Страница 17 из 68
“And?”
“Obviously, I’m taking you there.” Despina rolled her eyes.
“Obviously. I just don’t understand why this is such cause for excitement.”
“Because it’s amazing. And new. And you will be one of the first ones to try it.”
“So he wants to boil me to death?” Shahrzad said acerbically.
Despina snickered.
“I’m ready.” Shahrzad emerged from behind the screens clad in simple pale green linen with matching jade earrings and pointed gold slippers. She plaited her hair in a single braid down her back and strode to the door of the chamber.
The Rajput was nowhere to be found.
“Where is he?” Shahrzad asked.
“Oh. He was dismissed for the day.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re going to the bathhouse. He can’t very well accompany us there, can he?”
Shahrzad pursed her lips. “No. But . . .”
As Despina pulled the doors shut, Shahrzad saw her chew on her carmine-stained lower lip.
As though she were concealing something.
“Despina. Where is the Rajput?”
“I told you. Dismissed.”
“That’s fine. But where does he go when he’s dismissed?”
“How should I know?”
“You know everything.”
“I don’t know this, Shahrzad.”
Why is she lying to me? I thought I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without the Rajput. Where is she really taking me?
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where my bodyguard is.”
“By Zeus, you are a nuisance, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” Despina cried.
“It’s good you know that. It will save you time. Now, answer my question.”
“No.”
“Answer me, you wretched Theban!”
“No, you horse’s ass!”
Shahrzad’s mouth fell agape. “Listen to me: we can either stand in the hallways of the palace and shout at each other, or you can let me have my way now and spare yourself the trouble. When I was twelve, my best friend and I were falsely accused of stealing a necklace. The shopkeeper’s fourteen-year-old son said he would let us go for a kiss each. I broke his nose, and my best friend shoved him in a trough of water. When we were confronted by his father, we denied the entire incident, and I had to sit outside our door for a whole night. It was the best sleep of my life.”
“And your point is?”
“I never lose, nor am I afraid to spill blood.”
Despina stared down at her. “Fine! The Rajput is—he’s in a tournament. The men are having a swordsmanship tournament this afternoon.”
A calculating gleam entered Shahrzad’s hazel eyes.
“See! This is precisely why I didn’t want to tell you!” Despina groaned. “And you can’t go, anyway. If the caliph sees you there, he’ll—”
“Is he fighting in the tournament?”
“Of course.”
Then there is no way you’re going to stop me.
“He won’t do anything to me,” Shahrzad a
“I can’t say the same for myself,” Despina retorted.
“Fine. Is there a way to watch it so no one knows we’re there?”
“Can we please just go to the bathhouse?” Despina pleaded.
“Of course. After the tournament.”
“Holy Hera. I’m going to die as your handmaiden.”
• • •
“This is, by far, the most asinine thing I’ve ever done in the six years I’ve lived at the palace,” Despina said quietly, as they crouched behind a wall of tan stone. The latticework at its top afforded them a vantage point from which to see the sand-filled expanse below.
“You can blame me,” Shahrzad breathed back.
“Oh, I will. Make no mistake.”
“Have you ever seen one of these tournaments?”
“No. They’re not meant for an audience.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because—” Despina gasped as the first soldier stepped onto the sand.
“That might be the reason,” Shahrzad joked with a slight hitch in her voice.
He was clad in nothing but sirwal trowsers and a burgundy tikka sash. Barefoot. No qamis. No rida’. His bare chest glowed with sweat in the hot afternoon sun. In silence, he withdrew a large scimitar from his left hip. Its blade was narrow at the hilt and widened as it curved outward before tapering to a lethal point.
The soldier raised the scimitar high.
“Where is his opponent?” Shahrzad asked.
“How should I know?”
The soldier began swinging his blade in the air, performing an extended drill. He danced across the sand, the silver sword cutting arc after arc through the bright blue sky.
When he was finished, cheers and whistles of approval emanated from the sidelines.
“They must start with drills before they launch into fighting,” Despina decided.
“Ever the smart Theban.”
“If I push you over, you’ll look decidedly unqueenlike.”
Several more soldiers showcased their drilling techniques before a hulking form materialized in the sand. His shoulders were immense, and every muscle appeared to strain beneath his copper skin.
“My God,” Shahrzad said. “He could crush my skull with his bare hands.”
Despina snickered.
When the Rajput drew his talwar into the sun, he paused for an eerie moment, the sword poised above his head.
Let’s see what it means to be the best swordsman in Rey.
The second he brought the blade down was the last time Shahrzad remembered seeing it for the entire duration of the Rajput’s demonstration. The slender talwar whipped through the breeze, curling over its master’s arm as the Rajput stretched and dove into the sand.
Then, near the end of the drill, he lifted his free hand to his mouth . . .
And blew over his open palm.
A stream of fire extended onto the sword.
The talwar was ablaze.
He whirled it over his head, slicing the screaming dragon of a weapon downward. With a final thrust into the sand, he extinguished the flames.
The soldiers raised an earsplitting chorus on the sidelines.
Shahrzad and Despina stared at one another in shared amazement.
“I—I . . .” Shahrzad attempted.
“I know,” Despina finished.
Lost in their wordless conversation, it took both girls some time to recognize the next figure striding onto the sand. When Shahrzad looked down, she was dismayed by the instant tightening sensation in her chest. She knitted her brow and pressed her lips into a line.
The caliph’s shoulders were tan and lean; each of the muscles in his trim torso shone, defined and well articulated in the afternoon sun.
Despina sighed. “Despite everything, I have to admit I’ve always found him quite handsome. Such a shame.”
Again, Shahrzad felt the strange reaction spike within her core.
“Yes. It is a shame,” she spat.
“There’s no need to be angry at me for admiring him. Trust that he’s the last man I’d ever have designs on. I don’t enjoy gambling with my own life.”
“I wasn’t angry at you!” Shahrzad protested. “I don’t care if you or anyone else admires him!”
Despina’s eyes danced with amusement.
And then the caliph drew his sword.
It was a unique weapon. Not as wide as a scimitar, nor as sharply curved. The blade was thin, and its point tapered to a more severe angle than all the other swords Shahrzad had seen so far.
“Do you know the name of that weapon?” she asked.
“It’s called a shamshir.”
As the caliph began his drill, Shahrzad found herself gripping the top of the wall, seeking a better vantage point.
Like the Rajput, he slashed and arced so quickly it was almost impossible to discern the location of the blade. But where the Rajput’s superior strength granted him the ability to radiate menace without shifting a muscle, the caliph’s far more agile form underscored the subtle grace—the cu
Halfway through the drill, he placed both hands on the hilt of his shamshir and twisted the handle apart.