The Storyteller's Daughter

And so she sat, her fingers stroking the fabric of the divan. And thus it was that Shahrayar found her.

Coming back into the room, certain now that he had himself under control, he caught the gentle motion of Shahrazad's hand and stopped short. For the first time he thought he saw Shahrazad's mother in her. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder if, like Maju, Shahrazad could see things that others could not.

And at this wondering, Shahrayar felt something move within him, even within his heart that he, himself, had turned to stone. But what it was, he could not tell. So he continued into the room and watched the way Shahrazad heard the sound of his coming and turned her face toward him once more.

"Ah!" she said, and he saw the way her face lit up. "You are much more comfortable now."

"I am, indeed," Shahrayar answered. "But how can you tell?"

"By the sound of your movements," Shahrazad said. "You walk with more ease than you did before.

And the sound of the fabric is gentle as it brushes against itself." She cocked her head, as if considering.

"You are wearing a caftan, and your feet are bare, like a boy's."

"That is so," Shahrayar said, his tone astonished. At the sound of it, Shahrazad gave a laugh like chimes in the wind.

"There is no magic in this, I assure you," she said. "More like a lucky guess, my lord. My father often dressed this way when he came to see me at the end of the day after his court duties were done. He told me he had acquired the custom from the old king, your father. I simply thought you might have done so also."

At the mention of her father and his own, Shahrayar sobered. "I have no wish to speak of fathers."

"As you desire, so it shall be." Shahrazad's smile faded away, and the room was filled with silence once more. At this, Shahrayar felt the thing inside him stir again, but this time he thought he knew its name: It was called sorrow.

" What will you have to eat?" he asked, after a moment. And now I am back where I started, he thought, only this time, he discovered he was hungry.

"I would like to try whatever pleases you," Shahrazad answered promptly.

Shahrayar felt his face color and was glad she could not see it. He simply did not understand the way she treated him. Where was her anger? Her resentment? Her fear? Her hate? Was she so cold and untouched that she felt none of these things?

"Why?" he inquired.

"So that I may get to know you better," Shahrazad said, as any new wife might. As if the meal she and Shahrayar were about to take was merely the first of many they would enjoy together, instead of the only one. And now the thing within Shahrayar was called pain. And as he recognized it, it burst forth.

"Why?" he cried again. And, though the word was the same as he had used just moments before, both he and Shahrazad knew the question he posed was not.

"For the love of God, Shahrazad! For years you have kept yourself apart, since you were nothing more than a child. Now you come forth for this. I do not understand you."

Nor I you, my lord, thought Shahrazad. How can you travel so far from yourself and not evenperceive that you are lost?

But she spoke none of this. Instead she said, "Because it is what I wished, Shahrayar."

He gave a sharp, unbelieving laugh. "What you wished," he echoed. "Do you mean you wish to die?"

"Of course not," answered Shahrazad. "I wished—" Her throat closed suddenly, and she cleared it. She knew that she must speak the truth in this, but it was a difficult one to tell,

"I wished to be the one to truly see, to come to know your heart. At least, I wished to try."

At her words, Shahrayar felt his stone heart give a crack, and the pain surged forth into his veins, scalding as lava. Too late. Your wish has come too late, he thought.

"How will you see it?" he asked, his tone bitter. "How will you see anything truly? You are blind, Shahrazad."

The words hung, awful, in the air. And Shahrayar discovered he could hate himself.

"That is so," Shahrazad answered, her voice calm. "Do you think that is the most important thing about me? If eyes are all one needs to see and know another's heart truly then answer me this: When you look at me now do you see and understand my heart?"

Shahrayar was silent for so long, Shahrazad feared he would not answer. But at last he replied, "No, I do not, Shahrazad."

"Then perhaps you should not be so quick to judge what I can do, though my eyes see not as yours."

"You think that I'm a monster, don't you?" Shahrayar asked, the words tumbling forth before he even knew they had been formed.

"No," Shahrazad answered swiftly. "Not that."

"What, then?" asked Shahrayar.

This time it was Shahrazad who paused before she answered, for had she not just told herself she would not speak of this? But he had asked, and so she answered truthfully.

“I think that you are . . . lost."

"Lost!" Shahrayar cried, stung. "Do you think I am a child, then?"

"No," Shahrazad answered steadily. "Only that you act like one. A great kingdom is in your hands. All look to you, yet you see only yourself, Shahrayar."

A shocked silence filled the room. Not since he had truly been a child had anyone spoken to him in this ma

"I am the king. How dare you speak so to me?"

"And I am the queen, if only for this night," Shahrazad answered, as her chin came up stubbornly.

"What will you do to punish me for answering truthfully when you bid me speak? Kill me before my time is up?"

"Enough!" Shahrayar exclaimed, for her words horrified him. Did she truly think him capable of such a thing? But why not? he answered himself. Had he not proclaimed that she would die tomorrow morning, and for even less cause?

"I have no wish to quarrel, Shahrazad."

"Nor I," said Shahrazad. Then, to Shahrayar's amazement, her mouth quirked up. "But you make it hard not to, you know."

Shahrayar gave a startled bark of laughter, all his anger suddenly gone. It felt good to be with someone who was not afraid to speak her mind, he realized to his surprise. His first queen had certainly never spoken to him so. Now that he thought about it, they had barely conversed at all. Perhaps if they had . . .

No, Shahrayar thought. He would not travel down that road. There was no sense in comparing the one who had betrayed him to Shahrazad. That much, he could already tell.

"I will make you a bargain," he said now, careful to keep his tone light. "I will admit that I am quarrelsome if you will admit that you have a sharp tongue."

His first wife would never have taken such a bargain, Shahrayar thought. She would have denied his faults, for was he not the king? And, in denying his, she had hidden her own.

"Well, of course I have a sharp tongue," Shahrazad said, as if Shahrayar had but stated the obvious.'!

am the daughter of a storyteller, am I not?"

"That is so."

"Well, then," Shahrazad said, and she extended her hand, as if to seal the bargain. Shahrayar took it between his own. For the first time, he learned how soft Shahrazad's hands were. And how warm. And he felt the way her fingers trembled within the cage of his.