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“Find out everything about Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. His family. Their associations. All of it.”
Jalal started to laugh.
“What’s so amusing?” Khalid demanded.
“Blood runs true. That boy has bothered me all day.”
A FLOATING CARPET AND A RISING TIDE
SHAHRZAD STOOD IN THE SMALL ROOM HOUSING all her garments. She watched Despina set aside parcel after parcel of wrapped silk in a wide assortment of colors.
“By Zeus, would you just pick one?” Shahrzad groaned, coiling her waves of black hair to one side.
“Be patient. I’m looking for something specific.”
“Then be specific about it, and I can help.”
Despina rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. She winced as she kneaded her left shoulder.
Shahrzad’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. I slept poorly last night.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Despina laughed with trilling dismissiveness. “I have many months before it will be an issue, Shahrzad.”
“Have you told Jalal yet?”
“No.”
“When will you tell him?”
“When I muster the courage or when I’m left with no choice—whichever comes first. And I won’t discuss the matter further.” Despina twisted to the back corner of the room and stooped to rustle through more parcels of silk.
Shahrzad frowned at her handmaiden, wondering if Despina ever managed a decent night’s rest with such worries wreaking their silent havoc.
Why won’t she tell him?
When Despina resurfaced, her features were pinched by a
The two girls left behind the piles of silk and damask to cross Shahrzad’s bedchamber. They paused before a single, polished wood door near the entrance. Despina pushed it open and walked down a narrow corridor before grasping the silver handle leading to another chamber at the end.
Shahrzad had never been in Despina’s room before, even though it was so near her own. The chamber was small and tidy, with a neat arrangement of cushions on one side and a low table on the other. The wardrobe in the corner was made of the same honey-colored wood as the table, and the entire space was lightly perfumed in the floral scent of jessamine.
Despina walked to the wardrobe and opened one side to begin her search.
Shahrzad’s eyes wandered past the wooden chest, and she noticed something wedged against the wall, tied in a bundle secured by hemp cord.
It was the rug gifted to her by Musa Zaragoza.
“Why is that in here?” Shahrzad nodded toward the bundle.
Despina glanced over her shoulder and sighed. “I kept meaning to ask you if I could throw it away.”
“It was a gift!”
“It’s old and threadbare, and it will likely attract vermin. I don’t want such a thing amongst your garments.”
Shahrzad rolled her eyes. “Give it to me.”
Despina shrugged before passing along the bundle. “Why anyone would gift the Calipha of Khorasan a tiny, shabby carpet is beyond me.”
Shahrzad held it in both hands as she recalled the day Musa-effendi had visited the palace.
“It is a very special carpet. When you are lost, it will help you find your way.”
“I don’t think it’s a mere rug.”
“Then what is it?”
“It could be a map of sorts,” Shahrzad mused.
“If it’s a map, it’s outdated and, therefore, useless.”
Shahrzad turned from Despina’s room and strode down the narrow hall back to her bedchamber. She knelt on the floor and set the bundle down. Then she began tugging at the knot of hemp at its center. When her efforts proved futile, she remembered why her curiosity had failed to win out upon first receiving the gift.
“This knot is from hell itself,” Shahrzad grumbled as Despina peered over her shoulder.
“Let me try.” Her handmaiden crouched beside her and began pulling at the strings. Faced with similar results, she lifted the knot and studied it for a spell. Then she removed a silver pin from the crown of hair atop her head. A cascade of golden-walnut curls spilled onto her shoulder, and Despina started working the pin into the center of the knot.
“You shall not prevail, little hell-knot,” she whispered, squinching her blue eyes over the bundle.
Moments later, the knot tugged free, and both girls shouted in triumph.
Shahrzad unwrapped the rug and spread it out on the floor.
It was indeed as worn and threadbare as it initially appeared—rust colored, with a border of dark blue and a center medallion of black-and-white scrollwork. Almost all the fringe of tassels had frayed away. The few that remained were dirty and yellowed with age, still clinging to misbegotten hope. Two corners boasted holes that resembled scorch marks.
As she ran her palms across it, an odd, tingling sensation began to form in her chest. She drew back in sudden alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Despina asked.
The sensation was gone.
Shahrzad glanced down at her hands and ran her thumbs across her fingers.
“Nothing.”
Both girls stood to inspect the small rug.
“Well . . . that’s an ugly carpet,” Despina pronounced.
Shahrzad laughed.
“May I please throw it away?” Despina pressed.
“I thought it might be a map. Musa-effendi told me it would help me find my way.” Shahrzad’s brow furrowed.
“You mean the magus from the Fire Temple?”
“Is that what Musa-effendi is?”
Despina pursed her lips and looked away.
“You weren’t supposed to tell me that.” Shahrzad smirked. “Were you?”
Despina glared at her.
“Interesting,” Shahrzad continued. “Though I’m not surprised. Jalal does seem to be the talkative type. I wonder what he says in moments of—”
“Shahrzad!”
Shahrzad laughed as she dodged Despina’s threatening shove. Her bare heel grazed the rug, and the strange tingling flared in her chest once more. Increasingly disturbed, she knelt before the carpet and placed her palm to its surface.
A prickly feeling, almost like losing sensation in a foot from sitting too long, began to warm around her heart. The warmth soon spread to her shoulders and down her arm. Then, when she ran her fingers along the edge of the rug—
It curled into her hand, as though it had a life of its own.
Shahrzad gasped in shock and fell on her side in a graceless heap.
“What happened?” Despina demanded, kneeling beside her.
“The rug—moved!”
“What?”
Shahrzad scrambled to her knees, her heart tripping about in her chest.
“Look!” She pushed her hand to the carpet until the prickly sensation filled her palm . . . and one corner of the rug rose from the floor.
Despina shrieked a curse and jumped back. “What’s wrong with it?”
“How should I know?” Shahrzad yelled.
“Do—do it again.”
Shahrzad repeated the process, and another corner of the carpet lifted from the floor with the ease of a rising cloud.
At this, Despina regarded her with wary circumspection. “Have you ever done that to anything before?”
“No! It’s the carpet, not me.”
Despina knelt and placed her own palms to the worn, rustcolored surface. She waited a beat. Nothing happened.
“It’s not just the carpet, Shahrzad. It’s you.”
Shahrzad chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“Then you are unaware. It lies dormant in your blood.”
Despina exhaled in a huff of exasperation. She held Shahrzad’s hand to the carpet. When its edges curled off the floor and Shahrzad tried to pull away, Despina refused to let go.
Soon, the entire rug was floating in the air beside their shoulders—weightless, as though woven from a dream. When the girls withdrew their touch, the carpet drifted back to the marble with the grace of a petal to the earth.