by Renee Ahdieh
Khalid almost groaned in defeat. “I am more than willing, but I believe we’ve tried that remedy tonight. More than once.”
Another lilting spate of laughter filled the air. She slid off his back, leaving him cold. Khalid cracked open his eyes to see Shahrzad step to her pile of discarded garments.
When she returned, she held a square of green stone in her palm, strung onto a leather string. “It’s a talisman. Musa-effendi said it might help to ward away your sleeplessness.”
“Musa-effendi?” Khalid rolled over in protest. The last thing he desired was a gift from the cowardly magus he’d known as a boy. The coward who’d stood by and watched his mother drown in her own blood.
“Enough.” Shahrzad raised a hand to his chest, staying his objections. “Take help when it is offered, Khalid-jan. True strength isn’t about sovereignty. It’s about knowing when you need help and having the courage to accept it.”
Though his eyes burned, Khalid studied her as she spoke. As though he were forming an imprint, forever indelible in his mind. Her impudent chin. Her jewel eyes and vagabond hair. No one could deny that Shahrzad was beautiful. But it was not simply her beauty that captivated Khalid beyond compare.
It was the way she carried herself with such poise.
Such strength.
“You’re very wise, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. Perhaps you should rule Khorasan. And leave me to languish in your chamber, until you have need of me.”
“Perhaps I should.” She lay alongside him. “But I was not born a boy.”
“I’ve long thought such a thing should not matter.” Khalid draped one of her legs around his.
“Will you at least see if the talisman works?”
In place of a response, Khalid buried his face in her dark waves, taking in the fragrance of lilacs and rain. She blew an exasperated puff of air above his head.
“You—”
“I’ll try it,” he said into her neck. “Now go to sleep.”
Shahrzad turned away from him, burrowing into the crook of his arm.
“Khalid?”
He fought back the beginnings of a smile. “Yes?”
“You don’t need to say you love me. I know you do. But . . . may I ask why you won’t?”
Though it was posited nonchalantly, Khalid felt the beat of Shahrzad’s heart between her shoulder blades. Felt it quicken. And it pained him to know he’d given her cause to doubt his affections. But he’d known for some time that he owed her an explanation.
In truth, he owed her much more than that.
Of course she wanted to know why. She was a girl who freely spoke her mind and generously bestowed her sentiments on those she found deserving. After all Khalid had done—and everything he’d failed to do—it would forever amaze him that she still found him to be one of the deserving.
Khalid pulled her closer. “At Ava’s grave, I swore I would spend my life showing those I loved how I felt, and never resorting to words. I promised I would do for others what I’d failed to do for her. Not to profess love. But instead to act upon it.”
They lay in silence for a time. Though he was unable to see her reaction, Khalid knew she was thinking. Knew she was taking his promise into consideration.
Perhaps it was foolish of him to hold fast to it. A promise to a girl who no longer lived. A girl who had suffered so greatly in life. And died with his lie blistering her ears.
A lie of love. The one thing she’d asked of him.
The one thing he’d never attempted to give.
In all things, Khalid had failed Ava. In this, he wished to succeed.
And he did not make promises lightly.
“I understand,” Shahrzad said.
“Shazi—”
“Since you can’t say it, will you at least tell me how much you love me?”
Khalid ran the tip of his nose beside her ear, a grateful smile upon his lips.
“From the stars, to the stars.”
ONCE AND FOR ALL
SHAHRZAD SNUCK BACK INTO HER TENT JUST AS DAWN was cresting along the horizon.
She felt fortunate to have managed the return journey unseen. In truth, she’d left Rey with not a moment to spare. Though she’d desperately wanted to stay with Khalid and watch the sky catch fire around them, she could not risk being seen.
And she knew she had to answer for how she’d left things with Irsa the night before.
As soon as their tent fell shut, Shahrzad turned to see her sister sitting up in her bedroll, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.
Clearly, Irsa had not slept well. And might even have shed a tear or two.
Shahrzad stifled a sigh. “Irsa, I—”
“I told Rahim you were gone.” A note of insolence punctuated her raspy whisper.
“What?” Shahrzad almost dropped the bundle containing the magic carpet.
Irsa bit her lip. “Since you’ve missed breakfast almost every morning, he already suspected you were up to something, so I—”
“So you simply told him I was gone?”
“After you left, I went to speak with him, and—” Irsa cleared her throat while toying with the edge of her blanket. “And he knows you’re not sick. He already knew something had been occupying your time these past few nights. So, when he walked me back to our tent and saw that you weren’t here . . .”
Shahrzad could not be angry with her sister. She would not be angry with her. Irsa had done so much to be a bastion of strength for Shahrzad. To offer understanding and support, when no one else would dare to do so. And Shahrzad had done little to deserve it. All those times Irsa had desired her confidence, Shahrzad had demurred from giving it, knowing her secrets were too dangerous for a girl so earnest and tenderhearted.
Here was proof Shahrzad had been wise to withhold it. When pressed, Irsa had been incapable of lying to Rahim as to Shahrzad’s whereabouts. Had Irsa truly known where Shahrzad was, she would undoubtedly have told him.
What might have happened then? Shahrzad shuddered to think.
No. Shahrzad would not be angry with her sister for this lapse in judgment. It could not have been helped.
It was just the way Irsa was—honest to a fault.
Even still, when Shahrzad glanced down at her sister, her temper started to rise.
“I know you’re angry with me,” Irsa continued, a quaver entering her voice. “But I did not intentionally divulge your secret to Rahim. In truth, this is—your own fault. What did you expect? You’ve missed breakfast for almost a week. I don’t know what’s come over you of late. You’ve become careless. Distracted.”
The flare of anger spiked even higher. Even wider.
“Are—are you planning to go out again tonight?” Irsa asked. What started as a squeak finished wrapped in steel.
“Yes.” Shahrzad’s own answer was dangerously defiant.
“Even though it grows more difficult each day to hide your secret?”
“You don’t have to lie for me.”
“Of course I do.” Irsa threw back her tattered blanket and stood tall. “You’re my sister. But your friends are worried about you, and soon their worry will turn to suspicion.” Lines of concern pleated her brow. “Please don’t go out again tonight. I beg you.”
Shahrzad thought quickly. She had already made plans to take Khalid to the Fire Temple to meet with Artan and Musa Zaragoza. If she did not return to Rey as promised, Khalid would undoubtedly worry. And those at the Fire Temple would be left waiting for them; she was without means to deliver word to either side.
She swallowed hard, knowing these issues paled in comparison to the larger matter at hand.
Be honest.
In truth, Shahrzad had no intention of denying herself a single moment with Khalid, simply to mollify her sister. She knew it was selfish. But his absence had become a lasting presence. And
Shahrzad was tired of doing nothing to change circumstances. Of merely waiting in the desert for life to happen to her.
All that would end tonight. Destiny was for fools. Shahrzad would not wait for her life to happen.
She would make it happen.
“I’ll go to breakfast with you now, and then we’ll spend the afternoon with Baba,” Shahrzad said. “I’ll make sure everyone sees me. Will that help lessen your worries?”
The lines across Irsa’s forehead stretched even farther. Shahrzad could see her warring with herself. “Is what you’re doing really of such import?”
“Yes.” Shahrzad did not falter in her response.
Her sister looked to the floor, wrapping the end of her chestnut braid around her fingers. “Tonight is . . . a dangerous night to be taking chances.”
“Why is that?”
Irsa paused a final time, still prevaricating. Then she leveled her gaze on Shahrzad. “Come with me.” She took her hand and led her outside.
They rounded the maze of tents until they stood at the fringes of the encampment. There—in the distance where the soldiers had moved their camp—Shahrzad saw a large band of men saddling their horses.
Assembling their weapons.
At the head of this cadre sat Tariq astride his dark bay stallion, his cloak billowing in the breeze. The banner of the White Falcon flew beside him.
“They’re going out on their first raid,” Irsa said. “They plan to leave by midday.”
“What?” Alarm crept into Shahrzad’s stomach, tangling her insides in a coil of knots.
A—raid?
“Tariq is leading a contingent of troops toward a nearby stronghold tonight . . . with the intention of overthrowing its emir and seizing control,” Irsa said quietly.
“How do you know this?” Shahrzad cried.
“Rahim told me.”
“Which stronghold?”
“He didn’t tell me that,” Irsa confessed. “I do still share a tent with the Calipha of Khorasan, after all.”
Once more, Shahrzad’s thoughts flitted through her mind like stones across a pond. If Tariq was leading a band of soldiers on a raid along the nearby border of Khorasan and Parthia, they were likely trying to seize control of that border.
Which would leave the border at risk. Leave it vulnerable to outside attack.
Vulnerable to Salim Ali el-Sharif, the power-hungry Sultan of Parthia.
Perhaps that’s their intention.
A sudden chill ran through her blood.
Shahrzad had to tell Khalid at once. She had to travel to Rey tonight and prevent the possibility of war with Parthia, before even more innocent people died without cause.
As her mind raced, a renewed sense of guilt crashed down upon her. Shahrzad was responsible for this impending disaster as well. Were it not for her, Tariq would never have engaged in this foolhardy pursuit for justice.
This foolhardy quest to avenge his love.
“Shahrzad?” Irsa took hold of her shoulder, shaking her from the tumult of her thoughts. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
“What?”
“It’s not—dangerous, is it?” Irsa asked. “What you’re doing—it’s not dangerous?”
Shahrzad laughed, but the sound did not ring true. She spun away from the soldiers with their gleaming swords. The two sisters returned to their tent.
Without a word, Shahrzad poured water from the pitcher into the copper basin. Her hand shook, causing her reflection to waver. Setting her jaw, Shahrzad tugged her wrinkled qamis over her head, determined to wash and go about her day.
To stay the course, whatever may come.
“Shahrzad!” Irsa’s outcry came from a face drained of all color.
Curse these damnable bruises. As well as Artan Temujin.
She brushed aside her sister’s worry with a flick of a wrist. “Don’t concern yourself. These are not serious injuries.” But Shahrzad could see her words falling on deaf ears. And dubious eyes.
Should she simply tell Irsa how she had sustained them? Confess all and hope her sister would keep quiet for just a short while longer?
When goats fly.
It was too risky. Especially now that Irsa was confiding in Rahim. If Irsa misspoke, Rahim might say something to Tariq. And Tariq, of all people, could not know anything about her visits to Khalid.
The risk was simply too high. The hatred simply too rife.
No. It was best Shahrzad not say a word of it to Irsa.
Shahrzad turned her back on her sister and began scrubbing water and a gritty bar of Nabulsi soap along her body.
When she lifted her arm, the lingering scent of sandalwood rose from her skin.
Khalid.
Fear stole its way into her heart. Her throat swelled tight.
Clenching her teeth, Shahrzad fought back the rush and continued bathing.
Now is not the time for cowardice.
After all, if everything went to plan, they would have answers soon. Once Shahrzad and Khalid knew what to do about the curse, all could be revealed.
Then everyone would know the truth.
They would all know that the boy Shahrzad loved was not the monster they believed him to be. That he was—and would be—the great king their kingdom so desperately needed. The great king Shahrzad saw when she flew over their city.
Until then, she had to stay silent. For it would not help matters if the boy-king everyone so despised was cursed to rule a forsaken kingdom. The army massing against Khalid would only be spurred to action if they knew the tides of fortune had turned against him as well.
But once Shahrzad found a solution, she could tell Tariq the truth.
Perhaps then, his hatred for Khalid would begin to dissipate.
And reconciliation could begin.
For ending this curse was not simply about ending their suffering.
Shahrzad had to put a stop to the war she’d set in motion.
It was not just a matter of love. It was a matter of life.
And she meant to right it, once and for all.
Jahandar permitted one eye to sliver open. Then shut. Then open once more.
He silently cursed himself when he realized his error.
“Are you awake, old friend?” A warm voice rang out in the darkness.
Jahandar tried to remain still, hoping the man at his bedside would leave.
Low laughter rumbled nearby.
“I saw your eye open just now,” the voice continued. “And I know you woke yesterday and earlier today. Come now, Jahandar. I am not here to cast judgment. I only wish to speak with a dear friend.”
Jahandar took a wary breath, vexed with himself for stirring in the first place. He’d felt someone enter the tent a moment ago, and he’d thought it must be Irsa or Shahrzad, so he’d woken from his fallacious slumber, eager to speak with his children again. But he was not ready to speak with anyone else.
Much less Reza bin-Latief.
Nevertheless, he’d already made his blunder. Jahandar supposed he had to own up to it, lest anyone suspect the truth behind his mysterious ailment.
Or, rather, the lie behind it.
Jahandar let both his eyes drift open. His friend of many years sat before him, a lamp of polished brass glowing nearby.
Reza sent a patient smile his way. “You look terrible.”
Jahandar’s shoulders were racked by laughter that ended in a series of coughs. “The years have been kinder to you, without a doubt. But not by much.”
It was true. The last time Jahandar had seen Reza bin-Latief was not long after his wife and daughter had perished within days of each other. A tragedy no man should have to endure. One that had clearly taken its toll.
Reza had lost weight. His hair had thinned on top while greying at the temp
les. His mustache was fuller, and he’d begun to grow a beard. He no longer had the appearance of a man who found much joy in life. The lines along his face were not lines drawn by delight or satisfaction.
They were lines drawn by thought. Or perhaps calculation?
“What time of day is it?” Jahandar asked, his voice cracked and dry.
Reza handed him some water. “Almost dinnertime.”
Jahandar took an absentminded sip. “My daughters will be by shortly.” As soon as the words fell from his tactless lips, Jahandar wanted to catch them.
How thoughtlessly cruel!
But Reza did not seem to notice. “You are a lucky man. Such devoted children. I’m told Irsa comes to see you quite frequently.”
“Shahrzad has been by twice today.” Jahandar took another sip.
Reza propped a hand beneath his beard. “That’s good to hear. I was told she’s been ill the last few days.”
“Ill?” Jahandar’s brows gathered on his forehead.
“Old friend . . .” Reza paused to smile, then leaned closer. “I’ve not come to waste your time or trouble you unnecessarily. I know you’re still recovering. And there is a pressing matter I need to attend to this evening. But may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve heard—many conflicting rumors of what occurred the night of the storm in Rey.”
Jahandar stiffened. His free hand drew tight over the book. It still felt warm to the touch, though it no longer burned with the same fervor. The cold metal of the key around his neck weighed him down, like an anchor dragging along the seafloor.
Reza observed his reaction in silence. Then he pressed on, without missing a beat.
“Can you not tell me what happened?”
“I—I do not remember.” Jahandar’s broken nails dug into the worn leather of the book.
“Truly?”
Jahandar nodded.
Reza sighed with obvious reluctance. “I am not one of the shiftless masses, Jahandar-jan. We’ve spent many years of friendship together. I was there when Irsa was born. And I was there when . . . Mina died.” His voice grew soft. “I did all I could, and I always wished I could do more.”
