“Why in God’s name would I want to be your friend?”
Artan fell back into the water with a strangely contented smile. “Because I’m just as selfish and spiteful as you are.”
WHERE THERE IS RUIN
THE FIREBALL HURTLED THROUGH THE DARKNESS, streaking across the sand.
Right toward her face.
Shahrzad tried.
Truly. She did.
But, at the last moment, all she could manage was to throw herself into a patch of glimmering powder at her feet.
“Useless!” A deep voice cracked out at her like a whip. “Just a complete waste of time.”
I . . . hate him.
Gritting her teeth, Shahrzad clenched fistfuls of sand, wanting desperately to fling them into Artan Temujin’s smug face.
“Are you angry, little snipe?” Artan continued. “Good. So am I. This makes the second—no, wait—third night in a row you’ve arrived at the temple and ruined my evening with the moon.”
She unfurled to her feet, dusting off her palms. “Pardon me for ruining what would have been an otherwise productive evening.”
“I’m pleased you agree with me. For the moon would surely have offered me more entertainment than your pitiful attempts at magic.” He snorted. “Such gifts . . . wasted on such tripe.”
Bastard!
A rush of blood heated her cheeks. “If I had a fireball, I’d send it straight between your legs. But I worry there would be little to burn.”
Artan laughed, loud and without a care. “At least your sense of humor offers something to recommend you. Though I’ve never been one for skinny, angry girls.” He cast her a questioning glance. “Does the Caliph of Khorasan like the way you look?”
“Of course he does!”
“Wretched dolt.” He leaned back on his heels. “Beauty fades. But a pain in the ass is forever.”
“Ha! I suppose you would know.”
Another fireball blazed to life in his palm. “That I would.” Artan grinned, waggling his brows. “And I would take heed, if I were you.”
When she broke into a run again, Artan groaned behind her. “The old adage is true, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran: we only run from things that truly scare us!”
“Then I am truly afraid of fire, Artan Temujin!”
Another loud groan. “Cease with being afraid. And begin doing something about it!”
Despite her distress, Shahrzad tried to conjure the feeling of warmth that flared to life whenever her skin came in contact with the carpet.
But she couldn’t. It was impossible.
Like grasping for the stars.
She’d tried now for two consecutive nights. The only conclusion she could come to was this: her power did not arise from within her. Instead, she absorbed it from things around her.
When she’d first offered this suggestion to Artan, he’d laughed, his head thrown back and his mouth a fathomless chasm. Then he’d proceeded to attack her with a controlled volley of fire. He’d wanted her to—at the very least—defend herself.
Artan wanted her to toss aside spinning balls of fire. Or move other objects into their path to repel them.
With naught but the wish to do so.
It had been her turn to laugh, head thrown back in equally exaggerated fashion.
Artan believed that, if she were pressed by the thought of immediate danger, perhaps her body would react on instinct. So, for the past two nights, they’d been confined to the beach. He’d begun by threatening her with small, slowly swirling circles of flame. Shahrzad had run from them in a near panic. Indifferent, Artan had proceeded to actual churning spheres of death—which were decidedly harder to avoid.
All Shahrzad had to show for it were multiple bruises from the many times she’d thrown herself into the sand.
All Artan had to show for it was mounting frustration.
“You’re a terrible teacher,” Shahrzad cried. “This method was flawed from the beginning!” She neared the lapping waves, slowing her strides.
“If you’re suggesting I’m flawed, then you’re correct.”
Stopping in her paces, Shahrzad leaned forward, gasping for breath. “Lesson concluded for the evening.”
“Not quite.”
She turned around, more than a little unsettled by his tone.
Sure enough, Artan began firing another series of shots directly at her. Orb after orb of rolling flames flew from his outstretched palms.
Shahrzad panicked. There was no way she could dodge them all.
“Don’t run,” Artan shouted. “Make them run from you. Make me believe I’m not taking a sheep to be sheared by wolves when I take you to my aunt!”
“I can’t,” she shrieked, aghast at the number of fire spheres spinning toward her. Not knowing what else to do, Shahrzad made a dash for the water and dove beneath the waves. She held her breath for as long as she could, treading beneath the churning surf. Then she kicked for the surface and emerged in waist-deep water, sputtering for air—
“Shahrzad!”
She peeled back a curtain of hair just in time to see a final ball of fire spin toward her.
There was no time to react.
It crashed against her, burning through her qamis and into her stomach.