“I believe you.” Khalid’s voice was soft yet sharp. “As I said before, there is no need to discuss it further.”
The two young men stood in awkward silence for a time, staring into the sand.
“Tell your father.” Khalid pushed off the wall to take his leave. “He’ll make certain she and the child are provided for. Should you need anything else, you have only to ask.” He began walking away.
“I love her. I think I want to marry her.”
Again, Khalid stopped short. This time, he did not turn around.
The words stung—the ease with which they fell from his cousin’s lips. The realization of Khalid’s many shortcomings when it came to Shahrzad. The reminder of all the lost possibilities.
His chest tight, Khalid let Jalal’s words settle on the breeze . . .
Waiting to hear if they had the tenor of truth to them.
“You think?” Khalid said finally. “Or you know.”
The slightest hesitation. “I think I know.”
“Don’t equivocate, Jalal. It’s insulting. To me and to her.”
“It’s not meant to be insulting. It’s my attempt at honesty—a trait I know you hold in high esteem,” Jalal retorted. “At present—with no knowledge of her true feelings on the matter—it’s the most I can manage. I love her. I think I want to be with her.”
“Be careful, Captain al-Khoury. Those words mean different things to different people. Make sure they mean the right things to you.”
“Don’t be an ass. I mean them.”
“When did you mean them?”
“I mean them now. Isn’t that what matters?”
A muscle worked in Khalid’s jaw. “Now is easy. It’s easy to say what you want in a passing moment. That’s why a harem waits outside your door and the mother of your child won’t have you.” He strode back toward the palace.
“Then what is the right answer, sayyidi? What should I have said?” Jalal called out to the sky in exasperation.
“Always.”
“Always?”
“And don’t speak to me of this again until it is!”
STORIES AND SECRETS
IRSA CLAPPED BOTH HANDS OVER HER MOUTH, STIFLING a cry.
She watched in amazement as her sister trailed the tiny, shabby rug around the center of their tent, using nothing but the tips of her fingers as a guide.
The magic carpet swirled through the air with the languid grace of a falling leaf. Then, with a gentle flick of her wrist, Shahrzad sent the floating mat of wool back to the ground.
“Well?” Shahrzad said, staring up at her with a look of worry.
“Merciful God.” Irsa sank down beside her. “And the magus from the Fire Temple was the one to teach you this?”
Shahrzad shook her head. “He merely gave me the carpet and said Baba had passed along his abilities to me. But I need to speak to him further about it, very soon. I have . . . many important questions for Musa-effendi.”
“Then you intend to seek him out?”
“Yes.” She nodded firmly. “Once I determine how best to travel to the Fire Temple without being seen.”
“Perhaps”—Irsa hesitated—“perhaps when you go, you could speak to Musa-effendi about Baba as well? In the event that he . . .” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought she knew they were both most concerned with at the moment.
The thought that their father would never awaken from the effects of whatever foul misdeed had befallen him the night of the storm.
What would happen to them if Baba died? What would happen to her?
Irsa folded her hands over her knees and chided herself for such selfish thoughts amidst such suffering. This was neither the time nor the place to worry about herself. Not when there were so many others to worry about. Most especially Baba.
As Shahrzad leaned forward to stow the magic carpet beneath her belongings, the twine around her neck slipped into view.
The ring stayed safely hidden, but its story still begged to be told. And Irsa could not help but pry.
“How could you forgive him, Shazi?” Irsa asked softly. “For what he did to Shiva? For—everything?”
Shahrzad’s breath caught. In one quick motion, she turned to Irsa.
“Do you trust me, Jirjirak?” Shahrzad took Irsa’s hands in her own.