DRAW WEIGHT
THE ORIGINAL STRUCTURE OF THE PALACE HAD BEEN built nearly three hundred years ago, by a king with a flair for extravagance. In the years since, many wings had been added to augment the base of marble and limestone. They branched off like tributaries, winding toward an unseen destination far in the distance.
It would be easy to get lost in such a place.
“How do I get to the courtyards?” Shahrzad asked Despina, after they had wandered the shining halls for half an hour.
Despina canted her head to the side in thought. “I suppose that would be fine.
No one expressly forbade you from going outdoors.”
Shahrzad resisted the urge to retort as Despina backtracked down a corridor to the right. The Rajput stalked alongside Shahrzad, his posture as rigid and implacable as his expression. After several minutes of traversing in silence, they came to an open-air gallery with a series of arched double doors leading outside.
An attendant pushed through one set of doors to allow them passage, and Shahrzad walked into a terraced courtyard arranged like colossal steps in a descending staircase. The first of these terraces was filled with flowering trees and an elaborate aviary enclosed on all sides by carefully wrought trelliswork.
The sturdy acacia wood was covered with a thin layer of white paint and anchored by bolts of polished bronze. Lush blue-green grass flourished between pavestones of coarse granite.
Shahrzad strode past the aviary, glancing at the colorful trove of songbirds flittering within: nightingales, goldfinches, larks, canaries . . .
A loud squawk blasted from behind her. She twisted around to find a peacock strutting across the lawn, his plumage of malachite and gold fanning in the sun, catching errant beams of light.
Shahrzad glided closer. The peacock stopped to glare at her before lowering his fan and scurrying away.
She laughed to herself. “So quick to strut. So quick to flee.”
“What are you talking about?” Despina asked.
Shahrzad shook her head.
“Are you talking about men?” Despina snorted.
Choosing not to reply, Shahrzad paced the length of the top terrace and took the stone stairs leading down to the next tree-lined expanse. This garden was bursting with white citrus blossoms and green figs hanging heavy on their boughs, still awaiting their moment to ripen.
She passed through this tier, pausing only to breathe in the scent.
Despina regarded her thoughtfully. “What are you trying to do?” she asked with a trace of suspicion.
Shahrzad lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she focused on signs of movement in an expanse of sand and stone below them.
“If you’ll tell me what it is you’re planning, I can take you there,” Despina offered.
“I’m not planning anything. I’m looking for something.”
“What are you looking for?”
“A handmaiden who doesn’t ask so many questions.”
Despina snickered.
Shahrzad quickened her pace as she flew down the last series of stairs, making her way to the intended destination of sand and stone.
The Rajput grunted his disapproval as they neared the entrance.
So he’s not mute, after all.
Despina huffed audibly. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”
“You said I could go anywhere, as long as the Rajput is with me,” Shahrzad reminded her.
“I don’t think anyone expected you to come to the training grounds.”
Shahrzad’s keen eyes ran over the sea of male faces lost in the art of swordplay, training with spears and perfecting their deadly aim with the axe-like
tabarzin.
He’s not here.
“Are you looking for the caliph?” Despina demanded.
“No.”
But I assume the second-best swordsman in Rey will practice at some point today . . . if he intends to maintain his title.
And I need to learn his weakness, so that I may destroy him with it.
“Liar.” Despina smirked.
“Actually, I came here because I wanted to—” Shahrzad glanced around until her eyes fell on something she recognized well. “I wanted to learn how to use a
bow and arrow.”
“What?” Despina exclaimed.
Feigning ignorance, Shahrzad moved toward the rack of weapons.
The Rajput raised his arm to block her path, a note of warning in his onyx gaze.
Shahrzad steeled herself before returning his belligerent stare. “Would you teach me how to shoot? I’ve always wanted to learn.”
He shook his head.
She affected a pout. “Nothing will happen to me. Anyway, I won’t be your concern after tomorrow. Please grant me this small request.”
“Maybe he’s not worried about you,” Despina stated caustically.
Shahrzad attempted to sidestep his mammoth forearm. When he thwarted her again, she pursed her lips.
“Must you be so difficult?” she said in harsh undertone.
“He’s not being difficult. That’s how he normally is,” a rich male voice remarked from behind them.
Both Despina and Shahrzad swiveled to meet the amused scrutiny of a young man with a curly mop of mahogany hair and a warm, affable expression.
The Rajput stiffened.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” the newcomer offered with a grin.
Shahrzad shot him a winsome smile. “I hope so. I’m—”
“I know who you are, my lady. By now, everyone in the palace knows who you are.” His brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked at Despina. She
averted her gaze, her cheeks coloring.
He’s quite the flirt.
“Then you have a decided advantage over me, sir,” Shahrzad said.
“I’m Jalal.” He bowed his head, his fingertips brushing his brow.
“He’s captain of the guard and the son of General Aref al-Khoury . . . the Shahrban of Rey,” Despina clarified in a rote tone.
“Don’t let the title fool you, my lady. I’m no one of consequence, even if my father is the highest-ranking general in Khorasan.”
“Well, we share a portion of that lamentable status, for I am also no one of consequence,” Shahrzad said.
“I doubt that, my lady Shahrzad. I highly doubt that.” Jalal grinned, bringing further light to an already easygoing demeanor.
The Rajput grunted again. His lingering ire brought Shahrzad back to the matter at hand.
“Would you be willing to teach me how to use a bow and arrow, Captain al- Khoury?” she asked.
“That depends on a few things. The first being that you dispense with the formalities and just call me Jalal. The second being that Khalid never discover
my part in this transgression.”
Khalid? He calls him by his first name?
“I can meet those terms. Gladly. If you’ll return the gesture, on both parts.”
Jalal leaned forward conspiratorially. “Then follow me, Jalal.”
Shahrzad laughed. Despina looped her arms over her ample chest. “This is a bad idea,” she cautioned, her blue eyes flitting to Jalal’s puckish face.
“For whom? For you, or for me?” Shahrzad retorted. “Because it seems like a very good idea for me to spend the last day of my life doing the things I’ve always wanted to do.”
Despina sighed with resignation and trudged behind Shahrzad and Jalal. The Rajput stomped in their shadows, his distaste as plain as his irritation, despite the sharp look of rebuke from the captain of the guard.
Jalal led Shahrzad to the rack of bows. Several quivers hung from a steel bar, their goose-feathered fletchings dyed in bright colors for easy recognition.
Shahrzad pulled out an arrow from one of the quivers. Its tip was blunted for target practice. Taking special pains to appear nonchalant, she bent the back end of the arrow, ever so slightly, to determine the weight of its spine.
Not that flexible.
“You’ve shot a bow and arrow before?” Jalal inquired, observing her with a surprising amount of keenness for someone so seemingly blithe.
“Not really.” She attempted to sound dismissive.
“So can I ask what you’re doing with the arrow, then?”
“I’m merely curious.” She shrugged and put the arrow back in its quiver.
Then she reached for another arrow with differentcolored fletchings. She
performed the same test.
Much better.
She removed the quiver of arrows from the bar.
“It appears you might not need my tutelage, after all,” Jalal commented in an airy tone.
“No, no—” Her mind scrambled to conceal her misstep. “My . . . cousin once told me it’s easier to fire arrows with less spine when you don’t have a lot of upper body strength.”
“I see,” Jalal stated dubiously. “And what did your . . . cousin have to say about bows?”
“Nothing. The comment on arrows was merely in passing.”
His expression turned even more doubtful. “Of course. In passing.” He made a quick study of the different bows leaning within the weapons rack. When his
hand paused on a tall, straightbacked bow, he glanced over his shoulder at
Shahrzad.
She smiled at him.
Still watching her, he shifted his hand to a much smaller bow with ends that curved away from the archer when strung.
The recurve bow.
Shahrzad held her smile, refusing to fall prey to his attempt to bait her with
the weapon of her choice.
“Do you have a preference?” he asked.
“Whatever you think is best.”
He nodded. “I think this will work for our purposes.” With a knowing grin, he took the recurve bow from the rack and strode in line with the targets positioned fifty paces away.
As she followed him, Shahrzad grimaced at her thoughtlessness in disclosing an aptitude for archery.
What’s done is done. But in the future, do better.
She reached up and coiled her wavy black hair into a knot on the nape of her neck. Then she shrugged off her cumbersome mantle and handed it to Despina.
A faint desert breeze cooled the bare skin at her arms and stomach. Her fitted silver top had a square neckline and tiny, capped sleeves. A silk sash of cobalt blue hung low across her hips, its pearl-embroidered ends trailing against the ground. Silver slippers kicked up tufts of sand with each step she took.
Shahrzad slung the quiver onto her shoulder, and Jalal handed her the recurve bow.
A crowd of curious onlookers had begun to gather off to the side. Despina and the Rajput stood out front, still sporting their respective looks of unease and disgust.
Shahrzad placed her feet close together as she tugged an arrow from the quiver and struggled to position it on the sinewed string.
Jalal was markedly unconvinced.
When Shahrzad nocked the arrow back, the thin strip of wood struck against the handle of the bow as it trembled in her purportedly ignorant grasp.
“Is this right?” she asked Jalal.
“No. It’s not.” He snorted. “But you know that, don’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you going to teach me, or not?” she demanded.
He laughed. “Put your left foot forward so that your stance is shoulder-width apart.”
She did as she was told.
“Now relax your grip and lower your elbows. Use the sights positioned on the bow grip to aim.”
Shahrzad almost sneered. She hadn’t needed sights since she was thirteen.
Tariq had seen to that.
“Once you’ve settled your sights, pull the arrow back as far as you can and release it.”
When she loosed the arrow, it spun in the general direction of the target before it floated to the ground, twenty paces shy of its destination.
Shahrzad looked over at Jalal. He remained dubious.
“Did your ‘cousin’ explain draw weight to you?”
She shook her head.
He exhaled before stepping closer to her. “I chose this bow because it has a lower draw weight. I suspect this is the reason you chose that particular quiver of arrows. Meaning this bow and this arrow will work in tandem to help you draw back without having to use a great deal of upper body strength. Which is especially beneficial for smaller archers, like you.”
“So draw weight is about size?”
“I think it’s more about speed and accuracy. If you don’t have to expend a lot of energy firing a single arrow, it makes it easier to nock another one into position quickly. You also tend to be more accurate when you’re not straining
yourself.”
“It makes sense,” Shahrzad agreed.
“I’m sure it does.” He grinned.
She ignored his meaningful tone as she reached back for another arrow. After she fitted it into position on the sinewed bowstring, her eyes darted to his face.
“You must know the caliph well,” she began.
His amusement faded slightly. “I’ve known Khalid since he was a little boy.”
“Are you good friends?”
“No.”
“I see.” She drew back the arrow farther and released it. This time, it sailed much closer to its target, but still managed to land buried in the sand.
“I’m older than he is, by two years. His brother, Hassan, and I grew up together; we were very close. When Hassan died, I tried to extend a hand to Khalid, but . . .” He shrugged. “He never took it.”
Shahrzad turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“It isn’t easy to lose your best friend. At least, I can’t imagine it would be.”
“Thank you for saying so. But Khalid lost his older brother. His father died
the following year. And because of that terrible incident with his mother . . . he was only fourteen when he took the throne. Fourteen and alone. I’m sure you have an idea of what came after.”
I don’t care. There is no excuse for the monster he’s become. He’s had four years to grow accustomed to being king. And as for what came after . . .
When Jalal saw the look on Shahrzad’s face, he took a step in her direction.
“Please understand; I’m not making . . . excuses.” His voice was very soft.
Shahrzad twisted away from him and snatched another arrow from the quiver at her back. She stopped herself when she realized she had fitted the arrow and nocked it in a seamless motion ill-befitting a novice.
Jalal laughed. “I’m sorry, but I’m now convinced I’ve earned the right to ask for a favor, Shahrzad.”
“And why do you think that?” she said under her breath.
“Because my silence has a price.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He edged closer. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to Khalid, but you are the first person to rattle him in years. And he needs to be rattled.”
Shahrzad met his steady gaze, the arrow still pressed tight against her neck.
“Is there a favor in there somewhere?”
“Khalid is not my friend. He is not my enemy, either. He is my king. I remember the boy he was quite fondly . . . kind, with a bright and inquisitive mind. A wandering soul. The broken creature he is now—I’m tired of it. Will you help me fix it, Shahrzad?”
Shahrzad stared back in morose silence, wondering where such blind faith came from. Such misplaced faith in a boy with a murderous past and a girl with treacherous intent.
Jalal studied her, his sun-bronzed face a hairsbreadth from her own.
At that moment, Despina burst from the shadows, her features alight with horror. When Shahrzad traced the terror to its source, she felt the air leave her chest in a single, sharp gasp.
Across the courtyard, the Caliph of Khorasan stood watching them, his
expression cool and composed.
Like the calm before a storm.
