The Rose & the Dagger

  “She’s powerful.” Artan laughed without guile. “And, like you, completely devoid a sense of humor.”

  Shahrzad let another small stretch of time pass, the sound of waves crashing upon one another growing louder, much like her thoughts. “Is she powerful enough to cure the sick?” She gnawed her lip. “Powerful enough to—break a curse?”

  “Ah.” He cut her a glance, all signs of humor gone. “There it is. Are you the one cursed?”

  Shahrzad closed her eyes, then shook her head.

  “Well, she’d need to speak with the one cursed,” Artan replied. “And she would need to know what kind of magic was used.”

  “What if we don’t know?” she whispered.

  He brought both hands behind his neck, weaving his fingers through one another. After a time, Artan responded, his words soft. “You’ll have to bring him, Shahrzad. Your king. He’ll have to speak with my aunt if she’s to help him.”

  Fear gripped her chest. Though she’d meant for him to help her—which entailed him knowing the truth—it didn’t trouble her any less to hear it spoken aloud.

  “Sometimes you make it so difficult to despise you,” Shahrzad mumbled.

  “I know.” Artan grinned, still staring up at the stars.

  They continued observing the night sky in companionable silence until the sound of footsteps swished in the sand nearby.

  “Shahrzad-jan?” Musa’s deep voice rang out in the darkness.

  She stood, a sharp pang zinging from the burn at her waist. “Yes?”

  “If I could speak with you for a moment—” He reached into the folds of his cloak. “I’ve brought something for you.”

  In his hand was a square of jade half the width of his palm, strung onto a slim circle of dark leather, meant to be worn about the neck. The surface of the polished green stone was covered in intricate markings.

  “The talisman we spoke of,” Musa said quietly.

  The one to ward away Khalid’s sleeplessness.

  “I’m not certain it will do much,” Musa murmured. “Again, it will likely only stave off the effects for a short while. But I thought to help, in whatever small way.”

  Artan yawned loudly at this. Shahrzad glared at him before glancing up at the tall figure before her. His black brows were stippled in white, furrowed by concern. “Thank you, Musa-effendi. This is far greater than anything I could have hoped for.”

  Musa nodded. “Please tell Khalid—I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger those many years ago. I’m sorry for leaving him alone. But I’m here now, should he ever have need of me.” With that, he placed the talisman in her hand and bowed deeply, his fingertips grazing his forehead.

  As her thumb brushed over the etchings carved into the jade, Shahrzad tried her best to ignore the undeniable weight settling around her heart.

  The weight of realization.

  And the thrill of certainty.

  I’m going home.

  A MOUSE’S CALL TO ARMS

  THE MOON WAS A HALF DISC OF ALABASTER. IN THE distance, the clouds churned in tenebrous suggestion.

  Just like the twist of nerves in Irsa’s stomach.

  Alas, she was not a good sneak. For her toes seemed to snag on everything in sight.

  Twenty paces ahead, Shahrzad moved from shadow to shadow with a sure-footedness Irsa would have envied, were she not so aggravated.

  Were she not so angry.

  Irsa drew her cloak tighter about her—

  And caught her ankle on another tent binding.

  Muttering one of Shahrzad’s choicest epithets, Irsa tore her sandal loose, then squinted through the dark.

  Her sister had disappeared.

  Without a moment’s pause, Irsa broke into a run.

  As she rounded the curve of the next tent, a hand darted from a pool of shadow and snared her wrist.

  “Why are you following me?” It was both a demand and accusation.

  Irsa gasped. Shahrzad’s eyes flashed through the gloom.

  Shocked from its temporary stupor, Irsa’s pulse began rampaging through her body. Hot on its heels raced her indignation.

  Irsa ripped her arm from Shahrzad’s grasp. “Where are you going?” Fury dotted every word.

  Shahrzad’s jaw dropped.

  Clearly, Shahrzad had not expected Irsa to be cross with her.

  “I—” Shahrzad hardened her gaze. “I asked you first.”

  “I don’t care! Tell me where you’re going. Have you not learned anything? After what happened with Teymur, don’t you know it’s dangerous for you to disappear alone like this? I can’t understand why you would—”

  Her sister reached for Irsa, pleading and conciliatory. “Irsa—”

  “No!” Irsa said. “I don’t want a long-winded excuse. I want you to tell me where you’re going and why. Now.”

  Shahrzad sighed. “Of all nights, I wish you hadn’t followed me tonight, Irsa-jan.” She glanced into the desert with a wistful look. “Would you please let me go this once? I promise I’ll take you with me tomorrow. I swear I will.”

  “I—I don’t believe you.” Irsa’s eyes began to well. She bit back the tears, cursing her wretched sensitivity. “Why should I believe you? You didn’t even go to see Baba today. Not once. Did you know he opened his eyes when I fed him his broth this afternoon? It was only for a short while, but he looked for you . . . and you weren’t there! I had to lie for you while you slept, Shazi. Just like yesterday. And the day before that.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Shahrzad took her hand and squeezed.

  “You can’t keep doing as you please and expecting everyone to wait for you. As though we have nothing better to do. As though we are capable of nothing else.”

  “I know. That was never my intention.” Shahrzad chewed her lower lip. “But—can we please speak of this tomorrow?” Her eyes darted into the desert again, and Irsa felt the heat of resentment rise anew, pricking at the corners of her eyes.

  “Go.” She shook off her sister’s grasp. “Go to wherever it is you’re disappearing. To wherever it is that is more important than here and now.”

  Her sister reached for her hand again. “I promise I’ll—”

  “From now on, only make promises you intend to keep. And be safe, Shazi. Please. Stay safe.”

  Shahrzad paused, her features tight before she slipped into the shadows ahead without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

  Irsa’s feet felt leaden as she made her way back through the encampment. Each step seemed involuntary. She dragged her toes, making patterns in the sand. When she looked up again, Irsa realized she’d stopped outside a tent that was not her own.

  What was she doing?

  Irsa stood outside Rahim al-Din Walad’s tent like a ninny absent purpose.

  Absent reason.

  Then she made a decision. And cleared her throat.

  “Rahim?”

  It sounded like a mouse’s call to arms.

  Irsa stood taller and tried again.

  “Rahim.”

  Better. But still not exactly the roar of a lion.

  She jumped and wheeled when his tent opened in a burst of lanky appendages.

  “What’s wrong?” Rahim swiped at the sleep crusting his eyes.

  What was wrong?

  Why had Irsa even come here?

  “Aisha told me a story,” she blurted without thought. “Do you want to hear it?”

  “What?” He scrubbed at his disheveled scalp, his gaze incredulous. “Irsa, you can’t be serious,” he said. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Never mind.” The mouse returned, only to take its leave.

  “Wait, wait.” Rahim reached for her elbow. “Tell me.”

  Irsa stared up at him, lost in heavy lids and ink-black eyelashes. Had he always been so . . . tall? ?
??She—she told me this desert was once a sea.” Irsa paused to steady her voice. “That it was filled with all kinds of fish that danced in shining waters and swam beneath a perfect sun. Until one day a disgruntled little fish decided he was tired of swimming and wanted to fly. So he went to the Sea Witch, who asked him to collect all the white flowers along the farthest reaches of the sea and bring them to her. From their petals she would fashion him wings. When the little fish brought the Sea Witch a woven nettle filled with white flowers, she cast a spell, and a black shadow bloomed across the sun. It was as though night had fallen for all time. The sea dried up, and all the beautiful fish began to disappear, save for the lone fish with his white-petal wings. When the sun finally reappeared, the little fish felt such guilt for what he had done that he flew into its scorching light, his wings bursting into a thousand pieces. Now when you look across the desert and along the shore, you can still see how he paid for his wings—the lovely white shells with the flowers etched onto their surfaces.” She finished the tale in a rush of words, all spoken in a single breath.

  Rahim smiled at her patiently.

  “I’m not a good storyteller,” Irsa whispered, the remnant of a tear sliding crookedly down her face.

  He reached forward and caught it with his thumb.

  Embarrassed, Irsa pulled back.

  It was a mistake to have come here.

  Wasn’t it?

  A faint gust of wind blew around them, enveloping her in the scent of linseed oil and . . . oranges?

  Rahim must have eaten oranges before falling asleep. How—wonderful.

  “What’s wrong, Irsa-jan?”

  “She keeps leaving me behind,” Irsa said softly. “Everyone keeps leaving me. And I’m worried about her. But—mostly—I’m alone.”

  Without a word, Rahim sat before the tent and patted the sand beside him.

  She took the spot, tucking her knees to her chest.

  Rahim looked at her, his eyes unwavering.

  “You’re not alone now.”

  Smiling, Irsa rested her cheek against his shoulder.

  And it was enough.

  A PERFECT BALANCE

  THE RAIN STARTED TO FALL WHEN THE GATES OF REY appeared along the horizon. Fat, unwieldy drops began to plink on Shahrzad’s shoulders and splat on the corners of the magic carpet.

  She’d felt the storm’s threat as she soared beneath the gathering clouds. The metallic scent had woven through the wind, toying at the ends of her tresses—

  Spurring her onward.

  All the while sending her blood surging through her body.

  Khalid.

  As Shahrzad neared the city gates, a current of air buoyed the carpet, taking her past the torchlit battlements, beyond the sights of any wandering sentries.

  The slumbering city was as she remembered it . . .

  Yet not.

  Sections of Khorasan’s crown jewel looked as though a giant fist had smashed down upon its surface. Others were scorched beyond recognition. For a few breaths, a feeling of despondency slid its hold around Shahrzad’s heart.

  Then, as she directed the carpet lower, she saw signs of hope.

  The light color of newly hewn granite against old. The smell of sap from freshly milled wood. The piles of organized debris. The stink of burning refuse.

  Around her was a city all but forsworn.

  Half in ruin.

  Yet half reborn.

  Her heart swelled, shaking off despondency’s grip. The people of Rey had not tucked tail and run.

  Nor had Khalid.

  Shahrzad sent the carpet higher. Toward a broken palace of granite and marble glistening in the first flush of a summer’s rain.

  Toward the broken palace she called home.

  A trill of apprehension snaked through her, igniting a flurry of questions.

  Khalid is just as stubborn as I am. What if he refuses to trust Artan, or Artan’s family?

  What if he rejects their offer of help? What if he’s resigned to living out his days with this curse?

  Then the most selfish question of all—the one she’d refused to allow herself to consider—began echoing through her mind:

  What if he’s furious with me for leaving Rey?

  For leaving him without a word.

  The fat droplets grew long and lean as they started to multiply. Without warning, the clouds burst, showering a sweet silver rain upon the city. A hazy mist formed above the earth as the water sizzled onto the stone and soaked through the parched soil.

  Shahrzad landed on the balcony outside Khalid’s antechamber.

  She waited in silence for a time, her pulse drumming in her ears. Her emotions ran a wild gamut, and she trembled, despite the warm summer breeze.

  He was so close. Almost within reach.

  But Shahrzad couldn’t bring herself to slide open the carved screens in front of her.

  She’d left him. Even if she’d done it to protect him—to protect the love they shared—she’d left him alone. And she’d made the decision to do so without him.

  Khalid had not run from his obligations. That much had been quite evident to her, as she’d flown over Rey. She’d seen his mind for organization—his quiet intelligence—in every aspect of the restoration. In the logical engineering. In the careful attention to detail.

  He was everywhere. Even if no one else saw this simple truth, Shahrzad did.

  She was the one who’d left behind a burning disaster, without so much as a glance back. Left the boy she loved to manage an insurmountable task without her.

  Would he look at her with eyes of betrayal? Eyes of judgment?

  Or would they be the same eyes as always?

  Eyes that had been for her and no other.

  She was soaked to the bone now. The sweet-smelling rain had drenched her hair and was dripping from its ends. Her qamis clung to her body, and her deep blue tikka sash trailed against the onyx stone beside her sandaled feet.

  How much time had she wasted being afraid on the balcony?

  Enough.

  Squaring her shoulders, Shahrzad started for the screens—

  And they slid open.

  She halted in her tracks, refusing to look up.

  Shahrzad knew it was Khalid. She sensed rather than saw him.

  As always. As ever. As a rose to the sun.

  Her knees shook. A chill ran from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet.

  “Shahrzad?”

  Low and unassuming. Unmistakable. When Shahrzad met his gaze, everything around her melted away. Even the driving rain came to a sudden standstill.

  A moment suspended in time. A pair of amber eyes across a balcony.

  And there was no more fear. No more worry. No more judgment.

  Her knees no longer shook. Her heart steadied in her chest.

  In that moment of perfect balance, she understood. This peace? These worries silenced without effort?

  It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone.

  It was about belonging together.

  Shahrzad walked toward him, her head high.

  Khalid did not blink.

  “Shazi.”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice clear and strong. Just as she felt.

  His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. As though guarded in their disbelief. As though undeserving of their truth. The gesture was so achingly familiar that Shahrzad wanted to launch herself into his arms.

  But she was soaked, and Khalid looked as pristine as always. His black hair was faultless. The sharp planes of his face brought to mind a hawk in flight. Piercing, yet coolly aloof. As though he could gauge a man at a glance, had he the care to do so. The fine linen of his garments hung across the trim figur
e of a seasoned warrior.

  His eyes gleamed molten gold. And they said all without a word.

  Shahrzad drew her sodden waves to one side, splashing water by his feet.

  “I’m sorry!” She wrinkled her nose. “That was—”

  He pulled her in to his chest, a hand tangling through her hair. The beat of his heart rang loud and true against her cheek. The only measure of time that mattered.

  She exhaled fast only to inhale deep. To breathe in his scent. The scent of sandalwood and sunshine. Her fingers moved across his skin, making memories of their own. The hands of a master swordsman. The lips of her greatest love. The heart of a king.

  “Khalid.”

  Following their embrace, Shahrzad saw Khalid carefully maintain his distance.

  Though it frustrated her, she understood why.

  It was not to punish her. It was to protect her. She knew him well enough to realize this. And Shahrzad had yet to divulge why she’d returned.

  Perhaps talking was of greater importance.

  For now.

  Khalid listened—the stern set of his eyebrows high in his forehead—as Shahrzad told him about the magic carpet. As she told him about the strange new ability she had yet to fully control. But, save for that initial display of emotion, he offered nothing further on the matter.

  Instead, Khalid procured a change of clothes for her and—infuriatingly—turned away while she stripped off her drenched garments.

  At that, Shahrzad was forced to swallow a rather cheeky comment.

  They were married, after all.

  Alas, she understood this behavior as well.

  This time he was protecting himself.

  So, despite Shahrzad’s desire to challenge Khalid’s resolve with a verbal assault, she chose a less direct approach, opting to wear the loose linen qamis he’d provided for her . . . and nothing else. After all, the sirwal trowsers were much too large. Both garments were cut for a man. The qamis covered more than enough, for its hem fell close to her knees.

  More than appropriate.

  For now.

  Shahrzad found herself smothering a rather inappropriate grin.

  When Khalid turned around, his eyebrows shot into his forehead again.

  Then he sighed, long and low.