“After you left, I went to speak with him, and—” Irsa cleared her throat while toying with the edge of her blanket. “And he knows you’re not sick. He already knew something had been occupying your time these past few nights. So, when he walked me back to our tent and saw that you weren’t here . . .”
Shahrzad could not be angry with her sister. She would not be angry with her. Irsa had done so much to be a bastion of strength for Shahrzad. To offer understanding and support, when no one else would dare to do so. And Shahrzad had done little to deserve it. All those times Irsa had desired her confidence, Shahrzad had demurred from giving it, knowing her secrets were too dangerous for a girl so earnest and tenderhearted.
Here was proof Shahrzad had been wise to withhold it. When pressed, Irsa had been incapable of lying to Rahim as to Shahrzad’s whereabouts. Had Irsa truly known where Shahrzad was, she would undoubtedly have told him.
What might have happened then? Shahrzad shuddered to think.
No. Shahrzad would not be angry with her sister for this lapse in judgment. It could not have been helped.
It was just the way Irsa was—honest to a fault.
Even still, when Shahrzad glanced down at her sister, her temper started to rise.
“I know you’re angry with me,” Irsa continued, a quaver entering her voice. “But I did not intentionally divulge your secret to Rahim. In truth, this is—your own fault. What did you expect? You’ve missed breakfast for almost a week. I don’t know what’s come over you of late. You’ve become careless. Distracted.”
The flare of anger spiked even higher. Even wider.
“Are—are you planning to go out again tonight?” Irsa asked. What started as a squeak finished wrapped in steel.
“Yes.” Shahrzad’s own answer was dangerously defiant.
“Even though it grows more difficult each day to hide your secret?”
“You don’t have to lie for me.”
“Of course I do.” Irsa threw back her tattered blanket and stood tall. “You’re my sister. But your friends are worried about you, and soon their worry will turn to suspicion.” Lines of concern pleated her brow. “Please don’t go out again tonight. I beg you.”
Shahrzad thought quickly. She had already made plans to take Khalid to the Fire Temple to meet with Artan and Musa Zaragoza. If she did not return to Rey as promised, Khalid would undoubtedly worry. And those at the Fire Temple would be left waiting for them; she was without means to deliver word to either side.
She swallowed hard, knowing these issues paled in comparison to the larger matter at hand.
Be honest.
In truth, Shahrzad had no intention of denying herself a single moment with Khalid, simply to mollify her sister. She knew it was selfish. But his absence had become a lasting presence. And Shahrzad was tired of doing nothing to change circumstances. Of merely waiting in the desert for life to happen to her.
All that would end tonight. Destiny was for fools. Shahrzad would not wait for her life to happen.
She would make it happen.
“I’ll go to breakfast with you now, and then we’ll spend the afternoon with Baba,” Shahrzad said. “I’ll make sure everyone sees me. Will that help lessen your worries?”
The lines across Irsa’s forehead stretched even farther. Shahrzad could see her warring with herself. “Is what you’re doing really of such import?”
“Yes.” Shahrzad did not falter in her response.
Her sister looked to the floor, wrapping the end of her chestnut braid around her fingers. “Tonight is . . . a dangerous night to be taking chances.”
“Why is that?”
Irsa paused a final time, still prevaricating. Then she leveled her gaze on Shahrzad. “Come with me.” She took her hand and led her outside.
They rounded the maze of tents until they stood at the fringes of the encampment. There—in the distance where the soldiers had moved their camp—Shahrzad saw a large band of men saddling their horses.
Assembling their weapons.
At the head of this cadre sat Tariq astride his dark bay stallion, his cloak billowing in the breeze. The banner of the White Falcon flew beside him.
“They’re going out on their first raid,” Irsa said. “They plan to leave by midday.”
“What?” Alarm crept into Shahrzad’s stomach, tangling her insides in a coil of knots.
A—raid?
“Tariq is leading a contingent of troops toward a nearby stronghold tonight . . . with the intention of overthrowing its emir and seizing control,” Irsa said quietly.
“How do you know this?” Shahrzad cried.
“Rahim told me.”
“Which stronghold?”
“He didn’t tell me that,” Irsa confessed. “I do still share a tent with the Calipha of Khorasan, after all.”
Once more, Shahrzad’s thoughts flitted through her mind like stones across a pond. If Tariq was leading a band of soldiers on a raid along the nearby border of Khorasan and Parthia, they were likely trying to seize control of that border.
Which would leave the border at risk. Leave it vulnerable to outside attack.
Vulnerable to Salim Ali el-Sharif, the power-hungry Sultan of Parthia.
Perhaps that’s their intention.
A sudden chill ran through her blood.