For whatever might lurk ahead.
After half an hour of riding, they neared the well and the abandoned settlement where Tariq had first met Omar al-Sadiq several months ago. He briefly recalled the way the elderly sheikh had shrunk back from Zoraya’s flashing talons. For once, Tariq was glad to have left the falcon behind, as she would have undoubtedly given away their presence by now.
Rahim and Tariq dismounted from their horses, concealing themselves behind one of the cracked stone buildings. They lingered in a pool of shadow while Irsa tied her steed to a post near the well.
Despite all, Tariq had to admit he was somewhat curious.
Who was little Cricket meeting?
For Tariq could see no trace of Shahrzad anywhere nearby.
Rahim inhaled through his nose. Even from an arm’s length away, Tariq could sense his friend’s budding apprehension as though it were his own.
“Why are you so concerned?” Tariq whispered.
Rahim eyed the slender figure of Irsa al-Khayzuran in the distance.
Tariq smothered a smirk. “She’s not in any danger. Obviously she’s meeting someone she knows. Are you worried it might be another boy?”
“Why would I care if she were meeting another boy?” Rahim shot back. “I only want to make sure she’s not in danger.”
“Of course you wouldn’t care if it was another boy.” Tariq rolled his eyes. “That’s why you’re following her in the middle of the night, like a cuckolded husband.”
A sound of exasperation rolled from Rahim’s throat. “We both know why we’re here, and it has nothing to do with—”
Tariq cut him off with a hand to his shoulder.
Two figures were approaching Irsa. One was easily recognizable. Tariq would know its shape anywhere. He’d spent the better part of his life memorizing its lines. Small and slight. With a messy braid, recently tousled by strong winds.
The other was tall. Hooded. Male.
Less easily recognizable.
Yet Tariq knew—even before the figure pulled back the cowl of his rida’, even before his hand moved to the small of Shahrzad’s back—who it was.
The hate flew to Tariq’s fingers. Coiled through his stomach. His own words echoed in his ears.
“Make no mistake—the next time I see Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, one of us will die.”
Tariq did not pause to reflect. He did not stop to reconsider.
Love would not blind him to the truth.
His fury rising, Tariq shoved away Rahim’s blind attempt to stop him—
And reached for an arrow.
Shahrzad did not like this place.
When she and Khalid had first flown above the settlement surrounding the well, a strange sense of foreboding had washed over her.
As they strode through it now, the feeling only worsened.
All the buildings around them were abandoned. Many of the mud-thatched roofs had collapsed in on themselves, forming craters that lent an even greater sense of menace to the space . . . warning any and all who dared to tread near that time would not look kindly on those who lingered.
Worse, despite all her sister’s earlier reassurances, Shahrzad could tell Irsa was nervous. Her sister paced in a tiny circle by the well, clutching a linen-wrapped bundle to her chest. Shahrzad watched as Irsa wore a smaller and smaller ring into the sand by her feet—
Knowing she felt the same menace in the air about her.
The only thing that gave Shahrzad the sense that all would be righted soon was the reassuring presence of the hand at her back.
The warm, solid presence of the boy at her side.
Khalid sees everything. He never fails to notice the most insignificant detail.
He won’t let anything happen to Irsa.
Shahrzad squared her shoulders. Soon, Khalid would destroy her father’s book. Then they could begin to right the many wrongs around them. And she would never have such cause to worry again.
As they strode toward the well, a sudden breeze cut through the horseshoe of abandoned buildings, slicing through the stone hollow in a frenzy of air and sound.
A familiar noise ricocheted in its wake.
Shahrzad stopped walking.
Was that a . . . horse?
For a moment, she thought she’d heard the clatter of hooves in the distance.
Beside her, Khalid paused as well. Then he moved past her, as though he were trying to puzzle it out. Irsa’s horse stood nearby, tethered to a post.
And no one else knew where they were.
The breeze died down. The whorls of sand fell to her feet.
But all was not right. That much was evident.
Shahrzad felt it on the air.
Just as she saw the distinct shift of shadows near a building on the far right.
And she knew. She knew with the same sort of paralyzing certainty as one who dangles from a precipice.
For she’d trained in the art for years. Now was the perfect moment.
The wind had just fallen. Down and to the left. She could almost feel the feathered fletchings between her fingertips. The twang of the bowstring as it was pulled tight.
The snap as the arrow was loosed.
Without a second thought, Shahrzad shoved Khalid aside.
AN ARROW TO THE HEART