As soon as Rahim turned to walk in his direction, Jahandar scrambled from behind the polished stone pillar and into Rahim’s path.
“Rahim-jan!” Jahandar cleared his throat with a cough and a gasp.
Rahim took a startled step back. “Jahandar-effendi. It’s good to see you.”
“Is it?” Jahandar offered him a mangled attempt at a grin. “Thank you for not saying what you must be thinking about me.”
Rahim forced his mouth into a patient half smile. “This cannot be easy for you.”
“It is not. But I am doing much better now.”
Rahim nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m sure Irsa will be happy as well.”
Jahandar cleared his throat again, looking away.
Rahim’s eyes cast a sudden chill of judgment. “Since you arrived from Rey, Irsa has spent most days in the far corner by the fountain, painting or reading from a book. I believe it’s one you gave her.”
“Of course. The book on tea,” Jahandar remarked absentmindedly.
Rahim bowed his head in a curt gesture. When he began striding down the vestibule once more, Jahandar held up his palms to stall him.
“Why are your hands burned?” Rahim asked with alarm, glancing at Jahandar’s blistered fingers.
Jahandar shook his head, flicking away Rahim’s distress like a bothersome gnat. “I mishandled a lamp while I was translating a text. Don’t worry yourself, Rahim-jan. I already prepared a salve in my room.”
Rahim frowned. “Please be careful, Jahandar-effendi. Shazi will rail at me if something happens to you while you’re here at Taleqan. And if Shahrzad is unhappy, Tariq will be furious. Dealing with hellions of their ilk falls rather low on my list of things to enjoy. Like scorpions and quicksand.”
Jahandar sighed piteously, scuffing his feet. “You must find me quite pathetic as a father, do you not?”
“You love your children. That is obvious. But I cannot speak to what it means to be a good father.”
“You’ve always been so good, Rahim-jan. Such a wonderful friend to Tariq and to my Shahrzad.” Jahandar studied Rahim in an unusually intense manner.
Rahim’s features stiffened, discomfort settling between the lines. “Thank you.”
An awkward silence fell between the two men.
And Jahandar knew it was time to take action. For a new kind of test was at hand. The kind he had always dreaded, ever since he was a boy. So he forced back the needling part of him that wanted to shuffle away to the safety of the shadows. Those last remaining traces that babbled from lofty corners reminded him he was not a fighter.
Just an old man with a book.
Jahandar’s jaw squared under his wispy beard. “I know I have very little right to ask anything of anyone, Rahim al-Din Walad. But as a father, I have no choice.”
Rahim waited, drawing in a careful breath.
“I know Tariq left Taleqan because of Shahrzad,” Jahandar continued. “There is no way for me to know what he has planned, but I will not sit in a darkened room while others take charge of rescuing my child. I did not do as a father should have at the onset; I did not stop her. But whatever needs to be done now, trust that I will do it. I cannot fight as you can. I am not fearless and strong. I am not Tariq. But I am Shahrzad’s father, and I would do anything for her. Please do not dismiss me. Please allow me to be part of your plans. Find a place for me in them.”
Rahim listened to Jahandar with quiet consideration. “I’m sorry, but this is not my decision to make, Jahandar-effendi.”
“I—I understand.”
“But I will take you to see Tariq when the time comes.”
Jahandar nodded, a peculiar, martial light entering his gaze. “Thank you. Thank you, Rahim-jan.”
Now Rahim’s smile was genuine. He put a hand on Jahandar’s shoulder. Then he bowed his head and lifted his fingertips to his brow.
Jahandar remained in the archway of the vestibule, pleased by his success—the passing of this test.
He looked down at his palms. The newest blisters formed over the scars of the last, and they smarted at the slightest touch. Seared with the promise of pain to come. His skin was hard and crusted beneath his nails, and he could no longer sacrifice the sleeves of his remaining garments to this endeavor.
It was time.
Jahandar stared across the courtyard at the entrance to the kitchens.
A mere hare would not do. Not this time.
He needed more.
Always more.
THE FALCON AND THE TIGER
SHAHRZAD STOOD AT THE MARBLE RAILING OF HER balcony, overlooking the pools of water below. A midday sun reflected back in their glistening surfaces, rippling with each passing breeze.
But this was not of particular interest to Shahrzad.
The arriving guests were far more fascinating.
It was a veritable menagerie of the absurd.
One nervous-looking young man entered the courtyard with a bevy of attendants, each waiting to remove a particular article of his clothing. First one leather mankalah. Then another. Then his rida’. Then his boots, which were quickly replaced by a pair of pristine sandals. Each of the servants stashed away the garments in methodical order before the young man ventured a single step from his steed.
Another man—the size of three men put together—swayed atop an elephant sporting hooked tusks, its grey trunk trailing across the gritty granite pavestones below. This man had an oiled mustache with ends that twitched at the slightest movement, and each of his fingers displayed immense rings of a different gemstone, glittering with abandon in the rays of the sun.