“Changing one’s mind doesn’t make one a fool.” Jasmine turned to look at the townspeople, then looked back at Abbas. “If anything, it can be a sign of wisdom and strength.”
“You ask for mercy for this boy, but has anyone shown me any mercy in my life?” Abbas asked. “Everyone has been on my case from the time I was born. I was to walk faster than any other boy, recite the poetry of the greats, and get slapped if I made so much as a small misstep. The only attention I got was from that weak-willed Waleed. That sort of love,” he scoffed, “it doesn’t even count. No. Mercy is not the way of the world. I’ve been wronged my whole life and now I am not going to be wronged ever again….”
Abbas went on, listing all the ways he had been treated unjustly as a child and as a teenager. As Abbas’s narrative approached his early adulthood, Jasmine knew the only thing that stood in the way of Jamaal’s death was Abbas’s love for speechifying. The boy seemed to understand this, too. He looked resigned. As though it were already done.
Jasmine glanced over at Zaria. Their eyes met. Jasmine nodded. It was time. Zaria slid a finger over the cage door and opened it. The bees emerged, hovering for a quick moment before darting out of their cage. They zoomed now, glittering black and gold against the night sky, toward Abbas.
Jasmine glanced at Ali. His eyes followed the movement of the bees. He didn’t move a muscle.
Abbas could have noticed, too, had he paused in his monologue to pay attention to his surroundings. But perhaps because he’d had no captive audience for so long, he could not stop speaking, which gave Zaria and her bees the perfect opportunity.
“And when I get back to the kingdom that was meant to be mine and reclaim my former glory, I will come back for all of you!” he shouted. “You can be my subjects then. I’ll make this pathetic little kingdom that sprouted from nothing into my colony. And I will remember how you all treated me while I was here. How you all stood ready to harm a man who will someday rule you. And that palace of yours, that ridiculous monstrosity, I will burn to the ground. Except this time, I’ll do it on purpose,” he cackled.
The bees were almost there.
Moments away.
And then—they attacked.
“Gahhhh!” Abbas’s smug expression vanished. He screamed at the top of his lungs. In an instant, he dropped his hands and cowered so as to cover his face. The boy fell hard to the ground. The knife Abbas had been holding clattered on a rock by their feet.
“Get off me!” screamed Abbas, batting his hands at the bees and crouching with his face to the ground. Zaria had been correct about them; those bees were not ordinary in any way. They continued to attack him with a vengeance, swarming his face in a glittering blur.
Ali rushed to the fallen child and scooped him and the knife up. The boy clutched the prince and burrowed his head into Ali’s shoulder. Even from where Jasmine stood, she could see how Jamaal’s entire body trembled.
“It’s okay,” Jasmine heard Ali tell the boy. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. I promise.”
“Burn us to the ground, will you?” shouted the butcher.
Zaria snapped her fingers three times, and the bees retreated and slipped noiselessly back into their cage.
“Make us a colony, eh?” said another of the townspeople, advancing upon him.
“I didn’t mean it literally, of course.” Abbas cleared his throat. He slowly sat up. His face was bumpy and puffed from all the beestings there and on his neck and arms and legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He stood unsteadily on his feet and then tried to make a run for it, but before he could so much as take a single step, the butcher and others grabbed Abbas and gripped him firmly beneath the arms. Other villagers came over and grabbed a hold of each leg.
“Unhand me at once!” Abbas shouted. “You can’t contain me. Go on and lock me up. I will just get out again. You’ll see.”
“Ah, perhaps.” A villager grinned. “But won’t it be fun to try?”
Jasmine watched as they carted Abbas off with him kicking and shouting the entire way.
“Where are they taking him?” Jasmine asked Ali as she watched the retreating procession.
“Prison,” Ali said. “A sturdier one in town, where more eyes can make sure he doesn’t escape. Thanks to you.”
“It wasn’t me. Those bees…”
“The bees were here because of you,” Ali said gently. “If you hadn’t brought everyone here to help us, I don’t know what I would have done.” He gazed at her. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
Jasmine smiled. Whoever this person she stood across from in this moment was, whether Ali or the boy named Aladdin she’d met at the market, he was pretty incredible, too. She could never have imagined feeling the way she did right now for someone, but she was glad she had trusted him. She was glad she had taken the risk of going on this magic carpet ride with him. Even with the danger and all that had transpired, it had been worth it to be with him.
SULTANA AMINA gazed out the palace window at the still blue lake across the meadow in the distance.
“Still doesn’t feel like home, does it?” Ramy asked her.
“Not yet,” she replied. “Each time I glance out, I expect to see my mountain ranges and to hear the roar of the sea beating against the cliffs. It’s strange to no longer be in Moribania.”
“We are in Moribania,” he reminded her gently.
“True,” she agreed. For indeed this new land was still the kingdom of Moribania, simply relocated from their homelands that had recently been reduced to rubble by a terrible earthquake. “I think it will just take some getting used to seeing it that way.”
“Give it time,” Ramy said. “Time has a way of smoothing things over.”
“Have you heard any complaints?” she asked him. “From people out and about? Any grumblings I should know about?”
“To the contrary.” Ramy shook his head. “Now that the last of the shops is finally built and the free medical clinics are up and running, everyone is content once more. Don’t worry so much, Amina,” he said. “Everyone is fine.”
“You always know the right thing to say,” she said.
“I have a knack for that, don’t I?” Ramy winked.
Amina smiled at Ramy. It was true. He did have a way of knowing just what to say and of helping the sultana see things in new ways. They’d grown up side by side since they were infants—he was her nanny’s son, and she’d never known life without him. It was he who had helped her to at last decide to make the move from their ancestral lands of Moribania to the newly purchased safer lands. He was also one of the only people in her life who spoke plainly to her as a person and not with the formality and the hesitation of speaking to one of the most powerful leaders in the Eastern hemisphere.
“You seem preoccupied lately,” Ramy said. “It seems to be more than just the move?”
