“I’d like to speak to the caliph.” She tucked a poorly shorn wave of hair behind an ear, smudging even more dirt across her face in the process.
At that, the leader of the night guard began laughing. “And I’d like a harem and a flagon of wine, while we’re at it.”
The girl’s eyes flashed through a myriad of colors before settling on green. “Don’t be a fool.”
“Don’t presume to lecture me, you filthy little—”
The brute of a warrior moved to strike. But was stayed by the smallest girl before he could proceed.
“Watch your words, soldier,” the plump girl with the disheveled crown of curls said in an imperious tone. “That’s the Calipha of Khorasan.”
The soldier’s sense of humor began to fade. “And I’m the Shahrban of Rey.”
“I’m afraid you’re not,” the imperious girl replied. “He’s older. And not nearly as stupid.”
The other soldiers could not help but laugh at her rejoinder.
“Enough!” The last girl—the most striking one—finally stepped forward. “My name is Yasmine el-Sharif, and I demand to speak with—”
“And I demand a moment alone with you.” The soldier in charge grinned before reaching to pull her in for a kiss.
Before the hulking warrior could stop her, the tiny girl with the badly shorn hair leapt onto him with the fury of a crazed monkey. She began pummeling him in the head and neck with both fists.
His soldiers laughed uproariously.
“It was just a kiss!” the soldier protested. When he failed to pull her off immediately, several other soldiers came to his aid.
In a blur of movement, the barrel-chested man accompanying them disarmed the soldiers. He blew onto one of their swords, setting it aflame. Then he held the burning weapon before their leader’s face.
“Wait . . .” One of the soldiers staggered back.
Another tripped onto the sand in his haste to flee. “That—that’s the Rajput!”
“Get the captain of the guard,” the wielder of fire said. “Now.”
Over the years, many interesting things had awoken Jalal al-Khoury in the middle of the night.
Many were to his liking. Some were not.
Being woken suddenly during a time of war did not strike him as a good thing.
He made a mental note to replace the fool in charge of the encampment at night. It was clear this idiot was not up to the task, for the wretch’s lip was bleeding, and he’d clearly been in a recent fight.
Jalal armed himself, then traipsed through the sands after the unintelligible moron. The fool kept mumbling about fire swords and beautiful women smelling of the sewer.
If he was drunk while on the job, Jalal would be sure to find a way to punish him. A way that would involve spending a night in a thorny briar. Without his trowsers.
Once they neared the entrance to the camp, Jalal heard the distinct lilt of female voices.
At least the idiot had not been wrong about that. Though the thought of beautiful women dressed in sewage did not exactly spur Jalal to action.
A familiar, melodic laugh froze him in his tracks.
Without thought, Jalal began to run. He didn’t care if he left the fool in the dust behind him. At that moment, he didn’t care if he left all else in the dust behind him.
It wasn’t possible. His mind was playing tricks on him. As it was apt to do of late.
Jalal turned the corner. And skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling into the sand.
Just like that. She was there.
He saw no one else save her.
All else could go to the devil save her.
Despina.
She smiled. Slowly. Catlike, her claws on her hips.
“Hello,” she said. “Your family has missed you. Terribly.”
“Where”—Jalal caught his breath, still incredulous—“have you been?”
Despina shrugged. “I’m here now. Are you very angry with me?”
“You”—his voice was choked—“you—have squeezed my heart dry.”
“I know.” She began to move in his direction. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying to fill it.”
He walked toward her. Slowly. Catlike, his paws at his sides.
“Yes,” Jalal whispered, nearing her, his pulse on a silent rampage. “You will.”
Her smile widened. “Then you’ll have me?”
Jalal took her chin in his hand. Despina wrapped both hands around his wrist.
“I will.”
It was sealed with a kiss.
A rustling noise awoke Khalid from a restless sleep.
His tent flap had fluttered open. A shadow graced the entrance. Without hesitation, he reached for his sword.
“I am unarmed, sayyidi. This time.”
Khalid could sense the smile behind her words. He did not move, certain that dreams had finally settled upon him.
And this was the dream from which he did not wish to wake.
Shahrzad moved through the darkness toward his bed pallet. She knelt beside him.
“Are you not going to ask me how it is I came to be here?” she said. He could hear the hint of recent sadness—the weariness—in her voice.
“I don’t need to know that.” Khalid reached for her hands. “Not now. Unless you want to tell me.”
“Wanting and needing are two very different things. I always thought it before, but it’s not the same as knowing it.” Shahrzad leaned in to his chest and breathed deep. “My father’s book?”