What can I do to spare him any more pain?
But Tariq took her by the chin, resolute in his course, tipping her gaze to his.
“Ever since the afternoon I watched you fall from the battlements at Taleqan, you’ve felt inevitable to me. That’s how much I love you.” His words were effortless. Just as always. “But you can no longer say the same about me, can you?”
She could not look him in the eye.
“Please answer me, Shazi,” he said. “It’s time I heard the truth. I . . . deserve to hear it.”
When Shahrzad studied his face, she realized that—over the course of the last few days—he’d been bracing himself for this moment.
Though it would not make it any easier for either of them.
She exhaled slowly.
“I do love you, Tariq.” With great care, Shahrzad settled a palm against his cheek. “But . . . he’s where I live.”
Tariq covered her hand with one of his. Nodded once. The only acknowledgment beyond this was the smallest movement of muscle along his jaw. A staving-off of emotion that betrayed him far more than any onslaught of tears ever would.
“I’m so sorry for hurting you,” Shahrzad whispered, the ache in her chest flooding into her throat. She pressed her free palm to his other cheek, conveying her regret through touch. Silly, she knew, but she could not fathom how else to make amends for such betrayal.
Tariq eased back, his expression oddly distanced. “I knew you were in love with him when I saw you together in Rey. But . . . I’ve been a fool, clinging to misbegotten hope.”
“Please know—” Shahrzad pressed her lower lip between her teeth, certain she would draw blood. “I never meant to cause you pain.”
“My pain was my own fault. Rahim told me what you said to Teymur today—that your heart was with me, as it always would be.”
The taste of copper and salt struck her tongue. “I—”
“You lied to save yourself. I understand,” he said in a flat tone. “But you must know that Teymur will tell the Emir of Karaj, and the rumor will spread.”
She blinked at him, bewildered by this sudden change of tack. Gone was any sign of vulnerability. In its place was a severe brow and a set demeanor.
An abrupt return to the distance of before.
“You’ll be safer in this camp—especially among the butcher-king’s enemies—if we keep up appearances,” he finished.
Though she had little intention of staying at the camp for long, Shahrzad knew she should say something. If not in defense of herself or of Khalid, then at least in defense of Tariq.
She shook her head, gripping the shahmina even tighter. “I can’t ask you to do that. I won’t ask you to do that. It isn’t fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” Tariq agreed. “But you have yet to ask me to abandon this war.”
Her eyes went wide in surprise. “Would you do that? Is such a thing even possible?”
“Even if it were, I would not.” Tariq did not hesitate in his response. “When I set out to do something, I do not go about it lightly. And shirking my responsibility would not only be a failure to those around me, but a failure to myself.”
“To those around you?” Anger flared within her, sudden and bright. “Do you know what kind of men are around you, Tariq?” She thought of the sentry outside the tent that morning. Of the Fida’i brand seared into his skin. “You’ve surrounded yourself with mercenaries—hired outlaws and assassins from all walks of life—in an attempt to overthrow a king you know nothing about! Khalid is not—”
“Hired outlaws and assassins?” Tariq laughed caustically. “Listen to yourself, Shazi! Do you know who your husband is? Have you not heard the stories about the Caliph of Khorasan? The murdering madman? Did he or did he not kill Shiva—your best friend?” He drew out the last two words, enunciating their meaning.
Articulating her treachery.
She bit back her retort. “The truth is not that simple.”
“Love has blinded you to the truth. But it will not blind me,” Tariq said, though his eyes pooled with feeling. “There is only one remaining truth of import: Is he responsible for my cousin’s death?”
Shahrzad stared at him in injured silence. “Yes.”
For no matter the tale, it was the truth.
“Then it is that simple.”
“Tariq, please.” She reached for him. “You said you love me. I beg you to reconsider—”
He backed away. Trying so hard to conceal his pain. “I do love you. Nothing will change that. Just as nothing will change the fact that he killed my cousin and stole the girl I love from me.” Shahrzad watched in horror as his hand fell to the hilt of his scimitar, gripping it tight.
Though he nearly tripped in his haste to retreat, Tariq’s voice did not waver.
“Make no mistake—the next time I see Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, one of us will die.”
WILLING TO LEARN
HE HAD MADE MISTAKES. THIS HE KNEW BEYOND ALL doubt.
Mistakes in judgment. Mistakes in planning. Mistakes in understanding.
Perhaps it could be said that he was guilty of mistaken pride.
Foolish conceit, even.