SHAHRZAD PAID DEARLY FOR HER SILLY SHOW OF bravado with the spiced wine.
She spent the better part of the next morning with her face in a basin, emptying her stomach of its contents. Her insides were a jumble of knots; the dullest stream of light made her wince. There were moments she swore the very roots of her hair howled in protest.
Were it not for Irsa, Shahrzad felt certain these symptoms would have endured all day. When Shahrzad complained of feeling as though she were on a rolling ship in the midst of a storm, Irsa rummaged through her neat little pile of things and unraveled an old scroll. After scanning its contents, Irsa left their tent and returned with a tonic brewed from ground gingerroot and the peel of a dried lemon. Though Shahrzad protested at first—the concoction smelled quite strong and tasted rather bitter—she could not deny it helped in settling her stomach.
At Irsa’s behest, Shahrzad remained in their tent, nursing her wounds and forcing down more of the bitter tonic. Ordinarily, she would have disliked wasting an entire day in bed while Irsa sat at their low table, transcribing scrolls by the light of an oil lamp. But on this particular day, Shahrzad did not protest.
For on this day, these circumstances suited her just fine. If everyone thought her ill, they would be even more likely to leave her to her own devices.
Even more likely not to notice when she snuck out after dark . . .
With her magic carpet in tow.
It was time to find Musa Zaragoza.
Time to see what she—and the magic carpet—could do.
In stealthy silence, Shahrzad tucked her dagger into her waistband and skirted past her sleeping sister. She secured a shahmina about her shoulders before grabbing the magic carpet. Once outside, she stayed to the tent shadows, her heart beating like a caged bird.
If someone found her creeping about at night only days after her arrival, they would suspect her of trying to flee or perpetrating something more insidious. It would not help quell the suspicions those in the camp harbored against her. And it would be even worse if she came across another boy like Teymur.
Her skin crawled at the thought.
With careful steps, Shahrzad moved between patches of darkness, avoiding any stretches of light. Her gaze went to the sentry posts she’d noted the night before. She allowed herself to breathe freely when she cleared the edges of the Badawi camp and strode into the endless sweep of sand beyond.
As luck would have it, she’d chosen a night without wind—a night in which every sound she made would be distinct. If she fell or yelped or did anything that might attract attention, her secret would be a secret no more; her detractors would have proof their doubts were rooted in fact.
And they might send her away, along with her injured father and her innocent sister.
At the very least, they’d find Shahrzad alone in the desert, with a dagger and a rug. Everyone would suspect her of treachery. They would be unlikely to leave her to her own devices again.
It could not be helped. She had waited long enough.
Though her first instinct was to go to Khalid, Shahrzad knew it would only be more difficult to leave Rey once she returned. And now was not the time to place her wants above the needs of her family.
Especially the needs of her father.
Shahrzad had to find Musa. After Baba, he was the only person she knew with any aptitude for magic. It might be beyond the realm of possibility, but perhaps he would know how to help her father.
Or how to break a terrible curse.
She wandered farther into the desert, trying to find a place where a rise of sand would conceal her from prying eyes.
Soon, Shahrzad came across a large dune that should suit her needs. Still, she felt silly when she unfurled the threadbare carpet onto the silken sand.
She took a step back. Reconsidered the small rectangle of tattered wool.
What am I doing? How . . . ridiculous. This is utterly ridiculous.
Her gaze hardened.
I’m being a goose. Shiva would not approve of such indecision.
Nor would Khalid.
Her eyes fell shut.
“You are boundless. There is nothing you can’t do.”
His words in her ears, Shahrzad removed her sandals and threaded them through her tikka sash. Then she secured her braid a final time and sat on the carpet.
There was no time for her to worry further about the ridiculousness of this endeavor.
No time for anything at all, really.
Shahrzad had thought she would need to press her hands to the rug’s surface. But as soon as her bare feet grazed the worn wool, the sensation around her heart flared, warm and bright.
“Oh!” she cried softly as she dropped onto the carpet, her knees to her chest. The feeling flashed through her limbs with a sudden, burning brilliance. The carpet lifted into the air, its corners curving upward. It hovered above the sand, rising like a kite on an errant breeze.
Two emotions battled within Shahrzad.
The first was fear.