A rage that kept her trembling and silent.
“Come with me.” Yasmine directed again with her chin.
“Like hell we will,” Shahrzad seethed back.
“I was wondering when you would show your true face, Brat Calipha,” Yasmine said. “For it’s not like you to be so circumspect.”
Shahrzad gritted her teeth. That nickname was reserved for Despina’s use.
“For the last time, follow me, you ridiculous fools,” Yasmine repeated with a silvery peal of laughter.
At that, Vikram slinked from the inky darkness behind Yasmine el-Sharif, putting his dagger to her throat in a silent threat. She froze for an instant, then began to struggle. The soldiers dashed toward her, drawing their swords.
“Step any closer, and you will bathe in her blood.” Vikram’s eyes flashed obsidian.
The soldiers stopped in their tracks.
“Drop your weapons,” Shahrzad ordered the men.
When Yasmine nodded their way, the soldiers let their swords fall to the dirt.
Shahrzad bent to retrieve one of the blades. “And just like that, the tides of fortune turn.” She assumed the fighting stance, as Khalid and Vikram had taught her.
Despina crossed her arms and simpered. “What do you suppose we should do with Parthia’s favorite princess?”
“I’m not quite certain.” Shahrzad contemplated the tip of her sword, keeping watch over the soldiers all the while. “What would you do?”
“I’d say she’s an excellent bargaining chip.”
Yasmine thrashed against Vikram. “You idiots. That’s exactly why I came here.”
“Careful.” Shahrzad stepped closer. “Lest we start believing your lies.”
Yasmine squealed with frustration. “Despina, tell your husband to release me this instant!” She continued struggling against the towering brute of a man. “He smells foul!”
“Vikram Singh is not my husband. He’s under no obligation to me,” Despina replied. “And I’d take care with whom you insult in this moment, little sister.” She drew another, smaller dagger from her sleeve.
Shahrzad held back a sigh.
It would have been nice to know about that weapon earlier, Despina.
Ignoring Shahrzad’s frown, Despina lifted the second blade before her half sister’s beautiful face. “What are you doing here, you meddlesome imp?”
“I—I came to help,” Yasmine stuttered.
“With the palace guards in tow?” Shahrzad jeered. “A likely story.”
“It’s true!” Yasmine elbowed Vikram hard. He grunted but did not move. “And they’re not palace guards. They’re sellswords, hired with my own coin. Do you think palace guards would hesitate to fight for my release? Besides, they’re not even dressed as palace guards. Ask Despina.”
Shahrzad exchanged glances with her former handmaiden and saw that Yasmine spoke the truth.
Nevertheless, Despina raised her dagger even higher. “How did you know where we’d be?”
Yasmine’s perfect face twisted tight with frustration. “I knew you were up to something when you refused to leave the city with me earlier. That show you put on at dinner was simply too good, even for you.”
“So you had me followed?” Despina pressed.
“No. I paid your handmaiden for information on your comings and goings. Money is a commodity in this city, as you well know.”
“Did you tell the sultan?”
“Of course not.” A wrinkle formed at the bridge of Yasmine’s perfect nose. “Do you think you’d be alive now if Father knew what you’ve done?”
Shahrzad had stood by and watched this exchange long enough. “Why are you here, Yasmine? Tell the truth, if you value your life.”
Yasmine’s gaze traveled the length of Shahrzad’s dirty figure. Buying time. “I came because I don’t wish to see our kingdoms go to war.”
“That’s the reason you’d like to give. What is the truth?”
The Princess of Parthia inhaled with care. “Because I don’t want to see my father die. Nor do I wish to see Khalid hurt. I love them both, and if we go to war, one of them will perish.”
Shahrzad’s eyes roved across Yasmine’s face. “So then, what do you think we can do to prevent this?”
“I want you to take me with you.” The princess did not hesitate in her response.
“What?” both Shahrzad and Despina said at once.
Yasmine’s chin jutted forward. “I want to speak with Khalid.”
“Why?” Shahrzad asked, cutting her eyes.
“Because I have an idea that might help end this war without shedding any unnecessary blood.”
It was a bedraggled band of souls that trudged through the sands toward the Caliph of Khorasan’s encampment.
Three young women—all dressed in torn finery, two of them smelling of sewage—made their way before the guards tasked with keeping watch over the camp’s entrance at night. When a hulking warrior with skin of burnished copper came into view, the soldiers drew their swords. Two came to stand before him.
The smallest of the three girls spoke first.