Jahandar’s heart caught in his throat. It was true. Reza had brought his own personal physician to Jahandar’s wife’s sickbed, though his efforts had been for naught. And Reza had cared for Shahrzad and Irsa in the days following, when Jahandar had been . . . unable to do so.
“I know, old friend,” Jahandar whispered. “I will never forget what you did.”
Reza’s smile was sad and small. “Alas, such trying times can never be forgotten. But I’d rather we recall what friends are capable of in our times of need.” He paused for emphasis. “Just as I know what you are capable of, even if there are only a handful of people who are aware of it.”
This, too, was true. Reza had always known that Jahandar possessed unique abilities.
Reza steepled both hands beneath his chin, letting his gaze fall upon Jahandar’s smooth scalp. “Old friend, did you do something the night of the storm?”
Could he confide in Reza bin-Latief? Could he trust him with his secret?
“If you did,” Reza pressed in a low voice, “please know I will not judge you. In fact, I will celebrate you. For I know you did not mean to do anything wrong. And, if you did do something, it must have been a remarkable feat.”
Jahandar swallowed.
“One we would have a tremendous use for,” Reza finished.
Use? Reza had a use for Jahandar?
“If you accomplished such an astounding feat alone,” Reza said quietly, his brown eyes bright in their fervor, “can you imagine what you could accomplish with a force of soldiers at your back? With the strength of an army at your beck and call?”
Jahandar’s gaze flitted across Reza bin-Latief’s face. Across the lines drawn by deep thought. And obvious calculation.
He saw it. He knew what Reza was doing.
Knew it . . . and did not care.
Jahandar realized that for the first time in many years—for the first time since Mina had died and he had lost his position in the palace—Reza truly saw him. Saw the man he’d first met those many years ago. A vizier to the Caliph of Khorasan.
A man of power and influence.
A man worthy of Reza’s consideration.
In low tones, Jahandar began talking. And did not stop.
Not until Reza bin-Latief smiled with satisfaction.
Just like old times.
THE WINGED SERPENT
SHAHRZAD HAD NOT INTENDED TO TORMENT KHALID with the magic carpet.
Not at first.
But he brought it on himself. Truly, he did.
The moment the Caliph of Khorasan said—with coolly regal arrogance—that only a child would be afraid to fly, Shahrzad knew it was a challenge she was meant to take on.
Meant to see fall to glorious pieces.
After all, even she had been afraid at first. But Khalid need not know that.
As soon as he settled onto the carpet, Shahrzad coaxed it into the air without a word of warning.
A volley of expletives flew from Khalid’s mouth. They only became more foul as Shahrzad urged the carpet high above the city, in a twist of whistling wind. Laughing into the darkness, she spurred the magic carpet even faster, then rose to her knees. When Khalid tried to tug her back down—his eyes flashing—she sent a look of mocking scorn over one shoulder.
“Get down,” Khalid yelled over the wind, taking tight hold of her waist.
“Don’t be a bore!”
“You’ll fall.”
“No, I won’t.” She spread her arms wide.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do!”
“Get down,” he insisted, his jaw rigid. “Please!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re killing me, by degrees!”
Grumbling, Shahrzad eased back onto the carpet. Khalid pulled her into his chest, his breath fast against her neck.
A small part of her felt guilty.
The rest felt smug.
Serves him right. Perhaps the King of Kings won’t be so arrogant next time.
She grinned to herself. Khalid ceasing to be arrogant was just as unlikely as her ceasing to provoke him. It was simply too easy. And much too much fun.
“Are you finally starting to breathe in a normal fashion?” Shahrzad teased. “I must confess I find your behavior rather odd, considering you said only a child would be afraid to fly.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” Khalid wrapped a forearm of corded muscle around her.
She slanted a disbelieving look his way. “You just lied to me.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” he repeated. “I was terrified.”
When she laughed, Shahrzad was rewarded with one of his uncommonly effortless smiles. The kind that changed a face of shadows into one of light.
The kind that made her want to forget how small the magic carpet happened to be.
“You’re beautiful,” Shahrzad commented softly.
Khalid’s hand tightened around her waist. “Are you not stealing the words customarily reserved for a man?”
“You’re welcome to say other, less customary things.” Though her tone was airy, her pulse stuttered.
“Such as?”
“You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“I already have.” The touch of Khalid’s lips trailing below her ear sent a swirl of desire through her.
It’s a shame we’re otherwise occupied at the moment.
Or else she would definitely act upon it.
They traveled over a stretch of desert near an expanse of mountains. Above them, a few lonely stars flickered, stitched across a dark fabric of night. Khalid soon grew accustomed to the rush of wind against his face, the tense set of his shoulders slackening. After a time, the air began to thicken with the scent of salt, and the sea glimmered along the horizon.
The carpet slowed as they neared the promontory before landing by the pool of water set against the cliff. Shahrzad secured the magic carpet to her back while Khalid unsheathed his shamshir, his movements like that of a prowling jungle cat.
Though she’d behaved in the same manner only a few nights ago, Shahrzad rolled her eyes. “That’s unnecessary. Not to mention insulting.”
“Forgive me for not feeling welcome wherever I go,” he muttered. “And for not taking any chances.”
With a shake of her head, Shahrzad reached for his free hand, threading her fingers through his.
“Shahrzad-jan?” Musa emerged from between the strange statues at the opposite side of the pool.
Again, Khalid did not miss a beat. Though he recognized the magus, he tugged Shahrzad closer and raised his shamshir.
Musa smiled at Khalid, his teeth like pearls set against ebony. “I did not think you would come.”
It took Khalid a moment to reply. “My wife can be very persuasive.” His sword remained vigilant.
The magus’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It is good to see you. It has been so long.”
Khalid said nothing.
Musa strode closer. He appeared to be studying Khalid. Perhaps trying to see traces of the boy he’d known in the young man before him. “You look—”
“Like my father,” Khalid finished in a clipped tone. “Many have told me.”
“You do. But I see your mother in you. Most especially in your eyes.”
“You have no cause to flatter me. Lies do not become you.”
“I am not lying.” Musa rounded the pool. “Your eyes may be the same color as your father’s, but I can tell they see the world as Leila did. They see all. Your father”—he failed to forestall a grimace—“saw very little.”
Khalid’s eyes narrowed to slits. “My father saw enough.”
The meaning behind his rejoinder was evident.
A father who saw enough to destroy a small boy’s world.
“No.” Musa stopped before them, his colorful cloak swaying above the tan stone. “He saw what he wished to see. And he never gave anyone the chance to show him otherwise.”
There was obvious meaning to the magus’s words as well.
“I did not come here to be lectured by my mother’s tutor,” Khalid countered. “Nor did I come here to grant you the chance to win me over, Musa Zaragoza.”
Musa nodded. “I did not expect to win you over in a night. But—”
“Do not expect to win me over,” Khalid said coldly. “Ever.”
“Khalid-jan,” Shahrzad whispered. She tugged on his hand in silent censure.
Though he did not appear the least bit remorseful, Khalid squeezed her palm in acknowledgment.
Musa’s smile turned wistful. “I am so very sorry, little pahlang. For everything.”
Shahrzad felt Khalid’s body go rigid beside her.
Little pahlang. Little tiger.
“You do not have permission to call me that.” Khalid’s features were drawn and tight. “I am the Caliph of Khorasan to you. Nothing more.”
In that moment, everything about Khalid hearkened back to a time when Shahrzad had lived in fear of the dawn. When all she knew of him was a boy of ice and stone, who murdered his brides without cause or apology.
A time when all she had were stories fueled by hatred.
It pained her to see Khalid returning to this. A shell of what he was.
A shadow of what he could be.
Musa bowed, his fingers to his forehead. “A thousand apologies, sayyidi.”
Glaring at Khalid, Shahrzad shook off his grasp. “Musa-effendi, please do not—”
“I am not offended, my dearest star,” Musa replied. “I know why the young caliph despises me so. I did nothing when he begged for help. It has haunted me for many years.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Shahrzad cried. “Had you tried to help, you likely would have been killed as well!”
“No.” Musa canted his mouth to one side. “When we are faced with our darkest fears, inaction is for the weak or the hopeless. There is always something to be said or done. Though words alone—”
“Are mere scratchings on a page,” Khalid finished, his voice even colder. “The power behind them lies with the person.”
Musa stood completely still. “You remember.” A careful smile broke across his face. “That gives me a great deal of comfort. Though I do not deserve it, I thank you.”
Khalid’s chest rose and fell in steady consideration. “And I . . . thank you. For all you have done for Shahrzad.”
Musa bowed again. “Sayyidi.” He turned his attention to her, his expression undisguised in its warmth. “Your impatient tutor waits for you in his usual spot, my lady.”
The creature waiting on the beach was most definitely not Artan Temujin.
It was easily five times as long as a man. And twice as thick. But these particulars did not give rise to Shahrzad’s distress. What alarmed her most was that it resembled a snake. Covered in darkly iridescent scales. Replete with a giant hood.
And . . . wings?
Shahrzad swallowed a strangled scream. Khalid drew his sword with a quick rasp.
“Where have you been?” Artan demanded, suddenly emerging from behind the slithering monstrosity.
“What the hell is that—thing?” Shahrzad tried not to yell. The creature coiled around itself while she spoke, a rainbow of colors torquing across its scales, its leathery wings gleaming in the moonlight.
“Who? Shesha?” Artan grinned with wicked humor. “He’s harmless.”
The snake bared its black fangs, as though it understood. And disagreed, rather wholeheartedly.
“He’s just a silly winged serpent.” Artan waved a flippant hand. “Who enjoys frightening people. And—like any good tyrant—much of his appearance is for show. He’s really very sweet . . . most of the time.”
Throughout this entire exchange, Khalid had not shifted position. His shamshir had stayed poised at his side, his body between Shahrzad and that of the snake—
His eyes trained on Artan.
Now, both the sword and its master turned toward the bald-headed boy, with unflinching intent.
Artan snorted. “I suppose this is the cursed husband?” He laughed to himself.
Did this fool not hear a word I said about Khalid’s temper?
Before Shahrzad could interject, Artan bounded over the serpent’s tail and onto the sand.
“You really are as humorless as she let on,” he continued, eyeing Khalid askance. “But there’s little I can do to remedy that.”
The second offense.
“Should I call you Khalid?” he pressed. “Because you’re not technically my king. No matter. I’m Artan Temujin, and—after much persuading—I’ve come to rescue you from your fate. But only after your wife begged me. On her knees, of course.” He snickered. “I do so prefer her when she grovels.”
It was not the barrage of taunts that sparked a reaction. It was the sight of Artan’s burned forearms that registered on Khalid’s face. Shahrzad winced when she saw it. Only someone who knew Khalid well would notice.
The slightest twinge beneath an eye. It appeared and disappeared in a flash of recognition.
In an instant of understanding.
Oh, God.
Then Artan made the lamentable decision to wink at Khalid. And clap him on the shoulder.
The final offense.
The shamshir flashed through the darkness toward Artan’s throat—
Stopping a hairsbreadth from its mark.
Smiling the entire time, Artan brought both hands beside his face, as though he meant to surrender. Then the center of his palms promptly burst into flame.
“I’ll admit I was trying to provoke you,” Artan said without a hint of fear. “It’s a pastime of mine. Shahrzad told me you have a temper. But things have escalated a bit faster than I might have intended. Why don’t we—”
“Was it you who burned her?” Though a bead of sweat slipped down his neck, Khalid did not flinch from the whirling spheres of fire.
Artan’s eyes grew wide. Unlike Khalid, he was unable to mask his reaction. Guilt rippled across his features, causing his bare scalp to flush red. “Well, uh—”
“Stop it, both of you!” Shahrzad grabbed Artan by the back of his shirt and yanked him away from Khalid. “What are you doing?” For a moment, she considered punching Artan square in the nose. “Are you completely deranged?” Then she whirled on Khalid. “And you have been nothing short of abominable this entire evening. First with Musa-effendi, and now with Artan. They’re trying to help us, Khalid!”
Despite her condemnations, the shamshir stayed at the ready. And the spheres of fire continued spinning.
“Put them away at once, you miserable louts!” Shahrzad insisted. “This is why the world would be a far better place in the hands of women.”
“By far better you mean far less interesting.” Artan grinned once more, though he extinguished his weapons. “Wouldn’t you agree, O King of Kings?”
Khalid lowered his sword, but kept his icy stare fixed on Artan.
“Hmm.” Artan paused in consideration. “If not for our brief but charming exchange, I’d almost be worried you’d married a mute, my dear little snipe. I’d understand, given how much you talk, but I have to say I’m a bit surprised.”
“He’s not mute,” Shahrzad said. “He just doesn’t suffer fools.”
“Therefore he must have very little to say around you.” Artan winked, flinging an arm about her shoulders and pulling her close.
Shahrzad placed a hand in his face, shoving him back. “He speaks when the company merits it, you ass.”
“However does he survive, being surrounded at all times by such fools?”
“One stab at a time,” Khalid said quietly, sheathing his sword with a pointed snap.
At that, Artan threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I like him, little snipe. He doesn’t say much, but he speaks true. He can stay.”
“Stay?” Shahrzad said. “I thought we were going to see your aunt.”
“We are, we are!” Artan tugged on an earring. “It’s just that Shesha’s being a bit—uncooperative at the moment.” He pivoted in the sand and moved toward higher ground. Then he tossed two fur-lined robes back at them. “Find a way to secure these to that tiny carpet; you’re going to need them.”
Shahrzad eyed the thick piles of fur at their feet. “Artan . . . where are we going?” Her voice dripped with suspicion.
“To a hidden fortress.” He waggled his brows. “Carved into a mountain.”
THE DARK SIDE OF A MIRROR
THIS WAS THE FARTHEST SHAHRZAD HAD EVER FLOWN on the magic carpet.
Before, her journeys had taken no more than an hour. True, she’d traveled faster than she’d ever believed possible—the ground had blurred beneath her, and the stars had stretched thin on either side—but she’d always had a vague sense of where she was going.
This time, she had not the slightest notion.
The carpet soared eastward for more than two hours. Then, when an expanse of mountains—far higher and far more imposing than those in Khorasan—appeared on the horizon, the carpet began to rise.
The air began to grow crisp and cold.
Without a word, Khalid draped one of the fur-lined cloaks around them and held her close. The chill had not seeped through Shahrzad’s skin—it never did, thanks to the warmth of the magic in her veins—but she was not one to shy away from the chance to feel Khalid’s body against hers. A smile curved across her face as she settled in to his chest and traced an idle fingertip along his palm, all while surveying the mountains silhouetted in the distance.
Shahrzad had commanded the carpet to follow the winged serpent, but she still felt strange watching the slithering beast cavort through the clouds. She’d never seen such an odd creature before. Though she’d heard tell of such things, Shahrzad had always considered them as one might consider a faraway star. Or a tale of old.