She had long forgotten the demonstration in the training courtyard those few months ago. But in that instant, the memory returned; the Scourge of Hindustan had been a fire-breather. Had set his talwar ablaze in a rush of air. Had finished the drill wielding a screaming dragon of a weapon.
Now she watched as he bent the molten metal without even the slightest singe to his skin. Once he’d widened a space large enough, he made his way into her cell.
“We haven’t much time,” Vikram muttered as he came to her side. “The soldiers may check on you again soon.” A low oath passed through his lips when he saw the chains binding her wrists and ankles.
“How—”
“Now is not the time for such questions, little troublemaker.” He grunted in frustration as he considered her manacles. “I can melt the links near to the cuffs, but you will likely make enough noise to rouse the dead when we move about. Which will be of no help to anyone. And these cuffs are heavy. Which is also quite unhelpful.”
Shahrzad nodded, still at a loss for words. She’d never heard the Rajput say so many things in one breath.
In hindsight, perhaps his tale of the banyan tree qualified.
Vikram lifted a length of chain beside her feet. The sound of metal striking metal echoed with a thunderous clank. “When I melt the chain, the cuffs will become hot. They may burn you.”
“I’d rather be burned than remain chained in this cell.”
“As I suspected.” He coughed with amusement. “Know there was a time not long ago when I would happily have left you to rot in this cell.”
It took her only a moment to remember. The night of the storm, Shahrzad had betrayed Khalid in Vikram’s eyes. Had betrayed him. “I can explain—”
“That time has passed.” Vikram wrapped both hands around the links by her ankles and let a slow whisper of air pass between his lips.
As the metal began to grow hot against her skin, the familiar tingling around Shahrzad’s heart flashed to life. Taken aback by the sensation, she let in a sharp breath.
The feeling flared through her as the heat grew. As the chains began to take on a fiery glow.
In that instant, Shahrzad felt a thread take hold within her. A sudden, undeniable spark. For though she knew the chains were becoming hot, she felt little pain. Just a growing awareness. This thread called to her as she continued studying the metal. As she continued watching Vikram work to melt through the chains.
Is it possible . . .
Throwing all caution to the wind, Shahrzad placed both palms on the cuffs at her ankles. Just like the magic carpet.
“What are you doing?” the Rajput demanded in a guttural whisper, his black-as-night gaze cutting to hers.
She did not respond.
Just as she’d expected, Shahrzad continued to feel little pain, though she knew the iron was now hot enough to sear. At her touch, the magic Vikram had fed into the metal spread through her like a flame licking through oil.
Once she felt a link to it—felt that thread within her pull taut as it connected to the magic within her—Shahrzad willed the cuffs to fall away. Willed the magic to follow her unspoken directive.
The glowing cuffs dropped to the floor.
Not knowing what else to do in response, Shahrzad laughed.
Artan had been wrong. Yet he’d been so very right. True, she should not have run from his attempts to provoke her those nights on the beach. Yes, she should have faced her fears head-on. But not in the way Artan had imagined. For the magic within her worked on touch. Only when she willed those things around her—those things imbued with the same strange powers as she—could Shahrzad manipulate her power.
Just as she’d suspected. Shahrzad took in magic from what was around her.
Vikram teetered to one side at the sight, his massive frame coming to rest a hairsbreadth from the dirty trickle of water by her slippered feet. “How—”
“Now is not the time for such questions . . .” she began in an almost teasing tone.
He grunted in distaste, then righted himself. “Such a troublemaker.”
“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Shahrzad grinned. “Now help me with the bindings on my wrists so that we may find my sister and flee this godforsaken place.”
THE WHITE SHELL
THEY RODE FROM THE CITY IN A RUSH. A CLATTER OF hooves. A stream of wind. A trickle of sweat.
But not a single word.
This small band of battered men.
Khalid did not let his guilt for all that had transpired overtake him. Refused to let his regret deter him from his course. They had to flee the city. Far from the reach of Salim’s injured pride.
So they soldiered on. Faster and faster through the alleys and streets and thoroughfares. A fruit stand was knocked to the wayside in their haste. Angry oaths were hurled at their retreating backs. Women pulled their children from Khalid’s path, screaming and scurrying all at once.
Again, the guilt crept into his heart. Clawed at his insides.
It did not matter. How he felt in this moment did not matter.
He did not matter.
There were far more important things at hand.
Khalid kept Rahim on the saddle with him. In moments of weakness, Khalid glanced down to see the boy’s blood spill onto his palms. Onto his saddle. Onto his reins.