image
image
image

The Magick Ball

image

Shāhpuhr. He wasn’t among the nine warriors at her side. Abarōz slumped against the inside of the boulder, tears running onto her breastplate. How could she have let this happen? Shāhpuhr, so skilled and well-muscled, slain by Sangal’s ebrens as if he were a babe. And it was all her fault: For her, he’d given his life to a people who’d tossed him away.

The word “Why?” turned in her mind as if it were on a wheel. Tengri or the new god or Someone seemed to consider death as a game like Roll-the-Rock. Abarōz looked at those who were left, most injured and bleeding. Had this small group evaded Sangal just to be killed by the S̆āh?

But, from the other Hamwars, Abarōz thought she heard echoes of wailing. Perhaps the S̆āh was busy trying to placate the city after the enemy struck. Abarōz could almost see him giving dēnārs to those who’d lost a loved one.

“Abarōz,” said Pabag—happily, he’d lived!— “I am glad to see you’re all right.”

“Not really.”

“Your friend,” the Ōšmurdan went on, “was not taken by ebrens.” Abarōz couldn’t move. “He was dragged back to the city . . . by the S̆āh’s personal guard.”

She didn’t know at that moment whether to cheer or mourn. That meant Shāhpuhr wasn’t dead . . . didn’t it?

“Why?” she finally choked out.

“I wish I could say, but I’m no vizier. Perhaps the new god knows.”

Abarōz closed her eyes. If He did, he wasn’t sharing.

“Bükrek,” she said dully. “I’ve got to get to Bükrek.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Pabag told her. “The ebrens have not left.”

Despite her feeling of numbness—like an empty vein of quartz—Abarōz stirred herself to think. The Ōšmurdan was right. She couldn’t get to Razūr with dragons lurking outside. How then to alert Bükrek that her son had been taken captive? She’d have to be invisible or conjure some magickal spell.

Logo

Description automatically generated

People barely looked her way as she clattered down the stairs. They were so engrossed with saving themselves that another life didn’t matter. Abarōz didn’t know how she’d managed to get there, but when her feet hit level stone, she was faced with the gold door.

“Manuchehr!” she shouted.

With a pop, the Peril appeared beside her. His bearded face was grim.

“We know what happened,” he said. “Our plate did its work, but the dragons did theirs.”

“Shāhpuhr’s gone,” Abarōz said. That was all that mattered to her.

“Yes,” Manuchehr nodded, “I fear he is lost to you.”

“Never,” she growled, staring up at his yellow robes. “Again, I request your help.”

The Peril spread his hands.

“But what can I do?”

“Send a message to Bükrek that her son is held by Al-razi.”

“Hmm.” The Peril thought, gathering his wings close. “I suppose that’s not ‘actively helping’—as long as we do not fight.” Abarōz closed her eyes. “We must be quite cautious . . . not to enrage the S̆āh. I dare say he knows you’ve been to see Şahmeran, and, if you are captured, he’ll torture her hiding place out of you.”

Abarōz opened her lids, staring at him without blinking.

“Let him try.”

The Peril gave a half smile. He clasped his hands before him, curving his fingers as if holding an unseen ball. Then, a ball took form, its blue arrows glowing to light the runes on its surface.

“Fly,” Manuchehr said.

The object did just that, speeding and then disappearing through the tunnel’s thick wall.

“T-thank you,” Abarōz told him, crouching down by his side.

Now would come the hard part: she’d have to sit and wait.

Logo

Description automatically generated

The last of the eight warriors made it into the zarr. Abarōz couldn’t meet their eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “If it weren’t for me, our force would still be whole, and Shāhpuhr would be here.”

“Do not apologize,” said a woman, her forearm bandaged. “We fought for ourselves—not you. We couldn’t bear one more minute of groveling at the S̆āh’s feet.”

Though Abarōz felt heavy, she still managed to nod. Pacing back and forth by Manuchehr, she mumbled a curse—both at herself, and the sluggish passage of time.

“That will not help,” The Peril said, “neither the curse not the walking. I ask you to put your faith in both me and my spells.”

Abarōz tried to nod. She’d seen what the Perils could do . . . that was not the issue. She just feared that Bükrek’s power might not extend to Dardan.

Abarōz was glad, as always, that measuring time in the zarr was tough: it was buried so deeply that it sank below the dead. She hoped Shāhpuhr wouldn’t join them as she waited for Manuchehr, but her spirits lifted when a ball of blue passed through the wall to settle in his hands.

The Peril stared down, rubbing his fingers over the runes.

“The green dragon has answered,” he said, “and bids you to wait outside the hatch.”

“But . . . Sangal’s dragons?”

“Bükrek is a healer,” said Manuchehr. “She would not lead you to danger.”

Abarōz considered this. She had no reason to believe otherwise.

“Thank you. Again.”

He bowed, the bottom of his wings rustling.

“Goodbye,” Abarōz said to her fellow warriors. “Tengri willing, we will meet again.”

She mentally prepared for another stair-filled climb. But this time, knowing that Bükrek had called her provided extra strength to her legs. When she heard the lowing of cows, she rejoiced, sweeping past them and their friends on her way to the rope ladder. Nothing could stand in her way—not even the S̆āh—as she climbed, threw open the hatch, and wriggled onto flat rock.

She cocked her head, listening. No roars or flapping of wings. No bursts of flame or smoke. Just as she untensed, letting out her breath, she found herself nose-to-nose with a . . . dragon!

Surprising even herself, she unsheathed her sword with speed.

“Abarōz, no,” said Bükrek. “It is only me.”

“But–but the others?” Abarōz asked as she stood.

“I drove them off,” the dragon said calmly, “as I did at your first escape. They are not brave enough to face me—their master’s dreaded foe.”

“I wish . . . ” Abarōz started, “that you’d been here during the battle.”

“As do I,” sighed Bükrek “but as you know, I cannot fight.”

Abarōz nodded, circling back to the subject she cared about.

“And Shāhpuhr?” she asked eagerly.

“You will see,” said Bükrek. “Come.”

Abarōz saw the dragon flatten her coils, permitting her to mount . . . badly. She gripped a green spine with both hands, steadying herself for flight. Bükrek took off down the sand, winging her way to Razūr. Without Shāhpuhr’s arms to hold her, Abarōz felt unstable. She couldn’t have been more glad when Bükrek touched down by the river. Loosening her death grip, she slid to the ground.

“Shāhpuhr?” she asked again.

“You called?” a voice sounded, and, whirling, Abarōz saw him. He was wearing Dardan robes and looking more handsome than ever.

Shāhpuhr!” she cried, running up to throw her arms around his neck. Modesty, be cursed! “How did you escape?”

“It’s an odd tale,” he said, returning her hug before putting distance between them. “The guards took me straight to the S̆āh, who was overjoyed to see me!”

“What?” Abarōz asked. How could this be?

“It seems that my name, Shāhpuhr, means ‘son of the king.’” Abarōz stared at him, stunned. “And that the S̆āh has great regret for casting me out. He said he couldn’t be happier to find I was still alive, and, when I told him I wished to return to my mother, he said yes! He sent her a message and she frightened away all the ebrens before flying me here.”

Abarōz opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Could it be that Shāhpuhr was the son of the hated S̆āh? If someone had told her that she’d grow wings like a Peril, she would have believed it sooner. At last, she was able to speak.

“Er . . .”she began, blinking rapidly. “That’s–that’s not what I expected!”

“I know!” he crowed with a wink. “It seems the S̆āh has more wives than this river has stones!”

Abarōz laughed even as doubts crept in. There was so much to unspool: Why wouldn’t the S̆āh cling to his long-lost son to use as a bargaining tool? Was the ruler filled with sentiment after the attack on Dardan? Had he gained respect for Bükrek’s maternal bond? Whatever it was, Abarōz shrugged it away. After all, Shāhpuhr was with her, and that’s all that mattered. She placed her hand on his wrist as his mother smiled down.

“You two have endured much,” she said, but our struggles do not end here. I know Sangal well: he will come again to the city, probably with greater numbers.”

“He wants gold,” said Abarōz.

“Every last nugget,” Bükrek nodded. “I think we can agree that based on last night, men are no match for dragons.”

“Not even women,” said Abarōz.

Bükrek’s yellow eyes met her dark ones.

“We postponed your trip to the south. Now it is time to go.”

Abarōz had been dreading this.

“Very well,” she said. “I see clearly that to battle dragons, our side needs more dragons.”

“More than one,” Shāhpuhr chuckled. Abarōz sighed. “It will not be so bad,” he said. “Remember, I speak their tongue.”

“And theirs are bigger than you are!”

His shoulders shook with laughter.

“We should set out immediately,” he said. “Time to pack the provisions.”

Abarōz shrugged, seizing two leather packs. She grabbed every dried food in sight and filled four skins with water.

“Ready?” Shāhpuhr asked, turning toward the forest.

“No,” Abarōz told him, “But that hasn’t mattered before.”

“Farewell,” Bükrek called. “May your journey be one of peace.”

Abarōz snorted. How could it be with bloodthirsty beasts waiting?

She and Shāhpuhr walked in silence past the Rōd and into the trees. Abarōz could stand it no longer—she had to ask.

“Well, how was it?”

“What?”

“The S̆āh’s Hamwar!”

Shāhpuhr sighed.

“Ah, it was all very . . . rich.”

“Go on!” she urged.

“Well, I’ve never seen so much gold except down in the zarr. There were gold threads on the draperies, life-sized idols of the S̆āh in every corner, and even a bed with solid gold sheets!”

Abarōz tried to look calm although she wanted to scream. It figured the S̆āh lived in opulence while his subjects died of thirst.

“Where,” she asked, “did he obtain this thread and drapery? Certainly not from Dardan!”

“A vizier told me they’re from long ago. Before the city went underground.”

She paused before her next question.

“They–they didn’t harm you?”

Shāhpuhr chuckled.

“Not a son of the king!”

Satisfied, Abarōz went quiet until they had walked quite a bit, clustered leaves giving way to dunes.

“Pretty,” Abarōz said.

“Yes. See how their tops glow orange with the help of Mihr!”

“Still, it’s unbearably hot.”

“It’s true that few choose to live here, but for a dragon, it’s perfect.”

“Why?”

“They are solitary creatures who wish to live apart.”

Abarōz blinked the sweat from her eyes, feeling Mihr burn bright on her back. She paused to wipe her face and take a long swig of water.

“How much longer?” she asked, offering Shāhpuhr a skin. He gulped its contents gratefully.

“Perhaps a full day. We should find a place for the night so we can resume tomorrow.”

To Abarōz, this sounded good if it meant halting their trek. She hiked up her dress as Shāhpuhr limped toward a dune, his poor foot not helping as it sunk into sand.

By the time they reached the dune, Mihr had gone down substantially.

“Thank Tengri!” Abarōz cried, slouching to rest her back on the dune. She withdrew a dried something from her pack, and they both ate hungrily. After that, what struck Abarōz as odd was that as the night progressed, the air grew steadily colder, until she found herself shivering!

“Here,” Shāhpuhr offered, removing his cloak to throw it to her. “Try to rest. Tomorrow’s bound to be busy.”

Abarōz grunted, collapsing onto the fabric and wrapping it over her shoulders. As tired as she was (and as much as her calves ached), she couldn’t drift off to sleep. There were so many questions: When would Sangal attack again? Would he really challenge Bükrek to another nine-year war? And what was the S̆āh’s real aim in letting Shāhpuhr go free?

At some point in the night, under Māh’s pale light, she thought she heard movement like someone creeping toward her. She stiffened, peering through nearly closed lids as she spotted a figure—Shāhpuhr—looming over where she lay. Despite Māh and the axtars, she couldn’t see  his expression. Then he crouched in the sand next to her, running his long fingers from her thigh up to her neck. He made no sound, and all Abarōz’s could hear was her own blood rushing.

Then, his fingers swept upward, brushing the cheek he’d kissed, tracing her lips and jaw until they returned to her throat.

What was he doing? Was this some forest ritual? She guessed it wasn’t as his hold became firmer, choking off her air.

“Sh-Shāhpuhr!” she gasped and he instantly let go. “Wh-what were you doing?”

She put a hand to her aching throat, giving a few short coughs.

“I–I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at her face. “I must have walked in my sleep.”

Abarōz narrowed her eyes though she wished to believe him.

“What I really meant to do,” he smiled, “is this.” He leaned over her, placing his lips on hers in a heartfelt kiss. “See? That’s what I do when I’m awake.”

Abarōz returned his smile.

“Still trust me?” he asked.

“Of course.”

She rolled over his cloak as he went back to his sleeping place. She heard him sigh as his long body hit the sand.

“Goodnight,” he called.

Abarōz made a sound like a word mixed with a grunt. She lay frozen in place, wondering. Could she in fact trust Shāhpuhr? Believe his tale of sleepwalking? Doubts clouded her mind as she grabbed short stretches of sleep, afraid to be out for too long.

Az 

––––––––

image

ABARŌZ WOKE WITH HER body aching—probably from thrashing around. She lay under the cloak while her thoughts ran wild. What had happened last night? Did Shāhpuhr really loathe her, as his attempt to choke her attested; or did he feel something else based on his later sweet kiss? She hadn’t felt this bewildered since Archura had sped her away. 

Once she rolled to her feet, she had two opposing desires: to study her friend’s face carefully while averting her own. Since that wouldn’t work, she chose the first, hesitating when a seated Shāhpuhr offered her some bread.

“Sorry again about last night,” he said. Abarōz slipped his offering behind her back. “I’m not sure what came over me. Good thing I don’t sleepwalk at home!”  

Abarōz forced a grin, still not willing to eat. There was something wrong here and she was resolved to find out what. 

“So,” she asked, “this was the first time you’ve done this?” 

“Yes.” He shook his head. “Must be the desert winds.” 

Sure.

“Has it ever happened to you?” he asked. 

“No,” she said sharply.

“Lucky,” Shāhpuhr told her, rising to strap on his pack. “We should go. Before Mihr turns us bright red.” 

“Very well.”

Abarōz trudged beside him, not feeling quite so sorry at his limping progress. She tried to think through what had happened. First, there was the kiss. It was the second he’d given her, and both times he’d thought her asleep. Did this mean he secretly liked her but didn’t want her to know? Or were his feelings more of the love/hate kind? She would never know until she asked, but based on her wavering trust, she didn’t want to chance it. In the meantime, she could still feel the ghost of his lips on her own.

“How much farther?” she asked, wanting to break the silence. 

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before.” 

“Well, what are we looking for?”

“Caves. A cluster of caves at the edge of the sand.” 

Abarōz sighed. Could she ever leave them behind?

They two of them made slow progress as they trudged between dunes, only pausing to drink.

Abarōz looked around.

“I don’t like this,” she said. “This place.”

“You mean the desert?”

“If that’s what it is, then yes.”

“Yet Dardan is in one!”

“That’s different—it’s underground.”

Shāhpuhr considered this as his sandal sunk into sand. 

“I don’t love it either,” he said. “Take me back to my cool forest!”

Abarōz closed her eyes, seeing the sleepy Rōd and its tall, shady trees. When she opened them, Mihr’s rays were striking mercilessly at her back.

“How much farther?” she asked again.

“I sense not too much—look!”

He pointed at pebbles leading to rocks which in turn led to a cave. Based on the size of its entrance, something big must live there.

Abarōz frowned.

“We should have brought weapons,” she said.

“No no. We’re supposed to be on a mission of peace.”

She couldn’t swear it, but she thought he’d rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go in first,” he said.

“I’m not going to argue.”

From outside, Abarōz thought she heard sounds: a whistling and roaring, exchanged at even intervals.

“Shāhpuhr,” she whispered, “I think the dragon is sleeping.”

“Good,” he said, grabbing hold of her hand to move forward.

“Wait!” she cried, “is this really wi—?” 

Too late. They were both stepping on lumps, all of them different sizes.

“By Tengri!”  

Shāhpuhr pointed down, and even without much light, Abarōz saw something glint.

“Is it real?” she whispered, stumbling to stand beside him. At their feet was a solid-gold goblet adorned by precious gems. 

“Yes,” said Shāhpuhr, giving a throaty laugh. “What the S̆āh would not give for this!” 

To Abarōz’s surprise, he bent to pick up the treasure, securing it in his belt. 

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her suspicions all flooding back.

A gift for the Perils,” he said. “They can fashion more plate from this.” 

Again, his excuse made sense, but it also made her uneasy. Was she trapped in a dragon’s den with a boy she couldn’t trust? 

He gave her a close-lipped smile. 

“Let’s move nearer,” he said. 

Abarōz resisted, but he tightened the hold on her hand. As they moved forward, the whistles and roars grew louder until they hurt her ears; worse, she felt a stiff breeze stirred by the snoring beast. Shāhpuhr’s grip became crushing.

“Ow!” Abarōz exclaimed. 

“Shhh . . .” 

She wasn’t afraid to admit that she was intensely afraid: as much as during the battle. If she’d been alone, she would have turned and fled, but Shāhpuhr had taken that choice from her. He dragged her up to the cave’s far end where she caught a glimpse of white. 

Then, she was faced with a sleeping ebren, its scales all the same color, its head on the ground like a puppy. Small shimmering wings were tucked into its side. 

“We must awaken it,” said Shāhpuhr, dragging her with him and tapping the dragon’s snout. Two tar-black eyes opened, staring at the visitors. It must not have liked what it saw since it released a fiery stream. 

Shāhpuhr jumped to the side, carrying Abarōz with him to the side of the cave. Thinking fast, he let out a series of roars.

The dragon lowered its claw, answering him at length. Despite the roughness of its language, it seemed completely calm. 

Shāhpuhr turned to Abarōz. 

“He says his name is Az. He is a young drake, just seventy-five, and especially fond of emeralds.” 

“Good to know,” she said, “but what about being ridden?”

Shāhpuhr turned back to the ebren who now rested his head on his claws. There followed a short conversation in which Az let out several snorts.

Then, the dragon raised his coils, letting loose with a burst of flame that instantly heated the cave. This must have been a warning since neither of them was hit. Still, Az looked unhappy, narrowing his eyes to slits.

“Not good,” Shāhpuhr said, “but you likely figured that out. Even if it saves Gehān, he will not submit to a rider.”

Abarōz slumped. This might well be their last chance.

“Can you . . . take him by surprise?” she asked. Shāhpuhr gave her a look almost as fierce as the dragon’s. “What I mean is . . . leap on his back and see what happens?”

Shāhpuhr crossed his arms, eyes blazing. 

“You would have me risk my life?”  

To Abarōz, his words seemed tinged with disdain. 

“No, no . . . please, forget I ever—” 

“I cannot disappoint Dardan, even if it means my death.” 

Where did that come from? In any case, he shook out his limbs and gave a running leap. Once on the dragon’s back, he grabbed the closest spike while Az roared as if he’d been struck. The ebren reared up, extending those fragile wings, then swooped out of his lair.

“Shāhpuhr!” Abarōz shouted, running after the pair to see Az curl his coils and try to shake her friend. She could only watch, helpless, as Shāhpuhr flew over rocks to land in a heap on the sand.

She put her hands to her mouth, running over to him and kneeling. She completely ignored the flames and roars from Az.

“Shāhpuhr,” she whispered, trying to search for injuries. He’d managed to incur just a few scrapes, but, from the look on his face, his dignity had been bruised.

“What am I?” he asked groggily, putting a hand to his head.

“You mean ‘where’? You’re with the dragon Az—you must speak to him! Tell him we mean no harm.”

Shāhpuhr’s gaze wandered from her to the white-scaled dragon. He rose to his feet shakily, approaching Az with caution.

There followed a long back-and-forth which to Abarōz didn’t sound friendly. But she supposed that roars and screams never did. Once both parties were calm, Shāhpuhr walked back to rejoin her.

“An agreement?” she asked.

“Of sorts. Az says we can ride him back to Bükrek. He greatly respects her.”

“Good work!” Abarōz crowed, almost forgetting herself by giving him a hug. Awkwardly, she pulled back.

“We should go,” she said quietly.

“Ready to fly?” he asked.

“I didn’t care for it with Bükrek, but yes, I suppose.”

He escorted her over to Az who looked resigned to his fate. She felt his strong hands as he lifted her up. Now it was her turn to grab a white spike as Shāhpuhr leapt behind her. Curiously, this time, he put out no arms to hold her.

Az gave a groan, took a running leap, then soared into the clouds.

Without Shāhpuhr steadying her, Abarōz was terrified, convinced that at any moment, she would fall to her death. The white spike dug into her palms as she bowed her head so as not to see sky streaking past. Still nothing from Shāhpuhr. When this journey was over, she planned to talk to Bükrek. 

The one encouraging thing about this flight lay in its sheer speed. When Abarōz next raised her head, she saw green spreading below her, the Rōd winding placidly as Az landed beside it.

The minute his claws hit the ground, Abarōz did the same. Even though she was frazzled, she remembered her manners.

“Thank you,” she told Az. 

He must have guessed at her meaning since he nodded stiffly. Then he, Abarōz, and Shāhpuhr all turned when they heard a rustling. Through the tall grass, Bükrek raised her green head. She seemed almost surprised to see the southern ebren, but gave him a smile and began to converse in Dragon. Abarōz could tell she was pleased: Her yellow eyes softened as she clasped her front claws.

“This,” she told her son and Abarōz, “is just the beginning. With the help of Az, we must rally other ebrens.” Abarōz looked down. This meant yet more forays into dark, forbidding lairs. “For now though, let us rest,” Bükrek said with a wink. “Tomorrow, Az will guide you to his neighbors. He says most are a good sort.” 

Abarōz sighed. She hoped so. She flopped down on the grass while Shāhpuhr went off to find food. Maybe later, she could find the courage to talk to Bükrek in private. For now, the green dragon sat with Az, conversing in their native tongue.

Once Shāhpuhr returned, two waterfowl in hand, Abarōz tried to ignore him. She averted her gaze as he sought to find two rocks, merely shrugging as he started a fire. Despite the delicious smell of roasting meat, she didn’t turn toward him once.

“Here,” he finally said, handing her a full plate. 

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “And your dragon guest?” 

He waved a hand. 

“Oh, I could never feed him,” he said. “Az is on his own.” 

“Not exactly,” Abarōz told him, “the model of a good host.” 

In Dardan, his surly attitude would be taken to task. There, host and guest shared a bond that was practically sacred. 

He answered her with a sneer as he devoured his meat. Why was he so unlike the sweet boy she’d once known? Where had he learned cruelty? Enough to try to choke her. 

“I’m done,” Abarōz told him, striding up to the two dragons. “Bükrek, a word?’ 

She nodded her green head, and Az, taking the hint, slithered off through the grass. 

“Abarōz,” Bükrek asked, “is something wrong? I have sensed your unease since you returned from the south.” 

“Yes, er . . . well . . .” It would not do to back down now. “It’s about Shāhpuhr.” 

“I see,” said his mother, still perfectly calm. “Please—tell me.” 

“It’s just . . . since you brought him from Dardan, he hasn’t been the same. He’s nasty and short with me, and is unconcerned with my safety.” 

“Hmm,” said Bükrek. “Perhaps he’s merely fatigued.”

“There’s–there’s more than that,” Abarōz blurted. The dragon’s yellow eyes did not even blink. “During our time in the desert, he–he tried to choke me.” 

Now this stirred Bükrek to snap her head up quickly. 

“What happened?”

“I woke in the night, and his hand was around my throat. Then, when he thought I was sleeping, he kissed me—nothing alarming—in fact, he was gentle. After that . . . in Az’s cave, he dragged me forcibly, and then, on the ride home, he seemed like he hoped I’d fall.”

Bükrek opened her mouth, revealing those sharp rows of teeth. For a second, Abarōz thought she might be bitten, but soon changed her mind when Bükrek let out a sigh. 

“I have an inkling,” she said, “of what plagues my son. But, for us to be sure, we must put him through a test.” She looked down at Abarōz sadly. “I fear that this involves you.” Abarōz gulped. “I know I ask a great deal, but Shāhpuhr is fond of you. And the behavior you’ve described is not like him at all.” 

“I know,” Abarōz whispered. “He was such a great friend before he attempted to kill me.” 

The green dragon nodded, serious.

“Let me tell you my plan and we will attempt it tonight. Please have faith I’ll allow you to come to no harm.” 

Abarōz took a deep breath. She trusted Bükrek, but of course, but then she’d trusted Shāhpuhr. Still, she didn’t think that a being who’d helped create the world would resort to trickery. Even dragons like Az held her in high esteem. 

“Very well,” Abarōz said, leaning forward as Bükrek whispered.

Logo

Description automatically generated

Night fell over the forest in stages, Abarōz barely aware as Mihr gave way to Māh. The moon was still a sliver, but one that shed pale light over a green canopy. Since their meal, she hadn’t spoken to Shāhpuhr: Perhaps her critique of his hosting skills had caused a simmering anger. It was almost better this way as she took to her usual bed: one across the fire from him. She crept under her thin woven blanket, resting her head on a pile of leaves. It reminded her of Paristan—not just the sleeping arrangements, but the fear of a night visitor.

Not wanting to rouse suspicion, Abarōz mumbled “Goodnight” over her shoulder. What she got in return was a snort. 

The air, cool and bracing, drifted over her cheek. Most evenings, she’d delight in the sound of the river; the creak of branches nearby. But tonight, she was on the alert as she only feigned sleep. She tried to tame her breathing though she really wanted to pant. 

How long would it be? How long would he wait . . . or do nothing at all? 

Abarōz suppressed an urge to shout, clamping her teeth together in a sheer act of will. Now, the sounds of the forest were haunting: wind rippling through leaves; the scurrying of an animal. She thought she might go mad until she heard him stir. 

Calm, she told herself, calm as the lifeless stone. 

Her senses seemed to heighten as Shāhpuhr crept round the fire, staying low to the grass. She tried not to stir as she saw his tall form approach. Her heart pumped so much blood she thought it would come through her ears.

A rustling.

Just like in the desert, he was upon her, one hand clasped over her mouth with her stone knife in the other.

Fear jolted through her as it had in the last battle, and, without thinking, she squirmed and bit down on his hand. 

“Ow!” he shouted, “traitorous little harlot! That was your last act of defiance!” 

Abarōz raised her arms to block against the knife before she felt, rather than saw, a looming shape.

“That is enough,” ordered Bükrek, and when Abarōz dared to look, she saw the dragon with her son’s cloak clenched in her mouth as his feet left the ground.

“Put me down!” Shāhpuhr yelled. “You both will be punished for opposing my blessèd father!” 

Abarōz leapt to her feet.

“You mean . . . the S̆āh?” she asked. 

“He will see you in agony! You shall feel his wrath as his guards flay you alive!” 

Abarōz and Bükrek could only shake their heads. She could still hear Shāhpuhr screaming as his mother took him away.