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The sword split in two, and he began swinging one in either hand. The blades tore through the air like a dust devil in the desert, whistling about his head as he made his way across the sand.
Shahrzad heard Despina catch her breath.
The twin shamshirs rained a shower of sparks as he struck them against each other and brought the drill to an end with a sword positioned in each hand at his sides.
Again, a riotous cheer rang through the throng of soldiers standing witness to the spectacle. Whatever one’s personal feelings about the caliph, it could not be denied he was a masterful swordsman.
Nor was he a king solely reliant on the protection of others.
He would not be an easy man to kill.
And this presents a serious challenge.
“Well, does that satisfy your curiosity?” Despina asked.
“Yes, my lady. Does it?” A gruff voice a
Both girls scrambled to their feet, still trying to remain unseen by the soldiers below.
The color drained from Shahrzad’s face.
The Shahrban of Rey was standing across the way, his face a mask of false composure, and his eyes filled with . . . frustration.
“General al-Khoury.” Shahrzad brushed the debris from her hands and her clothes.
He continued studying her, some kind of war raging behind his eyes.
When the battle was over, it was obvious Shahrzad had lost.
“What are you doing here, my lady?”
“I was . . . curious.”
“I see. And may I ask who gave you permission to be here, my lady?”
At this, Shahrzad’s indignation rose. He might be the Shahrban of Rey and a good deal older than she, but she had done nothing to warrant such disrespect. She was his queen, after all—not a child to be scolded for misbehaving.
She strode forward. “I did not seek permission from anyone, General al-Khoury. Nor shall I seek permission from anyone in the future. For anything.”
He inhaled carefully, his brown eyes, so like Jalal’s and yet so dissimilar, narrowing invectively. “I’m afraid we can’t allow you to behave thus, my lady. You see, it is my job to protect the king and this kingdom. And you—you conflict with my job. I’m sorry. I can’t let you continue to do this.”
Does he—does he know?
“I thank you, General al-Khoury.”
“Excuse me, my lady?”
“It’s never been a question of who is going to let me behave a certain way; it’s always been a question of who is going to stop me. I thank you for answering it.”
The older gentleman leaned back onto his heels for a moment, staring down at the impudent girl with the flashing colors in her hazel eyes and the small hands positioned on her hips.
“I am sorry, my lady. Sorrier than you will ever know. But threats against the caliph . . . must be eliminated.”
“I am not a threat, General al-Khoury.”
“And I intend to make sure it stays that way.”
Oh, God. How does he know?
A SILK CORD AND A SUNRISE
THE SHAHRBAN OF REY SUSPECTS I MIGHT HARM the king.
Shahrzad listened to Despina’s incessant chatter as they spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the warm waters of the palace’s newest addition, commenting where it was appropriate and jesting where it was not.
But her mind refused to allow her a moment’s respite.
What if he says something to the caliph?
How much does he know? How did he find out?
Now, many hours later, she sat on her bed in a darkened chamber . . .
Back at the begi
Staring at doors and fending away demons.
She was dressed in wide silk trowsers and a fitted top stained a deep violet color, with thick straps that banded over each shoulder. The necklace and thin chain at her waist contained amethysts surrounded by tiny, pale pink diamonds. At her ears and along her brow were large teardrops of purple and gold. Her waist-length hair hung in shining waves down her back.
Shahrzad willed the doors to open with the force of her unflinching stare. Met by the same stoic silence as always, she rose from the bed and began pacing.
He’s usually here by now.
Unwilling and incapable of leaving her fate in the hands of others, she walked to the doors and pulled one open.
The Rajput turned in place, his hand resting on the hilt of his talwar.
Shahrzad felt the fear leech its way onto her heart . . . felt it tug at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
“Do you—do you know if . . .” she tried.
She gritted her teeth.
“Is he coming?” she asked.
The Rajput merely stared down at her, a lethal statue of muscle and menace.
“Can you tell me where he is?” she demanded, the tenor of her voice clearly trying to compensate for her waning courage.
At this, Shahrzad saw the tiniest flicker of a response in his dark-as-night gaze.
Pity?
He . . . pities me?
She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her chest starting to heave.
No.
She stifled a sob.
Enough. That’s enough.
Shahrzad stood upright and walked, with her head high, to the bed. She fell back onto the silken pillows, her eyes still trained on the doors.
“He’ll come,” she said into the darkness.
I know it.
As she clung to this last thread of hope, two words kept resonating in her mind, taunting her . . . plaguing her with a meaning she should not see.
These two words from a boy who was less than nothing.
These two words that gave her the will to fight off the demons:
My queen.
• • •
The groan of the doors opening brought Shahrzad out of a restless half sleep.
And the light of pure dawn streaming through the wooden screens shot her to her feet.
Standing at the threshold were four soldiers.
Shahrzad straightened her rumpled clothing and cleared her throat.
“Is it not customary to knock first?”
They all looked past her without answering. Their eyes bore an air of grim detachment.
Shahrzad clasped her hands behind her back, forcing herself to stand up straight. “What are you doing here?”
Without a word, the soldier in front stepped into the room and moved toward Shahrzad, still looking to a spot beyond her . . .
As though she had ceased to exist.
Her heart. Her heart.
“I asked you a question!”
The soldier took hold of her shoulder. When Shahrzad reached up to smack his hand away, he trapped her wrist and grasped tightly.
“Don’t—touch me!”
The soldier nodded to his subordinates, and another grim-faced dragoon seized her by the arm.
The blood flew through her body, soaring on a mixture of terror and rage.
“Stop!”
They began to drag her from the room.
When she tried to wrench free and kick at them, they merely lifted her off the floor as though she were trussed-up game, caught for sport.
“Where is the caliph?” she cried.
Stop! Do not beg.
“I want to speak to the caliph!”
Not a single one of the soldiers even paused to glance at her.
“Listen to me!” she screamed. “Please!”
They continued half carrying, half dragging her struggling form down the marble halls of the palace.
The servants they passed averted their gazes.
They all knew. Just as the soldiers knew.
There was nothing to see.
It was then Shahrzad realized the inescapable truth.
She was nothing. She meant nothing.
To the soldiers. To the servants.