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I will not beg.
Another quiet knock at the door.
Shahrzad paced forward, her hazel orbs trained on the caliph.
He took a slow step back before striding to the doors.
No. Please. Stop!
As he reached for the handle, he paused without turning to look at her.
“One.” He pronounced the word like a soundless epithet before he stalked through the doors.
When they thudded shut behind him, Shahrzad sank to the floor and pressed her flaming cheek against the cool marble.
Even the release of tears involved too much effort.
DESPINA AND THE RAJPUT
THE TRAY SLAMMED ONTO THE TABLE WITH A CLATTER and a bang.
Shahrzad bolted upright, sleep caking the corners of her eyelids. She swiped at them with her hand. Traces of liquid gold and black powder dotted her palm when she was finished.
“You’re very small to have caused such a big fuss,” a musical voice intoned.
“What?” Shahrzad focused her bleary attention on its owner.
“I said, you’re very small to have caused such a big fuss.” A plump girl near her age strode to the foot of the bed and yanked aside the gossamer curtains. She had fair skin and thick honeywalnut hair, piled atop her crown in typical Grecian fashion. Her eyes were the sparkling blue of the Aegean and were lined in kohl with the practiced hand of an expert. Her lips were puckered into a perfect moue, stained pink with carmine and beeswax. The white linen garment clung to her rounded frame in all the right places. A thick silver band was looped around her upper left arm.
Shahrzad pushed aside her drowsiness and attempted to conjure a semblance of dignity. “I heard you the first time.”
“Then why did you ask me to repeat myself?”
“Because I don’t know who you are, and I have no idea why you’re banging around making ridiculous pronouncements first thing in the morning,” Shahrzad shot back.
The girl laughed. It was a loud and robust sound.
“I think I’m begi
Shahrzad cringed away from the harsh stream of light.
“I brought you some food. You should eat something. You’re so small,” the girl reiterated.
“I fail to understand why my size is of import.”
“Because a waif of a girl can’t manage a sustained fight, much less succeed in one. And I’d like to see you succeed.”
Instantly wary, Shahrzad pulled her knees against her chest and shuttered her expression. “Succeed?”
“By Zeus, you’re a strange thing. Yes, my lady, I’d like to see you succeed. Meaning, I’d like to see you live. I’m not fond of watching young girls die at the whim of our enigmatic ruler. Are you?”
Shahrzad studied her for a breath before placing her bare feet on the cold marble and rising from the bed.
Be careful.
“No. I’m not,” she replied.
The girl gri
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Shahrzad demanded.
“Despina. Your handmaiden . . . as long as you’re succeeding.”
“I don’t need a handmaiden.”
“I’m afraid that’s not your choice.” Despina’s grin widened, and her blue-fire eyes sparked at Shahrzad, daring her to rise to the challenge of such impertinence.
Shahrzad paused in consideration. “So he sent you here to spy on me?”
Despina’s white teeth flashed in her face. “Yes.”
“Are you a good spy?”
“The best.”
“A good spy would hide her identity.”
“The best spies don’t have to.”
Shahrzad smiled at this, in spite of herself. “You’re arrogant.”
“As are you, my lady Shahrzad. But I do not see this as a shortcoming. For without a measure of arrogance, how can one attempt the impossible?”
Shahrzad stepped down from the platform to stand before Despina.
The girl stood half a head taller, and everything about her radiated confidence and a sense of surety as to her place in the world. From her artfully draped dress to her impeccably enhanced features, it was clear Despina was a force to be reckoned with.
But her eyes caught Shahrzad’s attention more than anything else.
They were the watchful eyes of a hunter.
And they mirrored her own.
She warned me she was a spy. Why did she warn me?
“Would you like to eat something? Or do you plan to go on a hunger strike? If that’s the case, do your worst, for I believe a hunger strike will kill a pretty little imp like you long before our caliph does.”
Shahrzad laughed wryly. “That’s the best worst compliment anyone has ever paid me.”
“You’re welcome.” Despina spun around in a whirl of white linen, the scent of jessamine saturating the air about her. Shahrzad followed her to the table in the corner. The tray atop it was covered with lavash bread, a round of goat cheese enfolded in sweet preserves, a tureen of soup, and a halved pomegranate, its seeds glistening like garnets in the warm light spilling from the terrace. An ornate silver pot of cardamom tea sat over a low burning flame.
Despina removed the lid from the tureen and began to prepare the tea, placing a sparkling crystal of rock sugar in the bottom of a small etched-glass cup.
As she sat on the cushions, Shahrzad reached for a piece of lavash.
The handmaiden peered through her eyelashes at Shahrzad while she poured the tea in a slender stream from high above the glass. “I meant what I said; I do hope you succeed, my lady.” Her tone was filled with quiet circumspection.
“Please call me Shahrzad.”
“Shahrzad.” Despina gri
Shahrzad could not prevent herself from returning the gesture.
Be very careful.
• • •
An hour later, with Despina’s help, Shahrzad had bathed and dressed in another elaborate ensemble of silk and damask. A slim circlet of silver, spangled with pearls and tiny blue sapphires, adorned her brow. Around her neck was another fetter, made to match. Thin diamond bangles clinked together on her left wrist with every movement.
“Am I allowed to leave?” she asked, once Despina had put the final flourish on the kohl lining her eyelids.
Despina nodded. “You can roam most of the palace, as long as you’re with the Rajput.”
“The Rajput?”
The corners of Despina’s eyes crinkled with a mixture of dry humor and pity. “The caliph is apparently so enamored, he has gifted you a member of his personal bodyguard.”
Shahrzad balled her hands into fists. “So I necessitate a spy and a ready executioner?”
“More or less.”
Hate is not the right word for such a man.
“Who is the Rajput?” Shahrzad spat.
“At one point, he was known as the Scourge of Hindustan. He’s the best swordsman in Rey, perhaps in all of Khorasan. A devotee of the talwar. There’s only one other swordsman in Rey who comes close, but even he has never bested the Rajput.”
Well, this information might be beneficial in the future.
“Who is the second-best swordsman in Rey?”
Despina’s brow furrowed. “I expected better of you.”
“What?”
“I thought you would make it a point to be informed.”
“Forgive me for neglecting to carry around a list of the ten best swordsmen in Khorasan,” Shahrzad shot back.
“I suppose this information wouldn’t be readily available to a young girl with a librarian for a father. It isn’t exactly posted on walls for public viewing.”