was still the sort of man who thought he knew best. Many such men in Abbas’s position did—men who had never heard the word “no” in their lives.
“The Akbar family deserved to rule Sulamandra,” Jasmine said.
The man jerked over to look in her direction. Jasmine tried not to wince at the look of sheer terror in the little boy’s eyes. The blade was still pressed against the boy’s neck—one wrong move, even an accident, and the man could harm that boy irreparably.
“What was that?” he asked.
“The Akbar family. That’s your family name, isn’t it?”
Her confidence grew as he perked up at this recognition. While Ali had thrown her for a loop with how different he was from the men she’d known all her life, she had had a lifetime of experiences with vain, self-congratulatory men like Abbas. Which meant she also knew the way to get to his weakness.
