Shahrzad had to tell Khalid at once. She had to travel to Rey tonight and prevent the possibility of war with Parthia, before even more innocent people died without cause.
As her mind raced, a renewed sense of guilt crashed down upon her. Shahrzad was responsible for this impending disaster as well. Were it not for her, Tariq would never have engaged in this foolhardy pursuit for justice.
This foolhardy quest to avenge his love.
“Shahrzad?” Irsa took hold of her shoulder, shaking her from the tumult of her thoughts. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
“What?”
“It’s not—dangerous, is it?” Irsa asked. “What you’re doing—it’s not dangerous?”
Shahrzad laughed, but the sound did not ring true. She spun away from the soldiers with their gleaming swords. The two sisters returned to their tent.
Without a word, Shahrzad poured water from the pitcher into the copper basin. Her hand shook, causing her reflection to waver. Setting her jaw, Shahrzad tugged her wrinkled qamis over her head, determined to wash and go about her day.
To stay the course, whatever may come.
“Shahrzad!” Irsa’s outcry came from a face drained of all color.
Curse these damnable bruises. As well as Artan Temujin.
She brushed aside her sister’s worry with a flick of a wrist. “Don’t concern yourself. These are not serious injuries.” But Shahrzad could see her words falling on deaf ears. And dubious eyes.
Should she simply tell Irsa how she had sustained them? Confess all and hope her sister would keep quiet for just a short while longer?
When goats fly.
It was too risky. Especially now that Irsa was confiding in Rahim. If Irsa misspoke, Rahim might say something to Tariq. And Tariq, of all people, could not know anything about her visits to Khalid.
The risk was simply too high. The hatred simply too rife.
No. It was best Shahrzad not say a word of it to Irsa.
Shahrzad turned her back on her sister and began scrubbing water and a gritty bar of Nabulsi soap along her body.
When she lifted her arm, the lingering scent of sandalwood rose from her skin.
Khalid.
Fear stole its way into her heart. Her throat swelled tight.
Clenching her teeth, Shahrzad fought back the rush and continued bathing.
Now is not the time for cowardice.
After all, if everything went to plan, they would have answers soon. Once Shahrzad and Khalid knew what to do about the curse, all could be revealed.
Then everyone would know the truth.
They would all know that the boy Shahrzad loved was not the monster they believed him to be. That he was—and would be—the great king their kingdom so desperately needed. The great king Shahrzad saw when she flew over their city.
Until then, she had to stay silent. For it would not help matters if the boy-king everyone so despised was cursed to rule a forsaken kingdom. The army massing against Khalid would only be spurred to action if they knew the tides of fortune had turned against him as well.
But once Shahrzad found a solution, she could tell Tariq the truth.
Perhaps then, his hatred for Khalid would begin to dissipate.
And reconciliation could begin.
For ending this curse was not simply about ending their suffering.
Shahrzad had to put a stop to the war she’d set in motion.
It was not just a matter of love. It was a matter of life.
And she meant to right it, once and for all.
Jahandar permitted one eye to sliver open. Then shut. Then open once more.
He silently cursed himself when he realized his error.
“Are you awake, old friend?” A warm voice rang out in the darkness.
Jahandar tried to remain still, hoping the man at his bedside would leave.
Low laughter rumbled nearby.
“I saw your eye open just now,” the voice continued. “And I know you woke yesterday and earlier today. Come now, Jahandar. I am not here to cast judgment. I only wish to speak with a dear friend.”
Jahandar took a wary breath, vexed with himself for stirring in the first place. He’d felt someone enter the tent a moment ago, and he’d thought it must be Irsa or Shahrzad, so he’d woken from his fallacious slumber, eager to speak with his children again. But he was not ready to speak with anyone else.
Much less Reza bin-Latief.
Nevertheless, he’d already made his blunder. Jahandar supposed he had to own up to it, lest anyone suspect the truth behind his mysterious ailment.
Or, rather, the lie behind it.
Jahandar let both his eyes drift open. His friend of many years sat before him, a lamp of polished brass glowing nearby.
Reza sent a patient smile his way. “You look terrible.”
Jahandar’s shoulders were racked by laughter that ended in a series of coughs. “The years have been kinder to you, without a doubt. But not by much.”