oetry, a little food, and reading filled the remainder of Shaharazad’s day in the confines of her room. Her father did not come and she made a great deal of fuss, disguising her true anxiety. The palace was astir and it was maddening not to know what was going on both inside and outside of the walls. Rawiya clucked over her more than usual, so much so that Shaharazad decided if she heard “posture, my lady” one more time she would be forced to give her maid a good shaking. What she needed was some time to practice with her sword, but with Rawiya around there was no chance for it.

By sunset Shaharazad could scarcely contain her impatience. She had had enough of pretending and wanted to wait out the time alone. She begged Rawiya for a dose of cordial from the kitchen to ease her headache, and mercifully her maid left. Shaharazad leapt to her windowsill and peered into the darkening gloom of the town.

“Hurry, Yeats,” she whispered. “I am anxious for your news.” She smiled briefly. “And your familiar face.”

Rawiya returned with a small flask of cordial and fairly cast it on the table. Her face was pale and her hands shook when she poured the drink.

“Are you ill, Rawiya?”

“No, my lady.”

“You are shaking.”

Rawiya gasped, then whispered frantically, “Guards are doubled at every entrance and two wait outside your door. An assistant cook told me that a villain tried to enter the palace!” She was as near to clucking as a startled chicken. “And he was trying to get to your chamber!”

Shaharazad sat straight up. “Was he caught?”

“No! Three tried to apprehend him, including a palace guard, but he overpowered them! The cook’s nose! It was broken. It must be a fierce rogue.” Rawiya shook her finger. “We must be cautious!”

The girl nodded thoughtfully. “Did the cook describe this villain?”

Her maidservant frowned. “That is the strangest of things. The cook claimed the rogue was a beast who could hurl stones the size of his head with the accuracy of an archer. But the royal food taster swore he was no more than a boy! A cabbage seller confessed the same. And Mustafa the beggar won’t utter a word, which is something to be said in itself.”

Shaharazad smothered a smile. So! Mohassin must have bribed the beggar to silence. Yeats had made it to the kitchen! She frowned. But what of the palace guard? Oh, please be safe!

Composing herself, Shaharazad took her maid’s hands. “Rawiya. If there is a rogue loose in the palace—and a dangerous one at that—then I want you back in your home with your husband. I will be safe with guards outside my door. Besides, it is late. And you have already stayed too long.”

Tears formed in the woman’s eyes. “Sweet Shaharazad. You never think of yourself.”

“I insist,” the girl said.

Rawiya did not move.

“I command,” Shaharazad said firmly.

Rawiya stood slowly. “Thank you, my lady. I will be here at dawn for your bath.”

“As always, Rawiya.”

When the maid reached the door, Shaharazad called out, “Rawiya. Do I … I mean … is my hair pretty tonight?”

Rawiya looked up in surprise.