All the while, Shahrzad could barely suppress a gasp.
I will not be impressed by this scapegrace. No matter how impressive he may be.
When the boy sat up, she noticed him sway to one side. He slid from the rock with a splash into knee-deep waters—
Before tipping over altogether with a wry chortle.
He’s drunk!
Shahrzad folded her arms, curbing her indignation. She glanced at Musa, who did not seem at all disturbed by the boy’s condition. He seemed resigned.
As though he’d expected as much.
When the boy sat back and lifted his face into the starlight, Shahrzad detected many things of note.
Like Musa, the boy’s head was completely bald. The lobes of both ears were pierced with small gold hoops. His skin was a light sable color, and his eyes were sloe-shaped and elegantly hooded, distinctly of the Far East. He was not classically handsome, but he was striking in his own way. For his beauty lay in the sum of his faults—an all-too-prominent jaw, a nose broken and healed in several places, a diagonal scar through his lower lip. From where she stood, the rest of his skin looked as smooth as the surface of a looking glass. He wore no shirt, and slender pants that had been fine many moons ago. Now they appeared tattered and without a care.
Just like the boy who wore them.
Once he found his footing, Shahrzad discovered he was not much taller than she, though his torso was wide—he was barrel-chested and strong.
“She’s pretty,” the boy slurred with a slight accent. His mouth tugged to the side in a cutthroat grin.
Without thinking, Shahrzad returned one in kind.
He let out a wild laugh. “But not pretty enough.”
“How fortunate your talents lie elsewhere. And that you are not a judge of beauty,” she said with another biting smile.
“Ah”—he held up a long forefinger—“but I am. I happen to be the preeminent judge of beauty this side of the Shan K’ou river. There was a time I had to choose which of four enticing virgins was the most—”
“Artan.” Musa tsked, canyons of disapproval forming around his mouth.
The boy laughed again, falling back into the water. He proceeded to float on an idling current, his arms outstretched and his legs spread wide.
“He’s drunk,” Shahrzad murmured through pursed lips. “And a liar.”
“That’s true.” The boy didn’t flinch. “They weren’t virgins.” He winked at her. “Though liar is a bit of a stretch. I merely enjoy embellishing the truth.”
Musa rubbed a hand across his face. “Please sit up for a moment. As a favor to me, act in a manner befitting your heritage.”
At that, the boy let out another overly emphatic round of laughter.
“I’m sorry, Musa-effendi . . . but he is not in a state to provide us with any help. And I do not have time to wait.” Shahrzad turned on a heel, frustrated she’d even hoped to gain assistance from such a lazy, rude boy.
“Shahrzad-jan—
The boy lurched to his feet in a squelch of seawater. “That cheeky snipe is the Calipha of Khorasan?” It was the first sign of a frank reaction to anything they’d said thus far.
He knows who I am?
Shahrzad turned back to the boy. “And just who are you?” she asked, her fists on her hips.
“Artan Temujin.” Though he nearly toppled over in the process, the boy gave her a taunting bow.
She hooked a slender brow at him, trying to invoke some restraint. “Who is that exactly?”
“Give me your hand and I’ll tell you.” Sly treachery laced his every word.
“I’d sooner kiss a snake.”
“Smart girl!” He laughed. “But you’ve kissed a murdering madman . . .” Beads of water rolled down his barreled chest. “Is that not the same thing?”
“You—” Shahrzad started after him, no longer able to contain herself.
With a satisfied smirk, Artan yanked her into the water beside him. Torn off her feet, she caught herself on his left arm.
Several things stunned her all at once.
He was overly warm, as though he were quite fevered, despite his recent stint by the sea. Up close, the skin of his palms was rough and calloused, and one of his forearms was monstrously scarred—
Just like Baba’s hands.
But the most startling thing of all was the jolt that raced through her blood at his touch. Almost akin to the sensation of the carpet. A crackling around her heart that flashed through the whole of her.
“Well, well, well . . .” Artan paused, his dark eyes boring holes into hers. “It appears you were not wrong, Musa-abagha.”
Shahrzad thought she heard the magus sigh behind them.
“Take your hands off me,” she bit out at Artan, determined not to show how unnerved she felt. When he failed to relinquish his hold, she shoved his chest. He tilted to the side before grasping her wrists in one of his hands.