Shahrzad locked eyes with Khalid, clenching her hands in the fine silk of her trowsers.
“After a time, Mehrdad made plans to travel for his work. He handed Tala a ring of keys to their home and bade her take charge of the residence in his absence. He entrusted her with the daily tasks and gave her free access to all that was his, save one thing, and one thing alone. On the ring of keys, he designated the smallest and held it before her. He told her it was the key to a locked room in the cellar, and barred her from entering that room for any reason. He made her swear, on pain of death, that she would obey this directive. Tala promised she would not go near this room, and after she made it clear she understood the gravity of the situation, Mehrdad handed her the keys and took leave, promising to return in one month.”
Shahrzad drained the remnants of the cold tea from the bottom of the etched glass cup. The dregs were oversweet, mixed with the last of the rock sugar. It swirled in her mouth—the grit of bitter cardamom and crystallized mettle.
Her hand trembled with nerves as she set down the tiny cup.
“For a time, Tala relished this opportunity to have free rein over such a magnificent home. The servants treated her with deference, and she hosted friends and family members for wonderful meals prepared with a delicate hand, served under a starry sky. Each room of her husband’s home enchanted her. In his travels, he had amassed things of beauty and wonder that brought her imagination to new worlds. And yet, with each passing day, that room in the cellar . . . began to gnaw at her. Plague her. Call to her.”
Khalid shifted forward in his seat, his features tightening.
“One day, against her better judgment, she strode by it. She swore she heard a voice inside, crying out. She tried to ignore it. But it cried out again: ‘Tala!’ Tala’s heart pounded. She reached for the ring of keys in a panic. Then she remembered Mehrdad’s directive and fled up the stairs. That night, she could not sleep. The next day, Tala went back down to the cellar. Again, she heard a voice beseeching her from within that room. ‘Tala!’ it cried. ‘Please!’ This time, she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt. It was the voice of a young girl. Tala could not ignore it. She fumbled for the ring of keys at her waist. They fell once to the stone floor at her feet. When she finally managed to select the right key, her fingers shook so badly she struggled to fit it into the lock.”
Shahrzad swallowed, her throat parched. Khalid watched her closely, every muscle strained with heightened awareness.
“Your husband is not a forgiving man.”
Her pulse thundered, but Shahrzad forged ahead. Unwavering.
You will not treat me like this. You will not dash my heart against a shore.
And walk away.
“The tumblers clicked with a sound that made Tala jump in her skin . . . and she stepped forward into utter darkness. The first thing she noticed was the smell—iron and old metal, like a rusted sword. The cellar was warm and humid. Then her foot slid in something, and a rush of rot and decay sailed back at her.”
“Shahrzad,” Khalid warned in a low tone.
Shahrzad barreled forward, heedless. “When Tala’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and she looked down, she saw her foot was caked in blood. Hanging around her . . . were bodies. The bodies of young women. They were Mehrdad’s—”
“Shahrzad!”
Shahrzad’s heartbeat resounded in her ears as Khalid shot to his feet, his face a mask of anguished fury. He towered over her, his chest heaving. Then he turned to the door.
No!
Shahrzad raced behind Khalid, struggling to keep up with his powerful gait. As he reached for the handle, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Please!” she cried.
He did not respond.
She pressed her face into his back and the tears began to flow, embarrassing and unbidden. “Give me the key,” she gasped. “Let me see behind the door. You are not Mehrdad. Show me.”
When he put his hands on her wrists to free himself, she merely clasped tighter, refusing to let go.
“Give me the key, Khalid-jan.” Her voice broke.
She felt his body tense at the term of endearment. Then, after an endless moment of racked silence, Khalid exhaled and his shoulders sagged in defeat.
Shahrzad laced her fingers to his chest.
“You hurt me last night, Shahrzad,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“A great deal.”
She nodded against the linen of his qamis.
“Yet you have said nothing about it,” he continued.
“I wanted to. I meant to. But then you were so hateful.”
“There is a vast difference between meaning to do something and actually doing it.”
She nodded again.
He sighed and swiveled in her arms to look at her.
“You’re right. I was hateful to you.”
He raised his palms to her face and wiped away her tears.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Shahrzad said, her eyes luminous.
Khalid slid a hand behind her neck and rested his chin atop her head.
“As am I, joonam,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”
THE DIE IS CAST
JAHANDAR STOOD BENEATH THE SHADE OF THE marbled vestibule at Taleqan with his thumbs looped through his wrinkled tikka sash. He watched Rahim al-Din Walad dismount from his gleaming Akhal-Teke and nod at several laborers carrying bushels of grain toward the kitchens. The workers returned smiles and exchanged a few pleasantries with the young nobleman before parting ways.