He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he placed his palms on either side of her neck.
How could a boy with legions of secrets behind walls of ice and stone burn her with nothing more than his touch?
He trailed his right hand through her hair, over her shoulder, and down her back. His left thumb lingered on her neck, brushing across the hollow at its base.
I—I won’t stop fighting, Shiva. I will discover the truth and seek justice for you.
She stared up at Khalid. Waiting.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Exercising restraint.”
“Why?”
“Because I failed to do so in the souk.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes, it does,” he said quietly. “Do you want this?”
Shahrzad paused. “We’ve done this before.”
“It’s not the same. It won’t be the same.”
The blood flew through her body, ignited by his words.
He pressed his lips beneath her earlobe. His tongue lingered for an instant on her skin. “Do you want this?” he repeated in her ear.
Shahrzad steeled herself, fighting back an onset of trembling limbs.
“Why do you think I’m standing here, you idiot?”
Then she seized his chin in her hands and slanted her mouth to his.
What began as a playful kiss soon changed into something more in keeping with the prurient thoughts that had filled the space only moments before.
Shahrzad’s fingers curled into Khalid’s soft hair as his lips curved over hers. He enveloped her in an embrace that took her bare feet from the marble. The veil tore from its mooring as they fell back onto the cushions with complete disregard for such trappings as gossamer.
Her hands dragged the hem of his qamis over his head. The muscles of his torso coiled at her touch, and the air in the room grew ever more stifling, ever more tangible. When his lips moved to her neck and his palms slid across her stomach to the laces of her shamla, she knew he was right.
This would not be the same.
For this was untrammeled need; this was a body of water and a soul of ash.
The laces of her shamla were free. If this progressed much further, it would be pointless to even consider such a thing as thought. She had to ask now, before the flames consumed her.
“Tell me,” she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders.
“Anything.”
Her heart soared, and the guilt clutched at it. “Why did they have to die?”
He stilled in her arms for an interminable beat.
Then Khalid lifted himself from her and stared down at Shahrzad, his face frozen in horror.
He saw the conflict in her eyes.
She saw the terror in his.
Without a word, he rose from the bed and made his way to the doors.
As his fingers grasped the handle, he paused.
“Never do that to me again.” It was low and harsh.
Filled with unmitigated pain.
He slammed the door shut behind him.
The deprivation of him was palpable. A part of her almost reveled in it—the reminder that this was all a result of vast suffering at his hands. The other part longed to chase after him. For she knew it was possible to conquer him if she did.
Shahrzad buried her face in the cushions and began to sob.
At last, she had discovered a real weakness.
It was her.
And I will use it; I will find out why Shiva had to die.
Even if it kills me.
• • •
The corridors of Taleqan were as silent as the grave.
As dark as the most sinister of intentions.
Jahandar climbed the stairs, clutching the bundle in his left arm tight. The torch in his right hand wavered with every cautious step, casting shadows along the uneven stone walls.
His heart pounding, he pushed the wooden door to his room ajar and leaned into it until it shuddered closed with an echoing thud.
When he was certain no one had heard him moving about, he breathed a sigh of relief before setting the bundle atop his desk and barring the door.
Then he removed the dagger from beneath his cloak.
It was a simple blade. Insignificant at first glance. A wooden handle with commonplace carvings. Slightly hooked and forged of dark iron.
Quite unremarkable, really.
Jahandar closed his eyes and clenched the dagger in his palm.
It was time. After more than two weeks of painstaking study and tedious translation, the moment was upon him.
Tonight, he would learn if the book had chosen him.
Tonight, he would discover if he was worthy of its power.
Again, he walked to the bundle on his desk. He unwrapped the linen.
Nestled in its center was a sleeping hare of soft tan fur.
His first test.
Jahandar swallowed.
He did not want the creature to suffer. It seemed wholly unfair to take the life of such a helpless thing in such a gruesome manner.
But it could not be helped.
He had to do what was necessary. For his children. For himself.
He raised the dagger in his right hand and drew it across his left palm in a single, quick motion. A line of blood appeared in its wake. He dripped the crimson liquid onto the dark blade.
As soon as his blood coated the dagger’s edge, the metal began to glow a white-hot blue.
Jahandar’s eyes gleamed.
Now the cycle had to be completed.
He inhaled through his nose, silently beseeching the sleeping hare for forgiveness. Then he drew the luminous blade across its throat.
Jahandar watched the small creature’s bright blood spill onto the dagger, and the metal turned from a glowing blue to a fiery red.