Epilogue
J afar did not have to wait long for Yara to return. His moon girl, his catastrophe, carrying a sword with an army behind her. She was dressed like a warrior queen, vengeance as bright in her eyes as the rubies set in his staff.
He’d always known she was magnificent.
The rubies only worked within range of their victim, and Jafar controlled Rohan and the kingdom of Maghriz until her arrival and through the war. As he ruled the kingdom from the shadows, she had searched for him with the zeal and determination she really should have put toward finding a way to be with him, but it was too late for that now. Jafar wanted nothing to do with her anymore. He’d found a new love: power.
The war lasted four months, but Jafar had never touched a sword in his life. He was versed in trade routes and treaties, not battle strategies, and he could only command Rohan-turned-Aman so much before the Maghrizi generals were overcome without proper direction, but by the time Yara and her platoon breached the palace, Jafar was long gone. He had paused only to rap his staff one last time in the halls of Maghriz, to watch the red fade from Rohan’s eyes, to watch his brother regain his senses and search the room, frantic and alone.
Calling his name.
That was many nights ago. Now, Jafar closed his eyes against that echo of an ache and tipped his head to the skies. In a tea shop on the side of the road between kingdoms, he sat on a cushion with his legs crossed and a parrot on his shoulder, his ears open to the discussions of the other patrons around them. The sun was lazy, dappling through the cluster of date palms where a man served tea with a kind smile that came from honest work in a small village.
“The Hulumi-Maghrizi war is finally over,” an older man said to one of his companions.
“Don’t get me started,” another man said, taking a long sip of his tea and drumming his fingers on the low table. “We’re not Maghrizi. Why do we care?”
A third man straightened, excited to dive in. “They found the Sultana and her vizier in the dungeons and beheaded them both. Brutal, yes, but it serves them right for lying about the prince.”
“I don’t know. One would hope they’d exercise some leniency,” said a fourth.
“After the Sultana killed the Hulumi king in cold blood? Not even her guards wanted anything to do with her. They’re the ones that put her in the cell. I hear the Hulumi queen took the prince as prisoner, though.”
Jafar couldn’t tamp down a smile.
“She’s not Hulumi anymore. Or Maghrizi,” the first man said. “I forget what they decided to rename the combined kingdoms.”
The drummer sighed. “Everyone gets what they deserve.”
They sipped their tea and exchanged solemn nods.
Jafar watched them sitting around their cups of tea with dusty clothes and the opinions of kings. He had seen every side of life: from the perspective of a thief to that of a middle-class merchant’s son, from a House of Wisdom apprentice to nearly a prince, better than a prince.
People were always the same. Opinionated as royalty, petty as thieves.
Jafar set down his empty tea glass, rattling the cardamom pod that remained at the bottom of it. The sun would set soon; the air was already turning cool. It was Rohan’s favorite time of day.
Despite what the men said, Jafar knew Queen Yara hadn’t taken Rohan prisoner. Iago had watched her reach for Rohan’s hand and pull him close, letting him walk beside her as his equal. They had much to bond over, after all. No one but Yara knew who Rohan truly was, and Jafar was a large part of both their lives, even if the time he’d spent with Yara had been short.
An oath is an oath, Jafar thought. In the end, he’d taken care of his brother well, and now he was done with him.
Something told Jafar Yara would not be attempting another royal marriage anytime soon. Understandable, for her hands were full with two kingdoms now—and a budding new love.
Jafar licked the crumbs of a honey cake from his fingers and rose from the table, leaving a handful of dinars behind. “That was good cake.”
“It really was,” Iago said, his beak sticky. Iago loved any food that wasn’t crackers.
Jafar rolled his eyes and saddled his camel, checking to make sure his water was full and his bags had not been touched. They were all he had, though that made it sound like there weren’t enough coins in those bags to make him richer than his baba had ever been.
“Where to now?” Iago asked as they headed in the direction of the setting sun, leaving the small village behind.
“I was thinking,” Jafar began, as Iago perched on his shoulder. “I can’t go back to life outside a palace. There’s just too much I miss.”
“Like squabbling with your brother and kissing princesses in dark corridors?” Iago asked.
Jafar cut him a look.
Iago squawked. “Too soon, too soon. I hear you, though. I do miss those soft sheets and good food.”
“Precisely, my pet,” Jafar said, as the sands ahead burned orange with the sunset. Dunes spread out as far as he could see, like piles of gold.
“I don’t know, though. Shouldn’t we lie low in case Yara comes looking? Especially now that she and Rohan are best pals?” Iago asked.
“We’ll just have to be more powerful.” He tucked his staff against his side and held up some of the scrolls he’d taken from the House of Wisdom. This camel was laden with them, and would be until Jafar found a place safe enough to store them. “The chance of finding another queen in need of a replacement for her son is fairly low, but I’ve been told a genie might help our cause.”
“Thought we didn’t like genies,” Iago commented.
Jafar looked down at his staff, where the rubies glinted in greeting. “I think I’m clever enough to figure out a way to control one, don’t you?”
Iago unfurled one of the scrolls, where Jafar had marked the location of half of a scarab beetle. “Oooh, I was told Agrabah is mighty exciting this time of year.”
“Mmm,” Jafar said, lips curling. “I love the way your foul little mind works.”