“I feel human again,” Rahim announced as he crossed the courtyard and took a seat at the low table before him.
Reza smiled warmly. “You look a great deal more rested, Rahim-jan.”
“I was promised a cloud of perfume, and I was not disappointed, Reza-effendi.”
Tariq joined them a moment later, sitting across from Rahim in the open-air gallery.
Soon, platters of food were brought before them—steaming, buttery basmati rice with bright orange saffron staining its center, surrounded by lamb in a savory sauce of dates, caramelized onions, and tangy barberries; skewers of marinated chicken and roasted tomatoes, served alongside chilled yogurt and cucumbers; fresh herbs and lavash bread, with rounds of goat cheese and sliced red radishes splashing brilliant colors against a polished wood backdrop.
The aroma of the food mingled with the fragrance of the tapers, saturating the senses with spices and decadence.
“This almost makes me forget the last three days,” Rahim said. “Almost.”
“Did you sleep well, Tariq-jan?” Reza asked.
“As well as can be expected, Uncle.”
“Don’t sound so frustrated,” Rahim grumbled. “You’ve barely rested a moment since receiving Shazi’s letter. Do you think you’re invincible? That you live off nothing but fresh dew and cold fury?”
Tariq glared at his friend before grabbing a skewer of chicken.
“He’s right. I know you are eager to discuss our plans, but it’s important to take care of yourself first.” Reza glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you. Please leave us,” he directed his servants. Once they were gone, he served himself a portion of basmati rice and lamb stew.
“While you were resting this afternoon, I made a few inquiries,” Reza began in a low voice. “First, I will sell everything I have here. We will need money and mobility. Following this, we will need the support of others with money and mobility. Am I correct in assuming your father does not share our point of view?”
“My father will not want to be a part of this,” Tariq replied with resignation. “It is likely he will forswear all involvement, if put to question.”
Reza nodded, seemingly unfazed. “Then this presents us with our next problem. If your father does not wish to be linked to this endeavor, you cannot brandish your family’s name about freely without risking their lives and, possibly, the lives of Shahrzad’s family as well. The same goes for you, Rahim; the al-Din Walad name is an old one, and your elder brothers will not take kindly to you jeopardizing their families. You must conceal your identities.”
Tariq considered this. “You’re right, Uncle.”
“I am of the same mind, but how are we to garner support if no one knows who we are?” Rahim interjected. “What will inspire them to follow?”
“Leave that to me,” Reza continued. “I was one of the foremost merchants of Rey for decades, and I understand the notion of a commodity. Something is rare and desirable when it is made to seem so.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Uncle,” Tariq said.
The light from the torches blazed in Reza’s eyes. “I will make you what they want to see. You need only be what you already are—strong young men and gifted warriors.”
Tariq’s forehead creased, his gaze uncertain. “But that still doesn’t explain how we intend to persuade others to follow a leaderless cause.”
“It will not be leaderless. You will be its leader, Tariq-jan. You will give this cause a voice. The lack of a voice is the reason the riots in the city streets are quelled time and again. Your voice must be one that resonates, that demands we see what truly lies at the heart of our kingdom: a boy-king who does not deserve to rule Khorasan. A boy-king who must be destroyed, at all cost.”
Rahim pounded his palm against the table in approval.
“So we mean to organize a force and storm the city? That is my greatest hope, but is such a feat even possible?” Tariq asked.
Reza took a sip of wine. “It will work if we build on our beliefs and make them a reality. Your hope will be our tinder, and my righteousness, our blaze.”
Tariq looked to his uncle once more. “Where do we begin?”
Reza pushed his plate aside. “Return home. I need time to clear my affairs in Rey and determine who might be willing to assist with our cause. The Emir of Karaj will likely provide some form of aid . . . his wife’s cousin suffered the same fate as Shiva a few weeks ago. Once I am in the position to do so, I will send for you.”
“What about Shazi? I won’t leave Rey until—”
“The caliph left for the city of Amardha this afternoon. He does not—” Traces of hidden rage settled around Reza’s mouth. “He does not murder his brides unless he’s in Rey, presumably to witness the spectacle. She will be safe for at least a week.”
Tariq paused for a beat before nodding. “Then, after we collect Irsa and Jahandar-effendi, Rahim and I will return home and await your missive.”
“Jahandar and Irsa? Did you not know? They left Rey the night of the wedding. No one has seen or heard from them since.”
“Gone? But where could they—”
“I assumed they were going to you, Tariq-jan. Did you not receive a letter from them?”
“Shazi’s letter. Did she not make mention of her family in it?” Rahim asked.
“I don’t know. I never finished reading it.”