“He won’t tell me.”
Despina gave her a half grin. “I’m glad you’re talking to me again.”
“Staying silent isn’t a good option for someone like me.”
“A wise decision. For someone like you.”
“I just said that.”
“I know.”
Shahrzad snorted. She reached for her glass of tea. Just then she noticed an unusual smattering of small, dark spots on the side of the silver teapot. She grasped the handle and drew it closer, her eyebrows tufting together. With a linen napkin, she rubbed at one of the areas of discoloration.
It did not clear away.
Shahrzad pursed her lips.
She lifted her cup of tea and poured a drop of its contents onto the pot. As soon as the liquid hit the shining surface, the silver changed color.
Black.
Like death.
“Despina?” Shahrzad began in an even tone.
“Yes?”
“I think there’s something wrong with my tea.”
WHERE YOUR HEART
LONGS TO BE
SOMEONE HAD TRIED TO POISON HER.
And it was not the tea, as Shahrzad had first suspected.
It was the sugar.
Jalal was furious.
When he confronted all those with access to her food, each person staunchly proclaimed innocence. As was customary when serving any member of the royal family, the cook had tasted all the items on Shahrzad’s tray before sending it to her room, and numerous individuals had attested to this fact.
Though no one had thought to taste the sugar.
Unsurprisingly, Shahrzad did not eat anything else the rest of the day.
And now a young servant girl accompanied every tray of food brought to Shahrzad’s room. A girl whose sole purpose in life was to taste the queen’s food and drink one last time before it entered her mouth.
A young girl who must mean something to someone.
It disgusted Shahrzad.
As did the knowledge that her time feeling safe—those fleeting moments without the weight of her impending doom hovering about her like a dark specter—had been taken away from her before she’d had a true chance to enjoy it.
But the worst part was that she knew now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she could not trust her handmaiden.
After all, Despina was the last person who had handled her tray of food.
The one who had prepared that fatal cup of tea.
For some reason, this fact disheartened Shahrzad more than anything else. She had not trusted Despina before, but some part of her had wanted to. Had hoped that, one day, she could be a real friend, despite everything.
That hope was shattered.
And it made Shahrzad angry.
Three nights of mostly uninterrupted sleep had not dulled the anger.
This afternoon, Shahrzad had elected to wander one of the many terraced courtyards in search of a perfect rose. The banality of this task added a feeling of uselessness to her already irritated disposition.
She wandered past another flowering hedge, her eyes squinted against the sun, and her forehead creased with frustration.
“If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can help,” Despina offered.
“No. You can’t.”
“My, but you’re in a mood.”
“You really can’t help me. There’s an art to a perfect rose. The scent. The color. The arrangement of the petals. My father even argues that one too many petals can ruin the entire flower . . . can disturb the way it grows.”
“And I would argue the prettiest flowers are the ones that seem a little imperfect.”
“See? You can’t help me,” Shahrzad groused.
Just then she felt Despina stiffen by her side.
“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad asked.
“Cap—Captain al-Khoury is coming down the stairs.” Her flush spread from throat to hairline.
“So? Why are you nervous?”
Despina hesitated. “Ever since the incident with the tea, I’ve felt uncomfortable around him.”
“I see.” Shahrzad pursed her lips, fighting to contain the accusations.
As Jalal stepped into view, Despina took special pains to scramble behind the Rajput, out of sight. Jalal curved a languid eyebrow in her direction and then turned to Shahrzad.
“How are you this afternoon, Shahrzad?” He bowed with an easy grin, his gold-trimmed cloak spilling over one shoulder and a hand resting casually on the hilt of his scimitar.
“Alive.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m glad to see it. Are you in the midst of something important?”
“Of course. I have a possible coup in the works. Then I intend to draw up plans for a new form of trade involving elephants at sea and sails of spun silk. Would you care to join me?”
He smiled. “Only in the coup. The rest sounds a bit commonplace, if you ask me.”
Shahrzad laughed. “No, of course I’m not doing anything important. I’m firmly entrenched in the mundane. Please rescue me.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could do something . . . queenly for me.”
“Queenly? What do you mean?”
“We have an unexpected visitor. I was wondering if you could receive him, in the caliph’s absence.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s—a scholar, so to speak. He was Khalid’s first tutor, as well as the lifelong tutor of Khalid’s mother. He has not seen Khalid since he was a little boy. I know he meant a great deal to his mother, and I would hate to send him along without receiving him formally.” He winked.