“Uncle Aref!”
Khalid’s uncharacteristic outburst hung about the space, lingering with the tension of many unspoken things.
“She will be your undoing.”
“That is my decision.”
“And so you would undermine all that has been done? No matter how unconscionable our actions have been, we are nearly at an end now. Please. I implore you. Reconsider this. She is just one girl. What is she to you? We cannot trust her, Khalid-jan. Has she told you why she volunteered? Has she confessed her motivations? Who is this child? I beg of you. You cannot withstand this. Do not allow this brazen young girl to become a source of ruination.”
Khalid gazed across the table at his uncle. “I’ve made my decision.”
The shahrban’s face faltered. “Please. If you—do you love her? Tell me you do not love this child, Khalid-jan.”
“It is not about love.”
“Then why? You do not have to take part in the matter. Merely step aside. Cease all contact with her, as you did that night, and I will handle the sunrise.”
“No. I tried, Uncle Aref. That morning . . .” Khalid winced in remembrance.
The shahrban’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you do not love her?”
“You’re aware of my thoughts on the matter.”
“Then what do you want from this insolent young girl, Khalid-jan?”
“Something more.”
“And what if the rains cease again?”
Khalid paused. “I will do what is right for the people of Rey.”
The shahrban heaved a world-weary sigh. “You will not be able to withstand it. Even now, I can see the toll it is taking on you.”
“Again. My decision.”
“And your enemies will celebrate as it destroys you from within, as well as from without.”
Khalid leaned forward and braced his forehead on his palms. “Then I trust you will see to it they never find out.” He spoke to the floor, his faith in his uncle implicit.
The shahrban nodded before placing his hands on the marble and pushing to his feet. As he looked back at the exhausted figure of his king, the shahrban’s features saddened once more.
“Sayyidi? Please forgive this last question. But I must know—is she worth this risk?”
Khalid raised his head, his eyes reflecting a fiery orange in the flickering lamplight. “In truth? I don’t know . . .”
The shahrban’s shoulders sagged.
“But I do know I can’t remember the last time I wanted something so much,” he finished in a quiet voice.
It was the careful smile Khalid offered his uncle that finally convinced the shahrban—the first real smile he had seen on his nephew’s face in years.
“Khalid-jan. I will protect your queen. For as long as I can.”
“Thank you.”
“Sayyidi.” The shahrban started to bow.
“General al-Khoury?”
“Yes?”
“Please send in the faqir after you leave.”
“Yes, sayyidi.”
“And, if I could ask one last thing . . .”
“Of course.”
“Have you made any progress in determining the whereabouts of the queen’s family?”
“No, sayyidi. We are still searching.”
Khalid raked his fingers through his black hair, tousling its smooth surface. “Continue the search. Be tireless in your efforts.”
“Yes, sayyidi.” With a hand to his brow, the shahrban exited the antechamber.
Khalid removed the dark rida’ from his shoulders and placed it in his lap. He knew it was likely Shahrzad had sent her family away or that they had fled voluntarily, leaving behind a store of unanswered questions. And he found the timing too coincidental for it to be unrelated to their marriage.
If he could find her family, perhaps he could obtain the answers he so desired.
But would he want these answers once they were within his grasp?
So many issues already plagued him.
He could ask her.
Ask her where she had sent her family. What she was hiding from him.
Why she insisted on tormenting him.
But the thought that she might lie to him—that those eyes, with their unpredictable onslaught of colors, flashing blue one instant and green the next, only to paint his world gold with the bright sound of her laughter—that those eyes might endeavor to conceal the truth, pained him more than he cared to admit.
Because he had lied to her only once.
He balled an edge of the dusty cloak in his fist and heaved it into the corner. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was starting to blur. Now the longer he gazed at things, the harder it was to focus. The pounding in his forehead was growing worse.
A knock at the door to the antechamber stirred him from his thoughts.
“Come in.”
A ghostly figure, garbed solely in white, cut through the darkness into the lamplight. His long beard trailed down his chest.
“Sayyidi.”
Khalid sighed.
“It is worse?” the faqir asked as he took in Khalid’s haggard mien.
“The same.”
“It appears worse, sayyidi.”
“Then it is good you are here.” Khalid’s eyes flashed in warning.
The faqir exhaled slowly. “I’ve told you. I cannot stave off the effects forever. I can only ensure it will not kill you. Eventually, the madness will ensue, sayyidi. You cannot fight it.”
“I understand.”