by Renee Ahdieh
Her hands dragged the hem of his qamis over his head. The muscles of his torso coiled at her touch, and the air in the room grew ever more stifling, ever more tangible. When his lips moved to her neck and his palms slid across her stomach to the laces of her shamla, she knew he was right.
This would not be the same.
For this was untrammeled need; this was a body of water and a soul of ash.
The laces of her shamla were free. If this progressed much further, it would be pointless to even consider such a thing as thought. She had to ask now, before the flames consumed her.
“Tell me,” she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders.
“Anything.”
Her heart soared, and the guilt clutched at it. “Why did they have to die?”
He stilled in her arms for an interminable beat.
Then Khalid lifted himself from her and stared down at Shahrzad, his face frozen in horror.
He saw the conflict in her eyes.
She saw the terror in his.
Without a word, he rose from the bed and made his way to the doors.
As his fingers grasped the handle, he paused.
“Never do that to me again.” It was low and harsh.
Filled with unmitigated pain.
He slammed the door shut behind him.
The deprivation of him was palpable. A part of her almost reveled in it—the reminder that this was all a result of vast suffering at his hands. The other part longed to chase after him. For she knew it was possible to conquer him if she did.
Shahrzad buried her face in the cushions and began to sob.
At last, she had discovered a real weakness.
It was her.
And I will use it; I will find out why Shiva had to die.
Even if it kills me.
• • •
The corridors of Taleqan were as silent as the grave.
As dark as the most sinister of intentions.
Jahandar climbed the stairs, clutching the bundle in his left arm tight. The torch in his right hand wavered with every cautious step, casting shadows along the uneven stone walls.
His heart pounding, he pushed the wooden door to his room ajar and leaned into it until it shuddered closed with an echoing thud.
When he was certain no one had heard him moving about, he breathed a sigh of relief before setting the bundle atop his desk and barring the door.
Then he removed the dagger from beneath his cloak.
It was a simple blade. Insignificant at first glance. A wooden handle with commonplace carvings. Slightly hooked and forged of dark iron.
Quite unremarkable, really.
Jahandar closed his eyes and clenched the dagger in his palm.
It was time. After more than two weeks of painstaking study and tedious translation, the moment was upon him.
Tonight, he would learn if the book had chosen him.
Tonight, he would discover if he was worthy of its power.
Again, he walked to the bundle on his desk. He unwrapped the linen.
Nestled in its center was a sleeping hare of soft tan fur.
His first test.
Jahandar swallowed.
He did not want the creature to suffer. It seemed wholly unfair to take the life of such a helpless thing in such a gruesome manner.
But it could not be helped.
He had to do what was necessary. For his children. For himself.
He raised the dagger in his right hand and drew it across his left palm in a single, quick motion. A line of blood appeared in its wake. He dripped the crimson liquid onto the dark blade.
As soon as his blood coated the dagger’s edge, the metal began to glow a white-hot blue.
Jahandar’s eyes gleamed.
Now the cycle had to be completed.
He inhaled through his nose, silently beseeching the sleeping hare for forgiveness. Then he drew the luminous blade across its throat.
Jahandar watched the small creature’s bright blood spill onto the dagger, and the metal turned from a glowing blue to a fiery red.
The magic rose from the blade into the air, filling the chamber with an eerie rubicund light.
Finally, he touched the dagger to his palm.
Power flowed into the open wound, raw and frightening. It seared as it pummeled through his body, heating him to his very bones. His eyes flashed once, and the dark blade fell to the floor.
When his vision cleared, everything around him appeared sharper than before. The fatigue of only a moment ago was but a distant memory. He stood taller. Breathed deeper.
Felt invincible.
He bent to the floor and retrieved the dagger, wiping its surface on the bundle of linen next to the motionless body of the tiny hare.
Jahandar paused in thought.
Then he waved his hand over the bloody carcass.
And it disappeared in a burst of cool light.
A BRUTAL TRUTH
SHAHRZAD DID NOT SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT.
Her dreams were filled with visions of Shiva’s smiling face and the sound of doors slamming shut in a black void. Voices filled with pain and betrayal echoed in her ears.
Once she pried open her eyes to the morning light, she rolled over and shoved her face into a cushion, feeling the bitter exhaustion settle between her shoulders.
Despina’s merry laughter lilted around her, clear as a bell and just as annoying.
Shahrzad groaned.
“Do you want to sleep more?”
“No,” Shahrzad said into her pillow. “That won’t help.”
“Are you sure? Because it looks as though you had a rather . . . unrestrained evening.”
“What?” Shahrzad lifted her head from the silk in confusion.
Despina’s highly amused gaze was fixed on the gossamer veil torn from its mooring, lying in a forgotten pile beside the platform.
A flush bloomed on Shahrzad’s cheeks.
“Well done,” Despina teased.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Are you quite certain? Because if the qamis on your bed belongs to another man, you have just become even more interesting than you already were.”
“That’s enough, Despina.” Shahrzad’s voice was filled with warning.
Despina stood akimbo, her perfect eyebrows high on her forehead. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry, but this situation and that response do not follow.” Collecting the folds of her skirt in one hand, Despina marched to the platform and plopped onto the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
Shahrzad sighed at her handmaiden’s cursed persistence. “Everything.”
“Can you be more specific? After all, secrets are infinitely more useful when they’re shared,” Despina said in a teasing tone.
“Tell that to Khalid,” Shahrzad grumbled. “As his supposed spy, he might actually listen to you.”
Despina’s expression softened in understanding. “The Caliph of Khorasan hasn’t listened to anyone for a very long time.”
“Nor will he be likely to. Not after last night.”
Despina kicked off her sandals and sat cross-legged on the bed. “We women are a sad lot, aren’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Strong enough to take on the world with our bare hands, yet we permit ridiculous boys to make fools of us.”
“I am not a fool.”
“No, you’re not. Not yet.” Despina grinned. “But it’s inevitable. When you meet the one who makes you smile as you’ve never smiled before, cry as you’ve never cried before . . . there is nothing to do but fall.”
“I—” Shahrzad chewed on her lower lip.
“You can speak freely, Shahrzad. What you say will not pass these walls.”
Shahrzad remained silent.
Despina edged closer. “When I was a little girl in Thebes, I remember asking my mother what heaven was. She replied, ‘A heart where love dwells.’ Of course,
I then demanded to know what constituted hell. She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘A heart absent love.’” Despina studied Shahrzad as she spoke.
Shahrzad returned Despina’s scrutiny while toying with the silver laces of her shamla. “Your mother sounds quite wise.”
“She was.”
Shahrzad chose her next words with care. “May I ask what happened to her?”
“She fell in love with the wrong man. He promised her the world and then left her with nothing but the child in her belly.”
“I’m truly sorry, Despina.”
“I’m not. She died young, but she died happy, and a man like that is incapable of making a woman happy. Rich men don’t know how to sacrifice for love, because they’ve never had to.” Despina’s last statement was marked in its harshness.
“Is that it?” Shahrzad said gently. “Are you worried Jalal will do the same?”
“I don’t know. He’s unfailingly loyal to his family, but I have yet to see him espouse such loyalty to the many young women who’ve lost their hearts to him.” Despina’s blue eyes tightened at the corners. “I’ve always believed a man is what he does, not what others say. But Jalal al-Khoury does very little to refute what others say.”
“Such behavior appears to be a family trait.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I don’t—” Shahrzad caught herself before turning a pleading eye to her handmaiden. “Do you know, Despina? If you do, please tell me. Why is Khalid killing all of his brides?”
Despina stared down at the discarded skein of spider-silk by the bed. “I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know? Please tell me.”
“I’ve lived in this palace for six years, and I’ve always found Khalid Ibn al-Rashid quite aloof, yet strangely honorable. Until the events of these past few months, he has never given me occasion to question his character.”
“But how can you continue to serve a king who kills young women without explanation?”
“I came to this kingdom as a slave; I don’t have the luxury of choosing whom I serve,” Despina retorted drily. “The Caliph of Khorasan may very well be a monster, but to me he’s always been a troubled king with good intentions.”
“Good intentions?” Shahrzad spat. “Tell that to the families of the girls he murdered. Tell that to those who loved them.”
Despina flinched, and Shahrzad looked away, rising from the bed in a rush to conceal her pain.
“Shahrzad—”
“Leave me alone.”
Despina grabbed her wrist. “If you care about him at—”
“I don’t.”
“Stop lying, you miserable brat.”
Shahrzad wrenched her arm free, glaring at Despina before turning to leave in a swirl of lustrous brocade.
“You care about him,” Despina insisted. “And since secrets matter so much to you, I’ll divulge one.”
Shahrzad halted in her tracks.
“You are safe, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. Nothing will happen to you. For I have it on high authority that any attempt to harm you will be treated as a direct attempt on the life of our king.”
Shahrzad’s stomach clenched.
“Do you understand, Brat Calipha?” Despina continued.
Shahrzad glanced over her shoulder at her handmaiden, in stalwart silence.
Despina sighed. “On pain of death . . . you are as important to him as his own life.”
LILACS AND
A RAGING SANDSTORM
JALAL SLID THE REPORT ACROSS THE TABLE AND drummed his fingers against the edge of the stained wood.
“Do you have someplace you need to be, Captain al-Khoury?” Khalid did not look up from his work.
“No. Not at the moment.”
Jalal continued tapping his right hand on the carved mahogany¸ staring intently at Khalid’s face.
“It appears—”
“I wish you would confide in me, Khalid.”
Khalid’s gaze flickered to Jalal, giving away less than nothing.
“And what brought on this sudden desire for closeness?”
“It rained yesterday. You must have a great deal on your mind.”
Khalid studied Jalal with deliberate composure. “There is usually a great deal on my mind.”
“And what of the rain?”
Khalid put down the scroll in his hand. “Rain is merely one element of a storm—generally a hint of things to come.”
“As always, you are the perfect portrait of bleak.”
“As always, you are the perfect portrait of nothing.”
Jalal smiled in a slow arc. “Regarding Shahrzad—”
“I am not discussing Shahrzad with you.” The tiger-eyes fired once in an otherwise cool countenance.
“She must have rattled you last night, with a vengeance. Well done, my lady.”
“That’s enough, Jalal.”
“Don’t be unduly vexed, cousin. It rained yesterday. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore, on top of everything else. The people of Rey are not suffering unnecessarily on your account. Or Shahrzad’s, for that matter.”
“Enough!”
At that, all traces of Jalal’s smugness vanished. Lines of consternation appeared across his forehead. “See? I wish you would confide in me. You are clearly troubled. Perhaps even afraid. Do not live in fear, Khalid-jan, for that is not a life.”
“I am not afraid. I am tired, and you are presumptuous. There is quite a difference.” Khalid turned back to the stack of scrolls before him. “It appears the riots in the city square have completely ceased?”
“Of course they’ve ceased. We are no longer executing their daughters without explanation,” Jalal muttered offhand.
When Khalid failed to respond, Jalal glanced over and saw Khalid glaring at him, with his left hand clenched in a white-knuckled fist.
“Must you always be such an unapologetic bastard?” Khalid exacted in a deathly whisper.
“Be fair. I’m only like that when it suits a purpose. I have been known to apologize when the situation warrants it.”
“I doubt you grasp the notion.”
“You are not the only one who suffers in this. Admittedly, you bear the brunt, but you are not alone. And you take on far more than necessary. Let me help. I would gladly assume some of your burden. That is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Khalid shoved aside the scrolls and strode to the window to his right. A marbled arch framed a midday sky above. In the garden below, lilacs bloomed, and their clean scent mingled on the breeze, blowing back into the alcove, rustling the pages strewn on his desk.
Taunting him.
He shuttered his gaze. The sight of shining black tresses across jewel-toned silk and half-lidded hazel eyes flashed back at him. Khalid latched the screens shut, but the aroma of the pale purple blossoms lingered, much to his chagrin.
Jalal took note of Khalid’s irritation. “So you have an aversion to sunlight and flowers now?”
“Just that particular flower.”
“And what has that flower done to you?”
Khalid remained resolutely silent, and Jalal’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Tell the gardeners to remove it,” Jalal suggested after a time, leaning back against the cushions.
“No.”
Smiling to himself, Jalal laced his fingers across his stomach and stared at the mosaicked alcove above. “Khalid?”
“Are you still here?”
“I’m waiting for you to confide in me.”
Khalid twisted his head to Jalal and expelled a frustrated breath.
“I can wait all day. As you so cheerfully noted, the city riots have ceased . . . for the time being.” Jalal crossed his feet at the ankles.
“Fine. I’ll leave.” Khalid walked to the doors and thrust them aside.
Jalal followed in his footsteps, like a shadow with a dubious agenda. When Jalal began whistling to the domed ceiling of blue-veined agate, the muscles in Khalid’s jaw flexed.
“We’re blood, sayyidi. I am every bit as stubborn as you. It would behoove you to confide in me because, sooner or later, you’ll feel compelled to rid yourself of my enduring nuisance.”
After they strode a few more paces down the polished corridors, Khalid glanced at Jalal. “Salim . . . wishes to visit Rey on his way back to Amardha in two weeks’ time.”
Jalal froze midstep. “That—jahkesh?” he swore. “Why?”
“It should be obvious.”
“To you. Would you care to elaborate?”
“Shahrzad.”
Jalal paused and then laughed with palpable scorn. “Of course. The Jahkesh of Parthia wants to meet Khorasan’s new calipha.”
“And he will undoubtedly bring Yasmine.”
“Marg-bahr Salim Ali el-Sharif.” Jalal drew his index finger across his throat as a warning to their impending guest. “What are you going to do?”
“Your father thinks I should send Shahrzad away while Salim is here.”
Jalal snorted.
“You disagree?” Khalid asked.
“Yes. Very much.”
Khalid stopped walking. “Why?”
Jalal swiveled to face him. “Because, if the jahkesh wants to see the future of Khorasan, I can think of nothing better than the sight of you with Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. The strength she instills in you. The utter rightness of it all.”
Khalid studied Jalal’s fiery expression. “You seem quite convinced.”
“I am. As you should be, sayyidi. Trust me. And trust in this.”
“In the rightness of it all?” A look of acerbic amusement settled across Khalid’s face.
“Yes. In her and in you.”
“Two rather unreliable people, Jalal.”
“I disagree. Shahrzad is a remarkably reliable girl. Brash and unpredictable, yes, but steadfast in her convictions. It’s true you are taxing and rather bleak, but you’ve always been reliably so.” Jalal grinned.
“So you would have me throw Shazi to the wolves?”
“Shazi?” Jalal’s grin widened. “Honestly, I pity the wolves.”
“Be serious for once.”
“I am. In fact, I would take the enterprise a step further. Invite all your bannermen to Rey—every last emir. Let them see that you are not your father. You are not the rumors that have been plaguing you of late. You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.”