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“Well,” Despina whispered in awe, “that certainly is a neat little trick.”
• • •
Tariq dismounted in the desert before Omar al-Sadiq’s large patchworked tent. He grabbed his stallion’s bridle and led it to a trough of water nearby. As the horse drank, the mirrored surface rippled around its snout in concentric rings. Tariq ran his palm along the magnificent animal’s neck.
The return journey had not been an easy one.
Despite her reassurances as to her safety, leaving the city of Rey—leaving Shahrzad—had been all but impossible. He’d acquiesced to her wishes, but it had been done with a heavy, bitter heart. For the past five days, Tariq had ridden through the blowing sands under a blazing sun, in constant war with his thoughts.
How had it come to this?
Nothing made sense. The girl he knew was not capable of such fickleness. The girl he loved was too smart, too resourceful . . . too loyal to be won over by a monster. Especially one who had murdered her best friend.
As this tempest raged about in his mind, Tariq found himself returning to its most salient point: none of this made sense.
Therefore, it required an explanation.
Tariq remembered hearing tales of captives losing their will to their captors. Prisoners falling in love with their vanquishers. While he’d never believed in such a possibility before, it was the only thing that made sense of Shahrzad’s behavior.
She was not herself. That palace, that world . . . that monster had taken away the girl Tariq loved and driven her to forget all she held dear.
He had to get her out of there. Soon.
The sound of Zoraya’s piercing cry tore him from his thoughts. Tariq whistled for her, and she landed on his outstretched mankalah, impatient for her evening meal. He was preoccupied, but he managed to smile at the falcon as he offered her a strip of dried meat.
“Our nameless sahib returns!” a familiar voice crowed from behind him. “Though, if the rumors are to be believed, he is nameless no more.”
Tariq turned to the sun-weathered face of Omar al-Sadiq. “Rumors?”
Omar gri
Tariq closed his eyes for a spell. The eccentric sheikh was trying his last bit of patience. “There are rumors in my honor?”
“About the White Falcon. The savior of Khorasan.”
“What are you talking about?” Tariq heaved a weary sigh.
“Have you not heard of him? They say he rides under a ba
“I’m sorry,” Tariq said brusquely, knocking back the hood of his dusty white rida’. “But I’m in no mood for your games.”
“Games? War is not a game, my friend. Games are for small children and old men like me. War is a young man’s blighted delight.”
“Cease with the word games, Omar! I can’t stomach—”
“Would you like to see your ba
“Please!” The single word cracked against the desert sky, filling it with frustration and the lasting hint of pain.
Omar’s keen eyes took in Tariq’s aggrieved face. “What happened while you were in Rey, my friend?”
Tariq released Zoraya into the clouds and leaned back against the trough.
“Tell me what troubles you so,” Omar pressed in a gentle voice.
“I—I have to get Shazi out of there. Away from that place. Away from that monster.”
“You are worried for her safety.” Omar nodded slowly. “Then why have you returned?” His concern eclipsed his bluntness.
Tariq cringed, unable to respond.
“Can you not tell me what happened, my friend?”
Tariq gazed into the settling dusk on the horizon. A trace of the sun’s warmth lingered along the edge, fading into blues that bled their way to black.
“I suspected he might care for her. After all, he let her live when so many others . . .” Tariq’s silver eyes chilled in thought. “But I did not expect this.”
Omar scratched at his beard. “I see.”
“What? What do you see?” Tariq turned toward the Badawi sheikh.
“You believe the young caliph . . .” Omar lifted a gnarled hand to Tariq’s shoulder. “Is in love with your Shahrzad.”
Tariq fixed his gaze on the coarse linen of Omar’s sleeve.
“And what led you to believe this?” Omar continued in the same kind tone.
“The—it’s the way he looks at her,” Tariq whispered. “It’s the only time I even begin to understand him.”
Omar squeezed his shoulder. “Perhaps . . . it is for the best. I’ve heard the young caliph has lived a life of profound loss. If Shahrzad can—”
“I will not leave Shazi in the arms of a murdering madman!”
Omar blinked hard. The heavy creases of his eyelids rose and fell with a purposeful weight. “Tariq, why are you doing this? Why are you fighting this battle?”
“Because I love her,” Tariq said without hesitation.
“But . . . why do you love her?”
“What kind of a ridiculous question—”
“It is not a ridiculous question. It is a very simple one. The difficulty lies in the answer. Why do you love her?”
“Because—” Tariq rubbed at the back of his neck. “All of my most cherished memories are of her. I’ve suffered alongside her. And . . . we’ve laughed at nothing together.”
Omar’s hand fell from Tariq’s shoulder. “A shared history does not entitle you to a future, my friend.”
“How could I expect you to understand?” Tariq said. “No one ever tried to take Aisha from you. No one—”
“I do not have to lose my wife to understand the meaning of loss, Tariq. A child with a broken toy understands such things.”
Anger coiled through Tariq’s chest. “Are you likening my suffering to that of a child?”
Omar shook his head with a bemused smile. “Loss is loss. And the lesson is always the same.”
“I am not in the mood for a lesson.”
“Nor am I.” Omar laughed. “So I will share a story instead.”
“Please don’t—”
“On a clear night, many years ago, I watched a thousand stars fall from the sky. I was only a small boy, but I possessed a very curious heart, so I decided to chase them into the desert, far beyond the horizon. You see, I wanted to know where stars went when they fell. I ran and ran until I could run no more. And still I could not see where the stars went.”
“Your story is a lesson, Omar,” Tariq said in a flat tone. “I am not that big a fool.”
Omar gri
“I can well understand it, as I’m currently fighting the urge to flee.”
Omar threw his head back and laughed. “Not until our lesson concludes, my young friend! You ca
“No. I ca
“Some things exist in our lives for but a brief moment. And we must let them go on to light another sky.”
Tariq stared into the darkness beyond the enclave of tents. “You want me to leave things as they are. But I can’t. I won’t.”
“And I will always respect your choice, Tariq-jan. Though we may disagree, I shall try to offer whatever support I can. Come with me. Your uncle is waiting for you.”
“Uncle Reza is here?” Tariq looked over Omar’s shoulder.
“He arrived two days ago with your friend Rahim and has been anxiously awaiting your return ever since.” Omar led Tariq to the entrance of the largest tent in the desert enclave. He pushed aside the flap, and the two men stepped inside.
“Our prodigal hero has returned!” Omar a