“What’s troubling you?” Irsa said before breaking a crumbly cake in two.
“Nothing.” Shahrzad’s reply was unusually sullen.
“Fine. Nothing is troubling you.” Irsa licked the sugar dust from her fingertips. “One day, I will no longer ask, and it will be your own fault.”
“You’re becoming quite prickly. Perhaps you should stop spending so much time around Rahim al-Din Walad.” Shahrzad almost grinned.
“And you’re becoming quite the liar.” Irsa shot Shahrzad a pointed glance. “You’ve made so many promises to me. Promises you’ve yet to keep.”
Shahrzad took a deep breath. Everything Irsa had said was true. She’d long been denying Irsa her confidence. But her intentions had only ever been well meaning. As such, it seemed wrong to include Irsa now that Shahrzad was mired in a quandary of her own making.
But in the recent past, such pride had nearly proven to be Shahrzad’s downfall. Her refusal to see the truth through the tales had almost cost her Khalid’s love. If she confided in her sister now, perhaps Irsa could provide the assistance she so desperately needed. Perhaps two heads would prevail where one had failed, as their mother had so often said.
Or perhaps Shahrzad would rue the day she’d put her sister’s life at risk for her own selfish gain.
Shahrzad took a slow sip of tea and tried to swallow her doubts in a swirl of mint and sugar.
I can’t continue in such a manner. Something must change.
Perhaps that something is me.
“I need to take Baba’s book and key from him . . .” Shahrzad did not look away from her sister as she began.
Irsa’s eyebrows pulled together in quizzical fashion.
“Without him knowing I’ve taken them,” she finished. “At least not immediately. Can you think of a way?”
Irsa chewed on almond cake as she thought. “There’s a sleeping draught in the scroll of curatives Rahim gave me. Do you think that would work?”
Shahrzad pursed her lips in consideration.
It’s risky. But I have been unable to come up with a better solution for the whole of the past three days.
“It might.”
“However, I should caution you,” Irsa continued. “I think it will take time for Baba to fall asleep. And I don’t know how effective the draught is, as I’ve yet to try it.” She sipped her tea. “Why do you need his book, Shazi? And why can you not simply ask him for it?”
Shahrzad settled her face into a mask of false composure. It would be imprudent of her to tell Irsa everything she had learned. Imprudent to trouble her sister with such painful details about her father’s sad exploits. “Why I need it is not—”
“No.” Irsa’s mouth thinned. “If you want my help, I want you to tell me your reasons. Tell me the truth.”
“The truth is not—”
“Pretty? Easy? As it would seem?” Irsa scoffed, almost stiffly. “How old do you think I am, Shazi? A mere babe in swaddling? Or a young woman able to concoct a sleeping draught. For you cannot have both.”
Shahrzad blinked, taken aback by the simple truth of her sister’s words. Irsa was right. Shahrzad could no longer pick and choose what she saw in her. Nor could she continue protecting her. No matter how much she might wish to do so.
If Irsa was old enough to help her—old enough to while away the hours with Rahim al-Din Walad—then she was old enough to know why Shahrzad needed their father’s book.
“You’re right. No matter how much I wish to deny it, you’re no longer a child. It’s time I told you the truth.” Shahrzad breathed deep and began.
This time, she left nothing out. In a voice so soft it could barely be heard, Shahrzad told her sister the story of the curse. Of everything the boy she loved had been forced to do to protect his people. Of all they now had to do to end a reign of terror perpetrated by a grief-stricken madman.
Irsa listened in wide-eyed shock.
When it came time to hear of the daunting task before them, Irsa leaned closer and cut her eyes in concentration.
“So I must take the book from Baba while he sleeps, then collect Khalid from Rey so that he may destroy the book and end the curse, along with this needless war,” Shahrzad finished, her shoulders falling forward from the burden of all she’d divulged.
Irsa remained silent for a time. “This is a tremendous risk. Especially with so many unfriendly eyes upon you,” she finally said. “And things might progress more smoothly if you had help. Why don’t you let me take the book from Baba while you travel to Rey?”
“No.” Shahrzad shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“No,” Irsa insisted. “It isn’t. It makes sense for me to do it. He won’t suspect me of having any interest in the book. Let me give him the sleeping draught in his evening tea. I’ll wait for him to fall asleep, then meet you in the desert.”
“I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to you.”
“What could happen to me?” Irsa frowned. “It’s not as though I’m fighting at the vanguard. I’m only transporting a book,” she said with unassuming brevity. “Why don’t we meet by the well, east of the encampment? It’s a short ride from here. I’ll borrow Aisha’s horse, then bring both the book and the key there, and in doing so save you the trouble and the time. You can leave for Rey once I’ve given Baba his tea.” Her voice had grown more fervent as she spoke, her words grounded in their surety.
Shahrzad chewed the inside of her cheek, still unwilling to relent, but warming to the idea.
It does make sense. And it would be nice to work together, for a change.
“Don’t worry, Shazi.” Irsa grinned good-naturedly. “I am merely waiting for Baba to fall asleep, then delivering a book to you. There’s no danger in this.”
Despite her wiser inclinations, Shahrzad smiled back.
Perhaps her sister was right.
They were taking charge of their destinies. Refusing to allow fate to dictate their futures. Perhaps the reason Shahrzad had been struggling so much of late was because she’d been fighting against a raging current. Perhaps she should swim alongside it, for a change.
“All right,” Shahrzad agreed. “Let’s do it.”
“Together.” Irsa smiled wider.
Shahrzad nodded. “Together.”
Tariq wasn’t sure what could have possessed him to follow Irsa al-Khayzuran tonight.
Of all the things he should have been doing, he should not have been secretly following Irsa. He should have been planning their next raid. Or at least forming the beginnings of a strategy with his uncle, despite his growing unease as to Reza bin-Latief’s objective.
Instead here he was with Rahim, trudging through the desert on horseback . . .
Trying to keep silent.
Indeed, they were fortunate Irsa was such a poor sneak. As well as a decidedly poor lookout. For any soldier worth his salt would have noticed them trailing at a distance.
Would have forgone this ridiculousness long ago.
But Tariq had been worried about Shahrzad for some time. These past few days, he’d tried to keep tabs on her whereabouts. Earlier this evening, Tariq had seen her steal into the desert, carrying a rolled bundle. Before he’d been able to break away from his soldiers and follow her, Shahrzad had disappeared without a trace.
Now Tariq was forced to do the next best thing and follow Irsa. For if anyone knew what Shahrzad was up to with this strange disappearance, it would be her younger sister.
Tariq was more than willing to resort to subterfuge if it meant learning the explanation behind Shahrzad’s recent behavior. More than willing to steal into the desert, in pursuit of a hooded figure beneath a moonlit sky.
And Rahim?
It was becoming abundantly clear Rahim would follow Irsa al-Khayzuran anywhere.
All Irsa had in her possession was a tiny parcel wrapped in a length of dark linen, pressed against her chest. She was not dressed for traveling. The light shahmina about her shoulders would not protect her from much.
Tariq found this strange because Irsa al-Khayzuran was usually quite sensible. Usually not a cause for concern. She never had been. Was not the type ever to be.