He doesn’t look sorry for hurting me.
Something knifed in Shahrzad’s chest, behind her heart.
But he will be.
“Shahrzad—”
“You once lamented the fact that the characters in my stories place so much value on love.”
Khalid returned her penetrating stare in silence.
“Why is that?” she continued. “What is your aversion to the sentiment?”
His eyes flicked across her face before responding. “It’s not an aversion. It’s merely an observation. That word is used too often for my taste. So I attribute it to things, rather than to people.”
“Excuse me?”
Khalid exhaled carefully. “People fall in and out of love with the rising and setting of the sun. Rather like a boy who loves the color green one day, only to discover on the morrow that he truly prefers blue.”
Shahrzad laughed, and the sound was lemon to her wound. “So you intend to go through life never loving anyone? Just . . . things?”
“No. I’m looking for something more.”
“More than love?”
“Yes.”
“Is it not arrogant to think you deserve more, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid?”
“Is it so arrogant to want something that doesn’t change with the wind? That doesn’t crumble at the first sign of adversity?”
“You want something that doesn’t exist. A figment of your imagination.”
“No. I want someone who sees beneath the surface—someone who completes the balance. An equal.”
“And how will you know when you’ve found this elusive someone?” Shahrzad retorted.
“I suspect she will be like air. Like knowing how to breathe.” He regarded her with the stillness of a hawk as he said these words, and Shahrzad’s throat went dry.
“Poetry,” she whispered. “Not reality.”
“My mother used to say that a man who can’t appreciate poetry lacks a soul.”
“In that respect, I’m inclined to agree.”
“She was referring to my father,” he intoned drily. “A soulless man, if ever there was one. I’m told I resemble him greatly.”
Shahrzad studied the tiny mountain of bread before her.
I will not feel sorry for you. You do not deserve my pity.
Guarding herself against a rising tide of emotion, she looked up again, resolute in her next course of action. “I—”
“I hurt you today.” He spoke softly, in a voice of soothing water over scorched steel.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her cheeks flushed.
“It matters to me.”
Shahrzad exhaled in a huff of derision. “Then you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Yes.”
Shahrzad stared at the cut-glass angles of his profile. Even now, his handsome face gave no hint that her pain affected him in any way.
The boy of ice and stone . . .
Who dashed her heart against a jagged shore, only to walk away without so much as a glance.
I will not let him win. For Shiva’s sake.
For my sake.
I will learn the truth. Even if I have to destroy him to get it.
“Are you done?” she asked under her breath.
He paused. “Yes.”
“I have a story for you.”
“A new one?”
She nodded. “Would you like to hear it?”
Khalid inhaled cautiously and then leaned an elbow onto the cushions.
Shahrzad took another sip of cardamom tea and eased back against the pile of vibrant silk on her side.
“There was once a young girl named Tala. She was the daughter of a wealthy man who lost everything in a slew of poor business decisions, followed by the tragic death of a most-beloved wife. Mired in his grief, Tala’s father found solace in music and art and could often be found whiling away the hours with a paintbrush in one hand and his favorite santur in the other.”
Shahrzad brushed a curl of black hair off her face.
“At first, Tala tried to understand his need to distract himself from the heartbreak of his losses, but it became increasingly difficult to ignore what it all meant for their family. What it meant for Tala. Because, even though she loved her father dearly and believed in his goodness with every fiber of her being, she knew that he could not provide for them. That she could not trust him to sustain a life for Tala and her little brother.”
Khalid’s forehead creased at Shahrzad’s somber expression.
“So Tala began searching for a husband. She knew she could not hope to make a great match, given her family’s unfortunate circumstances, but soon she heard tell of a wealthy merchant in need of a bride. He was older and had been married several times before, but no one was sure what had become of his earlier wives. And this made young women rather wary of making a match with him. Additionally, he had a very long beard of indigo black . . . so black that, in the light, it gave off a worrisome tinge of blue. This had afforded him a rather unfortunate moniker. He was known as Mehrdad the Bluebearded.”
Shahrzad sat up and removed her emerald necklace, placing it alongside the silver pot of tea. Khalid observed her in silence.
“Even with these reservations, Tala set about arranging the match with Mehrdad. She was sixteen and rather pretty. Intelligent and vivacious. Mehrdad was pleased, even though she had little to offer, besides herself. Her only stipulation was that he care for her family. He agreed without hesitation, and they were promptly married. She left her home and moved into his impressive walled residence on the other side of the city. At first, everything seemed normal, perhaps even ideal. Mehrdad was respectful and felicitous as a husband. And he appeared quite content with Tala. He gave her ready access to the many rooms in his home and showered her with gifts of new clothes and jewelry, perfume and art—beautiful things Tala had only dreamed of seeing, let alone owning.”