Shahrzad stopped, her eyes flitting to the sunlight streaming from the terrace.
“Are you finished?” the caliph asked softly.
She shook her head.
“At the wedding of the new emir was a guest from a faraway land—a magician from Africa in search of a magic lamp. But in truth, he was not really looking for the lamp. He was looking for a young boy. A young boy named Aladdin.”
A muscle rippled along the caliph’s jaw. “This is a new story.”
“No, it’s not. It’s part of the same story.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Shahrzad rose from the bed and grabbed her shamla. With shaking hands, she tied it about her waist.
“Shahrzad—”
“You see, Aladdin was an excellent gambler . . . a trickster of the highest pedigree. His father before him was—”
“Shahrzad.”
“It’s not a different story, sayyidi,” she said in a calm, quiet tone, fisting her hands against the fabric of her robe to hide their treachery.
He unfurled to his feet as another knock struck at the door, this one more insistent than the last.
“Come in,” the caliph instructed.
When four soldiers and the Shahrban of Rey entered her bedchamber, Shahrzad felt the floor beneath her begin to sway. She locked her knees and stood ramrod straight to prevent her body from betraying any sign of weakness.
Why is Jalal’s father here?
“General al-Khoury. Is something wrong?” the caliph asked.
The shahrban bowed before his king, a hand to his brow. “No, sayyidi.” He hesitated. “But . . . it is morning.” His eyes darted in Shahrzad’s direction. He paled, refusing to meet her gaze.
He can’t . . . he . . . does he want to kill me? Why would he want me to die?
When the caliph made no move to stop him, the shahrban motioned to the guards with his head.
They strode to Shahrzad’s side.
And her heart . . . her heart flew into her throat.
No!
A guard reached for her arm. When his hand closed around her wrist, Shahrzad saw the caliph’s features tighten. She yanked her arm from the guard’s grasp, as though it were a flame held too near her flesh.
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled.
When another guard seized her shoulder, she slapped his hand out of the way.
“Are you deaf? How dare you touch me? Do you know who I am?” A note of panic entered her voice.
Not knowing what else to do, she locked upon her enemy.
The tiger-eyes were . . . torn.
Wary.
And then?
Calm.
“General al-Khoury?”
“Yes, sayyidi.”
“I’d like to introduce you to the Mountain of Adamant.”
The shahrban stared back and forth between the caliph and Shahrzad.
“But, sayyidi . . . I don’t understand. You cannot—”
The caliph swiveled to face the shahrban. “You’re right, General. You do not understand. And you may never understand. Regardless, I’d like to introduce you to the Mountain of Adamant . . .”
The caliph glanced back at Shahrzad, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.
“My queen.”
THE BEGINNING IS THE END
TARIQ’S RIDA’ WAS COVERED IN A THICK LAYER OF dust. Sand clung to every exposed part of his skin. His dark bay stallion was sleek with sweat, and white foam was beginning to collect around the iron bit at its mouth.
Rahim’s grumblings grew louder with each passing hour.
But Tariq could see the city gates of Rey looming on the horizon.
And he refused to stop.
“By all that is holy, can we ease our pace for a spell?” Rahim yelled for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“Go ahead. Ease your pace. And then tumble from your saddle. You should be quite a feast for the crows,” Tariq shot back.
“We’ve been riding with fire at our backs for two days straight!”
“And, as a result, we’re nearly there.”
Rahim slowed his horse to a canter, rubbing the sweat from his brow. “Don’t misunderstand me; I’m just as concerned about Shazi as you are. But what use will you be to anyone, half starved and near dead?”
“We can sleep under a cloud of perfume once we reach Uncle Reza’s house,” Tariq replied. “We just have to get to Rey. I have to—” He spurred his horse faster.
“It will do you no good to worry so. If anyone can beat the odds, it’s Shazi.”
Tariq reined in his Arabian to match pace with Rahim. “She never should have had to try.”
“This is not your fault.”
“Do you think this is about guilt?” Tariq exploded.
“I don’t know. All I know is that you feel a responsibility to fix it. And I feel a responsibility to you. And to Shazi.”
“I’m sorry,” Tariq said. “I have no right to yell at you. But I would have done anything to prevent this. The thought of her—”
“Stop. Don’t punish yourself.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes.
“I do feel guilty,” Tariq admitted.
“I know.”
“I felt guilty when Shiva died, too.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know what to say to Shazi after the death of her best friend. After the death of my cousin. I didn’t know what to say to anyone. My mother was a complete disaster. My aunt—well, I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done to prevent her death, in the end. And Shahrzad . . . was just so quiet.”