by Renee Ahdieh
If he could find her family, perhaps he could obtain the answers he so desired.
But would he want these answers once they were within his grasp?
So many issues already plagued him.
He could ask her.
Ask her where she had sent her family. What she was hiding from him.
Why she insisted on tormenting him.
But the thought that she might lie to him—that those eyes, with their unpredictable onslaught of colors, flashing blue one instant and green the next, only to paint his world gold with the bright sound of her laughter—that those eyes might endeavor to conceal the truth, pained him more than he cared to admit.
Because he had lied to her only once.
He balled an edge of the dusty cloak in his fist and heaved it into the corner. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was starting to blur. Now the longer he gazed at things, the harder it was to focus. The pounding in his forehead was growing worse.
A knock at the door to the antechamber stirred him from his thoughts.
“Come in.”
A ghostly figure, garbed solely in white, cut through the darkness into the lamplight. His long beard trailed down his chest.
“Sayyidi.”
Khalid sighed.
“It is worse?” the faqir asked as he took in Khalid’s haggard mien.
“The same.”
“It appears worse, sayyidi.”
“Then it is good you are here.” Khalid’s eyes flashed in warning.
The faqir exhaled slowly. “I’ve told you. I cannot stave off the effects forever. I can only ensure it will not kill you. Eventually, the madness will ensue, sayyidi. You cannot fight it.”
“I understand.”
“Sayyidi, I must implore you. No matter how repugnant, stay the prior course. This option . . . will not end well.”
“Your counsel is noted. And appreciated,” Khalid said in a low tone.
The faqir nodded.
Khalid bowed his head. The faqir raised both his palms to Khalid’s temples, leaving just enough space for silk to pass, then closed his eyes. The air in the antechamber stilled. The flames in the lamps grew tall and lean. When the faqir’s eyes opened once more, they glowed with the light of a full moon. Between his hands, a warm red-orange fireburst spread up and around the entirety of Khalid’s brow. The circle pulsed yellow, then white, spiraling upward all the while, before it retracted back into the faqir’s clawed hands.
Once the magic had faded back to the realm of its origins, the faqir dropped his hands.
Khalid raised his head. The pounding was less profound, if still present, and his eyelids were not as heavy as before. “Thank you.”
“Soon there will come a time when I will not deserve such words, sayyidi.”
“You will always deserve such words, no matter what happens.”
The faqir’s frustration further marred his features. “Would that all of Khorasan could see the king I see, sayyidi.”
“They would not be much impressed. For I did bring all of this upon myself, did I not? And, as a consequence, they have had to endure the unthinkable.”
The faqir bowed with his fingertips to his brow, then floated to the door.
Before exiting, he turned. “How long should a man pay for his mistakes, sayyidi?”
Khalid did not hesitate.
“Until all debts are forgiven.”
THE HONOR OF BETRAYAL
WHEN SHAHRZAD AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, sunlight streamed through the opened screens leading to the terrace. A fresh arrangement of citrus blossoms lay on a small stool next to the raised platform.
At the sight of the white flowers by her bed, her first thought was of Khalid. She stretched her arms, trying her best to ignore the pang of guilt that ensued.
“Do you like them?” Despina asked. “I thought you might.”
Shahrzad raised her head from the pillow. “What?”
“You have a rather strange preoccupation with flowers, so I asked them to bring some to your room.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Despina snorted. “You don’t sound grateful. You sound disappointed.”
Shahrzad rolled over. She rose from the bed and slipped into her shamla.
I hate that she notices everything. Almost as much as I hate her for being right.
As Shahrzad stepped from the platform, Despina removed the lid from the tureen of soup.
And Shahrzad heard her stifle a gasp in the process.
“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad took a seat on the cushions before the low table.
“Nothing,” Despina squeaked.
Shahrzad gazed at her handmaiden, and her heart lurched.
Despina’s brow was beaded with sweat. Her usually flawless coloring of delicate ivory and blushing coral was decidedly green and sallow. Tension darkened every crease. Her graceful fingers trembled next to her beautifully draped dress of lilac linen.
She looked exactly as she had the day Shahrzad’s tea had been poisoned.
“Where is the servant who tastes my food?” Shahrzad’s voice wavered at the end of her question.
“She just left.” It was a terse response, pushed forth from unwilling lips.
Shahrzad nodded. “Fine. I’ll ask you once more, Despina. What’s wrong?”
Despina shook her head, backing away from the table.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Shahrzad.”
Shahrzad stood up, jangling the edge of the tray. “Don’t make me do this!”
“Do what?”
“Why do you look scared?”
“I’m not scared!”
“Come here.”
Despina hesitated before striding back to the table. As she stood alongside Shahrzad, her trembling worsened, and she pressed her mouth into a single, bright pink line.
Shahrzad’s heartbreak began anew. “Sit down.”
“What?” The word passed through clenched teeth.
“Sit down, Despina!”
“I—no.”
“No?”
“I—can’t, Shahrzad!” She shuffled away from the table, raising a hand to her lips.
“How could you?” Shahrzad whispered.
“What?” Despina gasped.
“Stop lying to me!” She seized Despina by the wrist and dragged her closer. “Why?”
The flat of Despina’s hand remained clamped over her mouth as she glanced at the tray of food below.
“Answer me!” Shahrzad wailed. “How could you do this?”
Despina shook her head, the beads of sweat dripping from her brow.
“Despina!”
Then, with a retching sound, Despina snatched the lid of the soup tureen and began vomiting into it.
Shahrzad stood there in shock, her eyes huge as she watched her handmaiden sink to the floor in a miserable heap, clutching the silver lid in both hands.
Once Despina’s suffering had lessened to dry heaving, she peered up at Shahrzad through tear-stained lashes.
“You—are a miserable brat, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran,” she choked.
At first, Shahrzad could think of no way to string together a coherent response. “I—you’re—Despina, are you . . .” Shahrzad trailed off. Then she cleared her throat. “Well, are you?”
Despina rose to her knees, blotting her forehead on her arm. She sighed in defeat. “I truly despise you right now.”
“Hate me or don’t hate me. But answer my failed attempt at a question.”
Despina expelled a pained breath. “Yes.”
Shahrzad fell back against the cushions in disbelief.
“Holy Hera.”
Despina laughed hoarsely. “I must say, you donning the guise of a friend is quite the heartwarming sight. Especially in light of the fact you thought I was trying to poison you.”
“Well, what else was I supposed to think? Especially after last week’s incident with the tea. I suppose you were sick that day, too?”
The handmaiden sighed again.
“Despina,” Shahrzad said, “who is the father?”
“Now, that question I won’t answer.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you share a bed with the Caliph of Khorasan.”
“Ah, the web of secrets grows thicker every day!” Shahrzad retorted. “So is he the father?”
“No!”
“Then why does that matter?”
Despina sat back on her heels. “Because I can’t trust that you won’t tell him.”
“What? I don’t tell him anything.”
“You don’t need to. Your eyes search for him the moment they leave this room.”
“They do not!” Shahrzad screeched.
“By Zeus, my ears.” Despina clutched the side of her head. “Don’t yell. I beg of you.”
“I won’t tell Khalid. I swear.”
“Khalid?” The edges of Despina’s lips curved upward. “I know you’re tenacious in your endeavors, Brat Calipha, but I would give up on this one. You’re bound to be disappointed when your attempts at persuasion prove futile on me . . .”
Shahrzad frowned.
“After all, I am not the King of Kings.”
“Enough!” Shahrzad flushed. “Tell me who it is.”
“I’m very sorry, Shahrzad, but I am not telling you. I simply can’t.”
“You can’t?” Shahrzad mulled over the word. “Then he must be someone of import.”
“Don’t push the matter.” Despina’s voice was tight.
“I wonder . . .” Shahrzad disregarded Despina’s look of warning and drummed her fingers along her chin. “It can’t be the Rajput or any of the other palace guards. There would be no reason for someone as bold as you to conceal that.”
“Shahrzad—”
“So,” Shahrzad continued, “it must be either the Shahrban of Rey, which is preposterous, or . . .” Her expression smoothed in sudden understanding. “Jalal.”
Despina burst into laughter. “The captain of the guard? Even I’m not that bold. What makes you—”
“Actually, you are that bold.” Shahrzad pushed back the tray of food and rested her elbows on the beveled ledge of the low table. “And this explains your odd behavior whenever you’re around him.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Despina laughed again, the sound trilling ever higher, her eyes burning with a blue light.
Shahrzad grinned slowly. “I know I’m right.”
Despina glowered at her in sullen silence.
“You needn’t worry.” Shahrzad propped her chin on the heel of her palm. “Your secret is safe. You can trust me.”
“Trust you?” Despina sputtered. “I’d sooner trust a sieve.”
“That’s—rather unfair.”
“Is it? You don’t trust me.”
“Of course I don’t trust you. You’re a self-admitted spy, and I’ve nearly died twice on your watch.” Shahrzad stared at her pointedly.
Despina blinked. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Dramatic? Need I remind you about the tea?”
“You still think that was me?”
“Then who was it?” Shahrzad demanded. “If you want me to trust you, tell me who was responsible.”
“It wasn’t the caliph, if that’s why you’re asking. He was . . . quite furious when he found out about it.”
“Was it the shahrban?”
Despina said nothing, but failed to conceal a cringe of affirmation.
“I’m not surprised,” Shahrzad continued. “I suspected as much.”
“Did you? Perhaps you should be the spy and I the calipha.”
“Perhaps. But I believe your pregnancy by another man may present a hindrance to that,” Shahrzad said in a droll tone. “Does Jalal know about the baby? If so, he should marry you. Or face my fury. The choice is his.”
“He doesn’t know. And I don’t intend to tell him.” Despina stood up and straightened the folds of her dress. “Because I don’t think he needs to know.”
“Well, that is simply ridiculous.”
Despina hooked a strand of golden brown hair behind an ear. “Maybe it is. But, for now, I choose to believe it is not.”
Shahrzad watched in pained silence while her handmaiden began cleaning up the mess as if nothing had occurred. As if a world of chaos had not been unleashed only moments before.
Like a canary in a gilded cage, Despina flitted about, stunning and resilient.
Trapped.
“You should rest,” Shahrzad directed.
Despina faltered, midstep. “What?”
“You’re pregnant. You don’t have to hide it from me anymore. Sit. Rest.”
Despina’s eyes swam crystalline for an instant before they flashed back to blue. “I don’t need to rest.”
“I insist.”
“Truly, it’s not—”
“Rest this morning. I’ll go with the Rajput to practice shooting in the training grounds. Come there when you feel better.” Shahrzad began preparing a cup of tea. “Do you think some tea would help your stomach?”
“I can make the tea,” Despina whispered.
“So can I.”
Despina paused, staring down at the figure of the small girl with the long mane of sleep-rifled hair. “Shahrzad?”
“Yes?”
“You are not at all what one would expect.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Shahrzad grinned over her shoulder.
“Absolutely. I think it’s kept you alive.”
“Then I’m very grateful for it.”
“As am I.” Despina smiled. “Most grateful.”
• • •
A wild cheer rang out from the sidelines as the arrow struck the eave on the opposite side of the courtyard with a solid thud. The shouts of the soldiers rolled into a chorus of laughter that rose into a cloud-filled sky.
A sky tinged with the scent of impending rain.
Shahrzad smiled at Jalal.
His shoulders shook with soundless mirth. He ran his free hand through his curly brown hair and shrugged at his men.
“You cannot dispute that, Captain al-Khoury,” Shahrzad announced.
“Indeed. I cannot, my lady.” He bowed, his fingertips to his forehead. “Your arrow struck the target. Mine . . . did not. Name your price.”
Shahrzad thought for a moment. Her question had to be a good one. It had to be worth discarding any attempt to conceal her skill with a bow. It also had to be worded in a judicious manner. He was gifted at deflecting responses and offering eloquent nonanswers.
“Why are you permitted to call the caliph by his first name?”
Jalal shifted the yew of his longbow from palm to palm. Ever careful. Ever calculating. “Khalid is my cousin. My father married his father’s sister.”
Shahrzad had difficulty suppressing her reaction. This was the most information she had obtained the entire morning.
Jalal grinned with a dangerous gleam in his light brown gaze.
“Choose the next target, Shahrzad.”
She scanned the courtyard. “The topmost branch of the tree to the right, beyond the roofline.”
He wagged his eyebrows, appreciating the challenge, as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string. When he drew it back, the edges of the unyielding longbow barely shifted.
Jalal was an excellent archer. Not as gifted as Tariq, but precise and sharp in his movements. He loosed the arrow. It flew in a spiral and sailed above the roofline before it struck the topmost branch, causing the entire tree to shudder from the force of its impact.
The men began to cheer in approval.
Shahrzad fitted an arrow to the recurve bow. She closed her eyes as she nocked it tight against the sinew. Exhaling, she pulled the arrow back.
The instant she opened her eyes, she released the string. The arrow soared through the air, whistling past the branches . . .
Embedding just below her intended target.
Shahrzad frowned.
The soldiers
raised another cry of triumph. Again, Jalal bowed, this time with his hands outstretched at his sides.
“Oh, don’t gloat,” Shahrzad scolded. “It’s quite unbecoming.”
“I have never gloated. Not a day in my life.”
“I find that rather difficult to believe.”
“Gloating is for weaker men.”
“Then stop smiling like such a fool.”
Jalal laughed, raising his arms to the sky. “But it’s going to rain, Shahrzad. And I’m a fool for the rain.”
“Just collect your prize, Captain al-Khoury,” Shahrzad grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, letting her recurve bow dangle by her feet.
“Don’t be so frustrated with me. I’ve been quite fair in my questions.”
She rolled her eyes.
“In fact,” he continued, “this will be my first truly unfair question of the day.”
Shahrzad’s posture reacted to his words before her features did.
Jalal took a step forward, balancing his longbow across his shoulders. “Where is your family, my lady?” he said in a low voice.
They’re looking for my family . . . as I expected.
She smiled up at him. “Safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“In a place of sand and stone.”
“That’s also not an answer. Everything is made of sand and stone.”
“You cannot force a better answer out of me, Jalal. These are my answers. If you dislike them, we can cease with our game.”
His eyes moved across her face with an odd mixture of ready discernment and playful diversion. Yet, in that instant, she saw more of his father in him than she had ever seen thus far. And she understood.
This was not merely his occupation. Jalal al-Khoury was protecting his family. To him, family always came first.
And she was not family.
“No,” he countered, “but I would like to ask another question in lieu of the last. Since your answer was quite unsatisfactory, I feel it only appropriate I be permitted another question.”
“Excuse me?”
“I promise to grant you the same right, should the occasion arise on your end.”