“I’m not talking about you!” Without another word, Artan stripped back the scorched bits of linen around her stomach.
That time, Shahrzad managed a scream.
“Shut up, shut up!” Artan tugged at an earring, his expression pained. “Lie still, and I’ll fix it. I swear I’ll fix it.”
Though his words were wrong, his face was strangely right. His jaw was fixed. The diagonal scar through his lip, white. He pressed both hands to her shoulders in an attempt to steady her quaking. A jolt blazed through her.
The dark centers of Artan’s eyes spread, like a drop of ink through water. His hands moved from her shoulders to hover above her stomach.
From the tips of his fingers bloomed an unsteady light.
But it wasn’t a warm light.
Something viciously cold tugged at her center. Tugged through her skin. A tremor rolled down her spine, as though the very air around them was prickly and alive.
The ink in Artan’s eyes began to change color. Began to brighten to a stormy grey.
He swallowed a cry of pain. Then fell back onto his heels.
When Shahrzad sat up, she glanced down at her stomach. An ugly red welt remained. But it was nothing like the burn she’d expected, the pain nothing worse than that of a few days in the hot sun.
It took her only a moment to realize what had happened.
For on Artan Temujin’s bare stomach, in the exact same spot, was a burn like hers.
Except his was far worse.
His was blistered. Sores formed along its length.
The sores she should have had.
Somehow, Artan had transferred the worst of her injury onto his skin.
“You—didn’t have to do that,” she sputtered, a salty lock of hair caught on her lips.
It was a ridiculous thing to say. An obvious thing to say. Yet she felt it should be said, nonetheless.
His mouth bent into a smile resembling a scythe. “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” Shahrzad replied, still at a loss.
After a beat of unsettling calm, a shudder racked through him, and Artan collapsed into the sand. “We always seem to do things hind over end, don’t we?”
“It appears so.”
His chest heaved from exertion. “This”—he motioned between their matching burns—“isn’t working.”
“No.” She leaned up on an elbow, her expression morose. “It’s not.”
“Such a pity.” Artan remained prostrate along the shore, lost in thought, regarding the night sky above. “My aunt will eat you alive.”
“Why—why do you think your aunt will eat me alive?” Shahrzad asked haltingly. “And if you know this, why did you agree to take me to her?”
What is the real reason you are helping me, Artan Temujin?
When Artan finally deigned to speak, his gaze remained fixed on the stars.
“Have you ever heard the story ‘The Girl Who Grasped the Moon’?”
“Of course. Every small child has heard it.”
“Tell it to me as you heard it.”
“To what purpose—”
“Humor me.” Artan pointed at his blistered stomach. “This once.”
Shahrzad’s brows pinched together. “Just this once.” She turned her gaze toward the sky. “There was a girl who lived in a stone tower, surrounded by white dragons that did her every bidding. When she desired a sticky pastry, she had but to ask. When she wished to sleep, they turned the sky to night with the beat of their wings. The sun to moon with a simple roar. Though the girl wanted for nothing, she continued to want—more and more of everything and anything. But more than anything, the girl wished to be powerful. To her, the dragons always possessed more power than any being in the world, because they were able to make her every wish come true.”
Artan heaved a breath, holding it for a spell. At this odd behavior, Shahrzad’s confusion swelled further, and she stopped speaking.
When Artan eyed her sidelong, Shahrzad continued. “One night, when one of her dragons brought her a thick gold necklace she’d requested from a distant land, the girl smelled the strange perfume adorning its silken wrappings and decided she could no longer live with wanting this power. She had to have it. The girl demanded the dragon take her to its magic’s source. The dragon turned to the full moon, its distress plain on its horned face. The girl did not care. She insisted the dragon take her to the moon so that she might harness its power. They flew toward it, a volley of stars collecting in their midst. The girl gathered the stars and from them fashioned a rope. Then—though the dragon roared a final warning—the girl threw a ring of stars around the moon, all while laughing like a bell tolling in the night.”
Shahrzad stopped to glance at Artan. “But, like so many things of power, the moon refused to be contained.”
At this, Artan smiled. But it was not a smile of amusement. It was a smile of something much darker and deeper.
“The moon began to glide through the sky. Torn from her dragon’s back, the girl clung to the rope of stars. She cried out, asking the moon to grant her wish or release her. Like a chilling breeze, the moon’s reply chased across her skin: ‘You wish to be powerful? Then I will make you into my shadow. A moon to command the lost stars. But know that such a thing will come at a cost.’ Without hesitating, the girl trilled with laughter. ‘I care not about cost. Take all my worldly possessions, for I have no need of them once I possess such power.’ The moon’s words wafted through the night air, colder than a first snow. ‘Very well, girl. I have long desired a true companion.’ Then, in a swirl of stardust, the moon turned the girl into its shadow, bereft of all light. Tethered to it for all time. This shadow moon—the new moon—was granted power only a few nights a year. But never power enough to free itself from its bonds.”
“This is why the moon we know seems to disappear,” Artan finished quietly. “Overshadowed. Eclipsed.”
Shahrzad nodded once. “Always chasing the true moon.”
Their voices fell silent as the waves crashed in the distance.
“Why are you here, little snipe?” Artan began. “Is it really for your father?”
“Yes.” Her response was swift.
“Nothing more?”
At this, Shahrzad hesitated. Of course she was here for her father. But she was also here for another reason. A reason that needed to remain shrouded in mystery. “Why do you ask?”
Artan turned his head to hers. “Because I know there’s more. I know you’re queen of a broken city and of a kingdom on the brink of war. That your king is a monster.”
Shahrzad said nothing. Her fingers moved to the bare skin of her stomach, tentatively grazing her wound. It felt hot to the touch. Her mind’s eye returned to only moments ago, when Artan Temujin’s face had lost all hints of pretense.
When signs of true remorse—signs of richer emotion—were all too evident.
“Trust is an interesting matter when it comes to Artan. He will not give it to those who do not offer it first.”
Perhaps it was time to put a small measure of trust in this boy. “Khalid is—not a monster. Not at all.” Her heart lulled for a beat in the warmth of memory.
“Truly?” Artan studied her further. “Then what is he?”
“Why are you so curious?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you agree to help me, Artan Temujin?”
Artan did not reply immediately. “That story about the girl? It’s about my family.”
“What?” Trying to conceal her shock, Shahrzad turned to face him.
“Don’t misunderstand me. Facets of your story are ridiculous. Heavily embellished by time. But its core is rooted in truth. One of my ancestors stole a powerful bringer of light to become an equally powerful wish-granter. In return, her maker trapped her. Bound her to him forever. A powerful genie, trapped in a hollow sword.” His expression was equal parts bitter and blithe.
For a moment, Shahrzad was filled with disbelief. “I—”
“You wanted to know why I agreed to help you. It’s mostly because Musa-abagha asked me to. And because I am bound by my ancestor’s foolishness. Bound to be a trapped granter of wishes. Musa-abagha has kept me safe these many years. Safe from those who would enslave me. Make of me a dragon who does nothing but bring gold necklaces to thankless little girls.” He laughed bitterly. “Musa Zaragoza protects me from my family’s curse; he keeps us—me, Parissa, Mas, and the others—hidden and teaches us to control our powers. Protects us all here at the Fire Temple. Here, when we are asked to use our abilities, it is always our choice. Here, we are never slaves to our magic.”