Three Wishes by Jenny Schwartz Read Free Book Online Page A

anger, compassion and desire. For her, his rusted heart creaked open.
    But she didn’t want his heart. He shouldn’t even be thinking of gifting it. Where was his common sense to remind him they were strangers colliding? But he was an angel—the desire he felt was more than sexual, and it was growing. Cali captivated him.
    “It was centuries ago,” she said. “In one of the inland trading cities. Mud walls. It will have returned to the desert by now. Men’s arrogance and greed built it. Time and the desert reclaim their own.”
    Cali’s voice was husky with memory and her gaze dwelt on the far horizon where sea met sky, but she was sharing her story with him. He tried to breathe more quietly.
    “I fell in love,” she said.
    His muscles tensed. He hadn’t expected that confession.
    “Paul was a poet. He had the voice of a nightingale and so much passion. He cared about people. He saw beauty in the street urchin as well as in the glories of the desert sunset. His poetry gifted other people with the power to see that beauty too. He was a man who drew people’s love and trust. He could make them see and work for a better world.
    “I heard him first when he sat in the shade of the market. People stopped their haggling to hear his poetry. Younger men sat at his feet, learning. I remember the spices in the air, the dust, the heat, the magic.”
    She stopped and stared down at her hands.
    Andrew picked up a rock and threw it into the sea. It splashed violently. He hadn’t expected to hear Cali’s love story or to listen to a note of yearning in her voice.
    A poet! Soft wooing words and a vision for a better life. He was the complete opposite. He used a sword. He challenged and tested. He fought and dealt with the reality of life as it was. His guardian duty allowed no place for dreams.
    “I was so young.” A bitter smile twisted Cali’s mouth. “I thought Paul and his vision were irresistible. His words charmed children and old people, matrons and mercenaries. They didn’t beguile Khan.”
    She drew up both knees and touched her chin on them. “Khan was the warlord who ruled the city and surrounds. Desert caravans had to pay him tribute for safe passage. He stole my bottle from one of the merchants. When he saw the people listen to Paul, when he heard Paul’s vision of equality and food for all…Khan could have simply killed him.”
    Horror crept into Andrew’s blood as he anticipated what a warlord might command of a djinni. He looked at Cali and saw her fragility, the scars of her enslavement to humanity. She was locked up in herself, her physical posture mirroring how she locked herself away from hurt.
    He had to clear his throat to get the question out. “What did Khan wish of you?”
    “Khan hated Paul. Paul had people’s respect because they loved him. Khan ruled by fear. He wanted Paul destroyed.”
    Andrew waited. His fists clenched. He wanted to hold Cali, but he didn’t dare. It would be an intrusion into her memories and pain. She might even take the excuse of anger and stop. For her sake, she needed to share the story and release the festering agony. It was centuries too late, but he wished he had Khan here to rip punishment from his hide. How dare he order Cali to kill the man she loved?
    “Khan wished that I make Paul mad,” she whispered. “I used a poison that sent him wandering in his wits, but happy. The people were astonished. They pitied him and treated him kindly, called him a holy fool. But his dreams died, his plans for a better world. His poems were lost. All his bright talent died. I killed him even as he lived.”
    Her mouth quivered. It broke his control and he wrapped his arm around her. It was like holding stone. She sat unmoving, rejecting his comfort.
    “Khan was delighted. For his next trick, he demanded the Emir’s virgin daughter. It was revenge on the enemy greater than he and…I heard her screams and I gave her a knife. I thought…I thought she’d kill him. I was