“An angry one.”
“It was not always thus.” Musa sighed. “He was such a kind boy.”
“I’ve been told. But it is difficult to believe.”
“Understandably.” He paused. “Will you permit me to share a story with you, my lovely Shahrzad? About the night I was thrown out on my heels?”
“Of course, Musa-effendi.”
“It is a sad story.”
“I imagine any story that ends in such a manner would be.”
Musa sat back in remembrance before he began.
“I was the tutor for Khalid’s mother, Leila. And Leila was a joy. Beautiful and talented. A lover of books and poetry. When she married Khalid’s father and became his second wife, she was young—only fifteen years old. I came along with her to Rey, at her insistence. She was very headstrong. Unfortunately, it was not an easy marriage. Her husband was a good deal older than she, and he had clearly loved his first wife very much. Leila did not appreciate the constant comparisons. I tried hard to rein in her tantrums and bouts of despair, but the disparity between them in age and interests was oftentimes too difficult to breach. It was no one’s fault, really. Khalid’s father was quite set in his ways. And Leila was a spirited young woman.”
He stopped, his features growing sad.
“After Khalid was born, I hoped everything would change. I had never seen a more devoted mother. Leila kissed his feet and sang to him as an infant. When he was older, she told him stories every night before he went to sleep. And Khalid loved her more than anything.”
Musa closed his eyes for a moment, and Shahrzad took a careful breath.
His mother told him stories at night.
“I was there the night Khalid’s father learned of Leila’s betrayal . . . when he discovered she had been carrying on an affair with a member of the palace guard.”
His tenor became low and grave.
“He dragged Leila through the halls of the palace by her hair. She was screaming at him, calling him horrible names. I tried to help her, but his soldiers prevented me from doing so. In the atrium, he called for Khalid. Leila kept telling Khalid everything would be fine. That she loved him. That he was her world.”
Shahrzad’s hands curled into fists.
“And there, in front of her six-year-old son, Khalid’s father slit Leila’s throat. When Khalid started to cry, his father yelled at him. I will never forget what he said. ‘A woman is faithful, or she is dead. There is no in-between.’ After that, I was thrown out of the palace, with nothing but the clothes on my back. I should have fought harder. For Leila’s sake. For Khalid’s sake. But I was weak. Afraid. Later, I heard what had become of Leila’s son. And I always regretted it. From the bottom of my soul, I regretted it.”
Something had risen in Shahrzad’s chest, forming a barrier that prevented her from speaking. She swallowed hard. Not knowing what else to do, she reached across the table and took Musa’s hand. He wrapped her small hands in both of his, and they sat in this manner for a time.
And then, with careful respect, Shahrzad attempted to break the silence.
“Musa-effendi . . . I feel certain you should not hold yourself responsible for anything that transpired, not that night or any of the nights after. I am young, and, therefore, I know my words only carry a certain weight with the world, but I do know enough to realize you cannot control the actions of others. You can only control what you do with yourself afterward.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Such wise words. Does Khalid know what a treasure you are, my dearest star?”
Shahrzad’s eyes furnished him with the smile her lips could not.
Musa shook his head. “He has suffered a great deal. It troubles me immensely to know he inflicts suffering on others as a result. And it vexes me because these are not the actions of the boy I knew. But as you are young, I am old, and in my age, wisdom becomes less of a birthright and more of an expectation. In my life, the one thing I have learned above all is that no individual can reach the height of their potential without the love of others. We are not meant to be alone, Shahrzad. The more a person pushes others away, the clearer it becomes he is in need of love the most.”
I could never love such a man . . . such a monster.
Shahrzad started to withdraw her hand from his.
But he held on to it.
“Tell me,” he pressed. “How long have you possessed the gift?”
Taken aback, Shahrzad merely stared at him, her hazel eyes blank.
Musa returned her gaze, his warm eyes searching.
“Then you are unaware. It lies dormant in your blood,” he said to himself.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Perhaps a parent?” he continued. “Does your mother or father possess any . . . unique abilities?”
Realization dawned on Shahrzad. “My father. He can do certain things. Very small things. But he’s never been adept at controlling it.”
Musa nodded. “If ever you wish to learn about these abilities, send word to me. I would be happy to share my knowledge with you. I am not extremely proficient, but I’ve learned to . . . control it.” He grinned slowly. As he spoke, Shahrzad saw the flame dancing in the nearby lamp flicker out and spark back to life, unbidden.
“And I could learn to do this?” she whispered.
“In truth, I do not know. It is impossible to gauge an individual’s abilities. I only know what I knew the moment I first held your hands in my grasp: that you and I share a common bond. And now that bond extends beyond this mere twist of fate. I beseech you, my star . . . please see past the darkness. There is potential for boundless good in the boy I knew. Trust that the man you see now is a shadow of what lies beneath. If you would, give him the love that will enable him to see it for himself. To a lost soul, such a treasure is worth its weight in gold. Worth its weight in dreams.” As he spoke, Musa leaned over their still-clasped hands, a bright smile of affection lighting his features.