“What a temper!” He laughed appreciatively. “I should warn you, little snipe: the last girl who tried to thrash me into submission found her sight quite addled the next day.” Artan beckoned her closer, as though she had a choice. “I made her eyes point in two different directions.”
“Ha!” Shahrzad snorted. “In order to achieve such a feat, would you not need to stand straight first?”
“You should truly be afraid on the days I can stand straight. Why, there was a time I put to rout an entire fleet of—”
“Enough!” Shahrzad pushed him away. “I tried to be patient with you, since Musa-effendi said you might be of assistance, but I no longer believe that to be possible. Just answer this one question, and I’ll leave you in peace. Do you or do you not know anything about a book that burns to the touch?”
Artan blinked, taken off guard. “What—does it look like?”
“Old. Battered. Bound in rusted iron and dark leather.”
“With a lock around its center?” He cleared his throat, still fighting for focus.
“Yes.”
He paused. When deep creases appeared across the even skin of his forehead, Artan seemed almost . . . fierce. Dangerous. “Has someone opened it?”
Under his abruptly severe gaze, Shahrzad suppressed the need to shudder. “I think my father may have.”
“Does your father speak Chagatai?”
“I—don’t know.”
“That must wound your pride to admit,” Artan said, his tone derisive.
Shahrzad looked away, a flush creeping up her neck.
I should accept his criticisms. For now.
“Is your father an idiot?” he continued.
“No!” Outraged into temporary speechlessness, Shahrzad merely stared at him.
“Only an idiot would open a book like that,” Artan said, cold and merciless. “It’s old, dark magic. Blood magic. The kind you pay for, many times over . . . if your idiot father hasn’t paid already.”
Shahrzad turned to Musa. “Why would this horrid boy be—”
“My ancestors wrote that book,” Artan interrupted without a trace of the smugness Shahrzad would have expected from such an admission. “If your father is in trouble, my family are among the only ones who will know what to do.”
Her heart shuddered to a stop.
Holy Hera. He may actually be of help.
Shahrzad worried the inside of her cheek.
She might have pressed her luck too far already with Artan Temujin.
Khalid was right. My mouth never ceases to cause me woe.
Shahrzad knew she had to try to win this scapegrace over, despite her behavior thus far. When she glanced at the boy standing across from her, he was watching her with a distressingly keen air about him, especially for someone so addled by drink.
It was a face marred by indolence. Riddled by insolence.
But an interesting face. That she could not deny.
“Would you—could you take me to see your family?” she asked, trying her best to affect an air of humility. In such a situation, perhaps even begging was not beyond her.
“No, Queen of a Land I Care Nothing About.” Artan laughed at his own joke. “I won’t.”
“Artan, son of Tolu . . .” Musa Zaragoza’s sonorous voice rang out from along the shore.
It was not loud, nor was it demanding.
Nevertheless, Artan rubbed his nose with the back of one hand, frowning with frustration. He groaned, the sound much louder than the situation warranted.
It was only a series of names. Yet it seemed to signify so much.
“Please,” Shahrzad said, shrugging away her confusion. She took a step toward the boy. “I need your help.”
Artan pressed a palm into his forehead, exasperated. “I shouldn’t help you. And I have no desire to take a snipe like you anywhere.”
She gnawed at her lip. “Please—”
“At least not until you learn to defend yourself. You’re like a newborn colt; I can see everything you’re capable of doing, which is a great deal of nothing, save run your mouth.” He snorted. “Come back tomorrow night. Once you learn to control basic magic, I’ll take you to see my aunt. She won’t help anyone she doesn’t respect. And she’ll laugh you out of the room. Before burning you out of existence.” Artan scowled once more at the shoreline, then kicked at the water, sending a salty mist high into the air.
Still at a loss, Shahrzad watched as the boy continued to exert his irritation on the hapless sea.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “After my less-than-gracious behavior earlier, I know I don’t deserve—”
“Oh, I intend to exact revenge upon you for this, make no mistake.” Artan eyed her askance. “And I always get what I want.”
Something about the way he looked at her made Shahrzad regret the decision to ask him for help. That same sense of danger intensified about him. Like the feeling right before falling. “Why—what exactly made you change your mind?”
“Because Musa-abagha asked me. And Musa-abagha asks for very little in return for offering me a safe haven.” He sneered, sharp and biting. “Don’t worry; I have no interest in you. I like nice girls, and you are not nice at all. You’re selfish and spiteful.”
Startled by this pronouncement, Shahrzad began to protest. “I’m not—”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m pleased by it. It means we can be friends one day.”