Shahrzad fanned herself with both hands. “He’s drenched in sweat. We should change his wrappings and wash his face and neck.”
Irsa poured water into an earthen bowl and removed clean strips of linen from her satchel. She bent to swirl the cloth in the cool water. “Are you going to tell Baba about the magic carpet? He would be so excited to learn he’s passed his abilities on to you.” Smiling to herself, Irsa wrung out the cloth.
“Ba—Baba?” Shahrzad began. Shahrzad was leaning over him, looking perplexed. A flash of something passed across her face. Alarm?
Irsa dropped the linen and swiveled to her father’s side. “What’s wrong?” Irsa asked. “Did he open his eyes?”
Shahrzad shook her head. “I—no. I thought I heard something outside, but I must have been mistaken.” The ends of her lips turned into the beginnings of a smile. “I know the desert enjoys playing tricks on a weary mind. If you’ll start with Baba’s face, I’ll wash his arms.”
“Are you quite certain?” Irsa pressed.
“Quite.” It was a firm rejoinder, one that could not be ignored.
And though Irsa set about working in silence with Shahrzad to cleanse their father’s skin of sweat and grime—
She knew her sister was lying.
“What happened?” Irsa whispered, the instant their father’s tent flap fluttered shut behind them. “Tell me the truth, Shazi, or I’ll—”
Shahrzad wrapped a hand around Irsa’s wrist to pull her near. “I thought I heard something outside the tent,” she replied in a hushed tone. “And I didn’t want anyone to overhear us speaking about matters of import.”
“You think someone is spying on us?” Irsa couldn’t imagine why anyone would care to listen to their conversation.
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
Tugging the strap of her satchel tight across her body, Irsa quickened her pace. Her gaze drifted from side to side. For the few weeks she’d been here, she’d never felt unsafe. Not even for a moment. She spent most mornings with Aisha and the children, and in the afternoons Rahim was teaching her to ride horses more proficiently.
Who would threaten two young girls of common birth?
As Irsa cut a sideways glance at her sister, she remembered.
Shahrzad was no longer the mere daughter of a lowly keeper of books.
She was the Calipha of Khorasan.
An asset for any enemy of Khalid Ibn al-Rashid.
Of which there were many.
In the same instant the realization dawned on her, Irsa banished the thought.
Shahrzad had been here for only a day. Her sister was being ridiculous. Paranoid. Clearly the result of living alongside a monster and fearing for her life on a daily basis.
Irsa bent through the opening of their tent.
A clammy hand grabbed her by the neck and flung her inside.
She squealed.
Long fingers gripped her by the nape. Hot breath washed across her skin.
“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” a low voice rasped in her ear. “I’m sorry.”
She blinked hard and fast, forcing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
Spider?
“What are you doing?” Irsa cried.
“Let her go.” Shahrzad stood at the entrance, one hand on the jeweled dagger at her waist. Her features were impassive. But something savage moved deep in her eyes. As though she had expected such a threat.
The thought chilled Irsa to the marrow of her bones.
“Is that an order, my lady?” Spider spat in Shahrzad’s direction.
“No. It’s a promise.”
“A promise of what?”
Shahrzad angled her head ever so slightly. “That, if you let my sister go, I’ll stay here with you. I’ll listen to your grievances. Whatever I can do to rectify them, I’ll do. I promise.”
He blew another hot spate of air against Irsa’s neck. “I don’t believe you.” She could feel him trembling behind her.
“You should.” Shahrzad took a step forward. “Because I wasn’t finished. It’s also a promise that, if you don’t let my sister go, you will be the one to hear my grievances. And mine are not of words, but of fists and steel.”
Spider rasped a laugh. “Fitting. As you are the whore of a bloodthirsty monster.”
Shahrzad flinched. And in that tiny flicker of pain, Irsa saw a wellspring.
Outraged, Irsa began struggling against him. He banded his forearms tighter around her waist and neck. She started to choke.
“Irsa!” Shahrzad held up her hands in surrender. “Let her go!”
“Give me your dagger.”
“Let her go, and I’ll give you my dagger.” Shahrzad removed the blade from her waistband.
“Your dagger first!” Spider said, his fingers digging into the tender skin beneath Irsa’s ear.
“Sha—Shahrzad!” Irsa croaked.
A bead of sweat trickled down Shahrzad’s brow. “I’ll give it to you. Just let Irsa go. Your quarrel is with me.”
“Drop it first, and she can leave. But if she goes to get help—if I so much as hear the White Falcon outside this tent—I’ll kill you.”
“She won’t get Tariq.” The dagger plinked by her sister’s feet. “She won’t do anything.”
Irsa felt him relax in the same instant her chest pulled tight from within.
Shahrzad thought her incapable of anything.
Completely and utterly useless.