“You know everything.”
“I don’t know this, Shahrzad.”
Why is she lying to me? I thought I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without the Rajput. Where is she really taking me?
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where my bodyguard is.”
“By Zeus, you are a nuisance, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” Despina cried.
“It’s good you know that. It will save you time. Now, answer my question.”
“No.”
“Answer me, you wretched Theban!”
“No, you horse’s ass!”
Shahrzad’s mouth fell agape. “Listen to me: we can either stand in the hallways of the palace and shout at each other, or you can let me have my way now and spare yourself the trouble. When I was twelve, my best friend and I were falsely accused of stealing a necklace. The shopkeeper’s fourteen-year-old son said he would let us go for a kiss each. I broke his nose, and my best friend shoved him in a trough of water. When we were confronted by his father, we denied the entire incident, and I had to sit outside our door for a whole night. It was the best sleep of my life.”
“And your point is?”
“I never lose, nor am I afraid to spill blood.”
Despina stared down at her. “Fine! The Rajput is—he’s in a tournament. The men are having a swordsmanship tournament this afternoon.”
A calculating gleam entered Shahrzad’s hazel eyes.
“See! This is precisely why I didn’t want to tell you!” Despina groaned. “And you can’t go, anyway. If the caliph sees you there, he’ll—”
“Is he fighting in the tournament?”
“Of course.”
Then there is no way you’re going to stop me.
“He won’t do anything to me,” Shahrzad announced, though her voice was laced with uncertainty.
“I can’t say the same for myself,” Despina retorted.
“Fine. Is there a way to watch it so no one knows we’re there?”
“Can we please just go to the bathhouse?” Despina pleaded.
“Of course. After the tournament.”
“Holy Hera. I’m going to die as your handmaiden.”
• • •
“This is, by far, the most asinine thing I’ve ever done in the six years I’ve lived at the palace,” Despina said quietly, as they crouched behind a wall of tan stone. The latticework at its top afforded them a vantage point from which to see the sand-filled expanse below.
“You can blame me,” Shahrzad breathed back.
“Oh, I will. Make no mistake.”
“Have you ever seen one of these tournaments?”
“No. They’re not meant for an audience.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because—” Despina gasped as the first soldier stepped onto the sand.
“That might be the reason,” Shahrzad joked with a slight hitch in her voice.
He was clad in nothing but sirwal trowsers and a burgundy tikka sash. Barefoot. No qamis. No rida’. His bare chest glowed with sweat in the hot afternoon sun. In silence, he withdrew a large scimitar from his left hip. Its blade was narrow at the hilt and widened as it curved outward before tapering to a lethal point.
The soldier raised the scimitar high.
“Where is his opponent?” Shahrzad asked.
“How should I know?”
The soldier began swinging his blade in the air, performing an extended drill. He danced across the sand, the silver sword cutting arc after arc through the bright blue sky.
When he was finished, cheers and whistles of approval emanated from the sidelines.
“They must start with drills before they launch into fighting,” Despina decided.
“Ever the smart Theban.”
“If I push you over, you’ll look decidedly unqueenlike.”
Several more soldiers showcased their drilling techniques before a hulking form materialized in the sand. His shoulders were immense, and every muscle appeared to strain beneath his copper skin.
“My God,” Shahrzad said. “He could crush my skull with his bare hands.”
Despina snickered.
When the Rajput drew his talwar into the sun, he paused for an eerie moment, the sword poised above his head.
Let’s see what it means to be the best swordsman in Rey.
The second he brought the blade down was the last time Shahrzad remembered seeing it for the entire duration of the Rajput’s demonstration. The slender talwar whipped through the breeze, curling over its master’s arm as the Rajput stretched and dove into the sand.
Then, near the end of the drill, he lifted his free hand to his mouth . . .
And blew over his open palm.
A stream of fire extended onto the sword.
The talwar was ablaze.
He whirled it over his head, slicing the screaming dragon of a weapon downward. With a final thrust into the sand, he extinguished the flames.
The soldiers raised an earsplitting chorus on the sidelines.
Shahrzad and Despina stared at one another in shared amazement.
“I—I . . .” Shahrzad attempted.
“I know,” Despina finished.
Lost in their wordless conversation, it took both girls some time to recognize the next figure striding onto the sand. When Shahrzad looked down, she was dismayed by the instant tightening sensation in her chest. She knitted her brow and pressed her lips into a line.
The caliph’s shoulders were tan and lean; each of the muscles in his trim torso shone, defined and well articulated in the afternoon sun.