A DANCE ON A BALCONY
AS THE MEAL DREW TO A CLOSE, AN ASSEMBLAGE of musicians gathered in the corner by the raised dais. A heavily bearded man with a kamancheh slid the hair of his bow across his instrument, checking to see if it was in tune by tightening its ivory pegs, while a young woman adjusted the reed of her ney one last time.
An elderly man settled the base of his tombak against his left hip and struck the drum’s taut surface . . . slow, then quick, quick. He began pounding out a driving rhythm, and the dulcimer melody of the santur joined in before all four musicians were lost to their music. Lost to the beat.
Then, from the opposite side of the dais, a young girl appeared.
A collective murmuring arose from the tables. A communal sigh of disbelief.
Jalal groaned. Khalid looked away.
For she was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl Shahrzad had ever beheld.
She was dressed in a fitted top of fiery red silk that left little to the imagination and a matching flowing skirt with intricate embroidery along the hem. Her hair fell past her waist in spiraling curls of mahogany, with hints of auburn set aflame by the torchlight. Her face would have brought a painter to his knees—high cheekbones, flawless skin, arched brows, and a fringe of black lashes that fanned over obscenely large eyes.
Of course, the girl began to dance.
She moved like a snake, writhing across the black and white stones to the rising strains of the music. The curves of her body seemed inspired by the moon itself. Her hands and hips beckoned, beseeched . . . befuddled. She twisted and swayed in a manner that was altogether otherworldly.
Altogether unfair.
As the girl made her mesmeric way to the center of the tables, Shahrzad
tensed in awareness.
She’s—dancing for Khalid.
It was obvious. The girl’s eyes were locked on the Caliph of Khorasan, her dark irises a host of the forbidden. With each slow spin, her rich mane of hair coiled about her shoulders, and the gems at her stomach flashed in wild abandon.
When she smiled at Khalid as though they shared a lifetime of secrets, an ugly series of images flickered through Shahrzad’s mind—most of them beginning and ending with mahogany curls being torn by their roots from the beautiful girl’s head.
How could I be so childish? She’s just dancing.
It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.
Shahrzad took a deep breath and averted her gaze. When Jalal started to laugh, she glowered at him, the heat rising in her neck.
The brazen girl ended the dance a stone’s throw from the dais, her hands positioned above her head and her endless curls thrown into an alluring mass
over one shoulder.
Wonderful. Now go home.
Instead, the girl sashayed toward them, her slender hips continuing to sway, even without music. She stopped right in front of Shahrzad.
Then she grinned.
“Hello, Khalid,” she said in a voice of silken sin.
Khalid exhaled carefully before lifting his tiger-eyes.
“Hello, Yasmine.”
• • •
Irritated would not be an apt word.
Distressed?
No. That wouldn’t be quite right, either.
Furious?
Shahrzad shook her head and smiled at the chattering nobleman before her, struggling to clear her mind so she could focus on their conversation.
Yasmine el-Sharif. The daughter of that hateful man.
As soon as Shahrzad had learned the beautiful girl’s identity—from Jalal, no less—she had smiled patiently through their formal introduction. Through the painfully obvious, lifelong connection between Khalid and the otherworldly Princess of Parthia. Then Shahrzad had risen from the table, stone-faced, to begin greeting all the noblemen in attendance.
Without Khalid.
She had been determined to carry on for a time without the Caliph of
Khorasan at her side.
Without the so-called King of Kings and his many, many secrets.
And she had. But now she was . . . foundering.
He should have told me about Yasmine. I looked like a fool.
“Hello, Shahrzad. May I call you that?”
“What?” Shahrzad said, shaken from her trance.
Yasmine smiled, and it was so perfect that Shahrzad wanted to smear soot on her teeth.
“Of course,” Shahrzad responded, cursing her internal pettiness.
The nobleman whose name she had already forgotten beamed at Yasmine, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
“Would you mind if I borrowed the calipha for a moment?” Yasmine fluttered her eyelashes at him with a skill Shahrzad could never hope to espouse.
He nodded vigorously, spittle flying from his lips in place of an actual response.
Yasmine took Shahrzad’s hand, pulling her into the shadows behind an immense stone column.
“You looked like you needed to be saved.”
“Thank you.” Shahrzad hid her suspicion under a warm smile.
Yasmine studied Shahrzad in the torchlight emanating from the roaring lion nearby.
“You are frustratingly pretty,” she pronounced.
“What?” The comment drew Shahrzad’s brows together.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so beautiful.”
Shahrzad held firm to her smile. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”
Yasmine laughed airily, leaning against the polished marble with her hands behind her back. “You’re honest. It makes sense now. He adores honesty.”
“Forgive me, but I’m a bit dense. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“It makes sense why he chose you.” Yasmine’s long-lashed eyes were trained
on Shahrzad.
Is she trying to be funny?
“I’m quite certain you know he didn’t choose me.”
“You’re wrong. He did choose you. And he does not make such decisions lightly.” Yasmine pushed off the pillar and took a step toward Shahrzad.
“Especially when he could have chosen a girl who wants nothing more than to love him.”
Shahrzad’s baser instincts drove her to strike back at Yasmine for the slight, but she refused to argue with the beautiful girl over a mercurial boy.
Especially a boy who kept his secrets closer than he kept his confidences.
“While I do appreciate you saving me from a rather tedious conversation, I think it’s time for me to rejoin my guests.” Shahrzad started to turn away.
“Do you love him?”
The question stopped Shahrzad in her tracks. “I believe that’s none of your business.”
“I disagree. You see, I’ve loved Khalid since we were children. And he deserves to be loved by someone who understands him.” Yasmine paused for a breath. “Even if it’s not me.”
Of all the things Shahrzad expected Yasmine to say, it was not this. She’d expected the girl to threaten her or engage in other such pettiness. But this admission proved Yasmine was not just a spoiled princess, denied her heart’s
desire.
She actually cares about him.
Even though he’d shown her the same icy welcome he’d granted her father.
A strange feeling of pity began eclipsing Shahrzad’s irritation.
“You understand Khalid?” Shahrzad laughed in an effort to mask her growing unease. “If so, please enlighten me. I’d be most grateful.”
Yasmine smiled with an almost mincing kind of sympathy. “That depends.
How willing are you to assist your enemy, Shahrzad?”
“Alas, your great failure of the evening is that I do not see an enemy, Princess of Parthia.” Shahrzad inclined her head in a brisk bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“What do you see, then?” Yasmine stepped into Shahrzad’s path, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I see a beautiful manipulator. A weaver of words.”
Yasmine nodded, her half smile swooping in a lazy arc. “It must be like
looking in a mirror.”
She’s quick. And fearless.
“How very fortunate.” Shahrzad grinned back. “We should all be so lucky as to share a reflection with you.”
Yasmine laughed, and for the first time, it sounded genuine. “What a shame, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. A part of me thinks I could like you, were we to meet under a different sky, at a different time.”
“I’m surprisingly inclined to agree, Yasmine el-Sharif.” Shahrzad bowed deep, her fingertips brushing her forehead in a flourishing gesture. Then she turned on her heel to round the column . . .
And ran smack into the broad chest of a man.
She stumbled and almost fell to the floor, but a steadying hand reached for hers, saving her from certain humiliation. When Shahrzad faced her erstwhile rescuer, a pair of familiar silver-and-ash eyes stared down at her, shining with a
fierce light.
Unmatched in their love.
Tariq. No. You can’t . . .
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he pressed something in her grasp.
A scrap of parchment.
Shahrzad wrapped her palm around it and pulled away.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome, my lady.” He smiled politely.
Concerned that others might see this strange interaction, Shahrzad stepped back and smoothed the fabric of her mantle, tucking the scrap of parchment beneath her thumb.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said casually, though her heart tripped in her chest with worry.
He shook his head, taking her lead. “I am Tariq Imran al-Ziyad of Taleqan, my lady.” Tariq bowed, touching his hand to his brow.
The Rajput emerged from the shadows behind Tariq, scowling all the while at the young nobleman’s impressive height.
“Is this your first visit to Rey?” she continued, determined to appear at ease.
“No, my lady. I used to have relatives in the city.”
“Used to?”
Tariq grinned with ready charm, though his eyes continued to betray their depth of feeling. “Yes. But I hope to change that soon.” He lowered his voice.
“When I marry.”
The sentiment behind his words was clear. She felt the warmth in his gaze, and for a moment, Shahrzad allowed herself to really look at him. To look up into the perfect face of the brash boy she fell in love with, and remember . . .
The scrawny girl whose eyes followed his every move.
And the tall boy who followed her with all of his senses.
“Shahrzad.”
At the sound of Khalid’s voice, Tariq took a protective step toward her.
Shahrzad’s hazel eyes sparked in warning as she warded off a sharp current of fear.
Khalid will see everything. Because Tariq . . . can’t hide anything.
Khalid strode to her without so much as a glance at Tariq.
“Shahrzad,” he repeated.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said in an even tone.
Shahrzad twisted his way, not even bothering to hide her anger. “A thousand apologies, sayyidi. I was talking to Yasmine and lost track of what truly
matters.” Her words were a carefully aimed strike.
Khalid took the blow without flinching, his amber eyes cool.
“I see.”
Do you?
Shahrzad held his gaze, her mind a muddle of thoughts and emotions.
Now was not the time or the place to share them.
After all, Khalid had his secrets.
He did not deserve to know hers.
Baba and Irsa.
Tariq.
She had to keep those she loved safe. Safe from this boy with a cruel past and an untenable future.
Safe from the sway he held over her heart.
“Have you met Tariq Imran al-Ziyad, sayyidi?” she asked Khalid, determined to have control over the situation.
Khalid blinked once. Finally, he turned to acknowledge Tariq’s presence.
Tariq’s entire demeanor hardened. His mouth flattened into a line.
Oh, God. Please do better than that.
Then he relaxed and smiled at Khalid.
“Sayyidi.” He bowed low with a hand to his brow. “I am Tariq Imran al- Ziyad, son of Nasir al-Ziyad, Emir of Taleqan.”
Khalid returned a crisp nod. “I hope you enjoy your stay in the city.”
Tariq’s smile widened. “With such hospitality, sayyidi, I’m certain I will.”
• • •
Is he insane?
Shahrzad paced in the shadows on her balcony, her heart pounding in time with her steps.
The sliver of parchment in her hand was now mingled with the sweat from her palm. A dash of ink had managed to bleed onto her skin, making a black- and-blue mess of the whole thing. She unfurled the ruin once more to read the outlandish missive scrawled across its surface in Tariq’s bold script:
Your balcony. When the moon is at its highest
point in the night.
I’ll wait until dawn, if I must. Do not test me.
At least he’d had the sense not to sign it.
Utterly mad!
She crumpled it in her fist for the fifth time.
He was risking everything with his foolhardiness. With his arrogance. With his— “Shazi?” A form materialized in the darkness at the edge of the balcony.
“Come here,” she seethed.
Tariq glided closer, hunching low. Shahrzad grabbed him by the hood of his rida’ and hauled him against the deepest shade along the wall.
“Are you completely insane?” she demanded. “Do you realize how dangerous —”
Tariq pulled Shahrzad into his chest. “God, I’ve missed you.”
When Shahrzad tried to speak again, he pressed her face tight against him, laughing at her protests. “Just stop. For the space of a moment, let me hold you.”
“You are mad, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. Utterly mad,” she grumbled, smacking his shoulder. “How did you even manage an invitation?”
He shrugged. “I intercepted the one sent to my father at Taleqan. Or, to be more precise, Rahim intercepted it.”
“You idiot! Coming here was beyond foolish, and—”
“Foolish though it may be, I am here to finish what you started.” Tariq ran his fingers through her hair. “Tell me how you plan to kill the boy-king.”
Shahrzad was oddly silent.
“Shazi?”
“I—” she hedged.
“Have you not made plans yet?”
Shahrzad pushed away from his chest, unwilling to give voice to her uncertainty.
“Fine. What have you learned?” he continued.
She frowned and glanced from the shadows to the stone railing beyond.
“Shahrzad. You’ve been here for weeks. What have you learned? What are
the boy-king’s habits? His weaknesses?”
Tell him what you know.
“I—don’t know. He’s difficult to read.”
Why can’t I tell him?
“Difficult? He has the personality of an aging camel. Just as surly and just as
useless.”
A strange pang cut through Shahrzad at this assessment. “What do you mean?”
“He picks at his food, lounges in sullen silence, and lets his wife fight his battles for him.”
“What? No. You misunderstood the situation.”
“Please tell me you’re not defending him. He barely acknowledged your presence the entire evening, except to parade you before everyone like a prize he had won . . . and then that irritating moment when he fidgeted with your jewelry.
I could have done without that.”
“I’m not defending him. I’m saying that it’s—complicated.” Even through the layers of darkness, Shahrzad could see Tariq’s thick eyebrows gather at the bridge of his nose.
“Complicated? There’s nothing complicated about it. As far as I’m concerned, all I need is ready access to a weapon and a clear shot.”
No!
Shahrzad heard a sound in her room.
Her heart stopped. She pressed a hand to Tariq’s lips and shoved him into the shadows. Then she strode into her chamber, sighing with relief to find no one there.
Tariq was leaning against the wall when Shahrzad returned.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked in a cool tone.
“You have to leave.”
“Why?” There was a note of warning to his voice.
“Tariq, please.”
His eyes narrowed to silver slits. “Will he come to see you tonight?”
“You need to leave. Now.” Shahrzad tugged at his wrist, but he refused to budge from the wall.
“Good. Let him come. That will solve the matter on all fronts.”
“Do you have a death wish?” she cried in muted despair.
Tariq laughed, and the sound was full of heedless arrogance. “From the boy-
king? That aging camel?”
“You idiot! He’ll kill you!”
“Are you sure? You don’t think he’ll ask his mother to do it for him?”
Shahrzad sucked in a breath. Before she could stop herself, she launched into a whispered tirade.
“You know nothing about him, and your ignorance will be your downfall.
Get out of here, Tariq, because if Khalid walks through that door, he will cut you to ribbons before you have a chance to open your mouth, and it will destroy me.
Beyond words. Beyond time. If you love me, do not force me to watch such a sight.”
Shahrzad clutched the front of his rida’ as she spoke. Her features twisted in deep distress.
Tariq’s initial shock melted away at the prospect of her pain. “Shazi—I’m
sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just . . . go.”
Tariq took a slow step from the wall. Then he swiveled around to grab Shahrzad by the waist and press her back against the stone. He ran his palms along her arms.
“I love you, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. There is nothing I would not do for you.
Nothing I would not consider if it meant keeping you safe. The world itself should fear me if it stands between us.”
“I—I love you too, Tariq.”
He smiled. Then, without warning, he caught her lips in his. Shahrzad’s jaw slackened in surprise, and Tariq deepened the kiss, tilting her chin upward with a gentle caress of his thumb.
Shahrzad’s mouth responded automatically. Her lips curved over his as they had on many occasions before. But . . . why did it feel wrong this time? Where was that breathless, weightless thrill? That thoughtless moment of
incandescence?
Where was that feeling of falling?
It’s here. I know it’s here. I can get it back.
I have to get it back.
