THE HONOR OF BETRAYAL

WHEN SHAHRZAD AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, sunlight streamed through the opened screens leading to the terrace. A fresh arrangement of citrus blossoms lay on a small stool next to the raised platform.

At the sight of the white flowers by her bed, her first thought was of Khalid. She stretched her arms, trying her best to ignore the pang of guilt that ensued.

“Do you like them?” Despina asked. “I thought you might.”

Shahrzad raised her head from the pillow. “What?”

“You have a rather strange preoccupation with flowers, so I asked them to bring some to your room.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Despina snorted. “You don’t sound grateful. You sound disappointed.”

Shahrzad rolled over. She rose from the bed and slipped into her shamla.

I hate that she notices everything. Almost as much as I hate her for being right.

As Shahrzad stepped from the platform, Despina removed the lid from the tureen of soup.

And Shahrzad heard her stifle a gasp in the process.

“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad took a seat on the cushions before the low table.

“Nothing,” Despina squeaked.

Shahrzad gazed at her handmaiden, and her heart lurched.

Despina’s brow was beaded with sweat. Her usually flawless coloring of delicate ivory and blushing coral was decidedly green and sallow. Tension darkened every crease. Her graceful fingers trembled next to her beautifully draped dress of lilac linen.

She looked exactly as she had the day Shahrzad’s tea had been poisoned.

“Where is the servant who tastes my food?” Shahrzad’s voice wavered at the end of her question.

“She just left.” It was a terse response, pushed forth from unwilling lips.

Shahrzad nodded. “Fine. I’ll ask you once more, Despina. What’s wrong?”

Despina shook her head, backing away from the table.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Shahrzad.”

Shahrzad stood up, jangling the edge of the tray. “Don’t make me do this!”

“Do what?”

“Why do you look scared?”

“I’m not scared!”

“Come here.”

Despina hesitated before striding back to the table. As she stood alongside Shahrzad, her trembling worsened, and she pressed her mouth into a single, bright pink line.

Shahrzad’s heartbreak began anew. “Sit down.”

“What?” The word passed through clenched teeth.

“Sit down, Despina!”

“I—no.”

“No?”

“I—can’t, Shahrzad!” She shuffled away from the table, raising a hand to her lips.

“How could you?” Shahrzad whispered.

“What?” Despina gasped.

“Stop lying to me!” She seized Despina by the wrist and dragged her closer. “Why?”

The flat of Despina’s hand remained clamped over her mouth as she glanced at the tray of food below.

“Answer me!” Shahrzad wailed. “How could you do this?”

Despina shook her head, the beads of sweat dripping from her brow.

“Despina!”

Then, with a retching sound, Despina snatched the lid of the soup tureen and began vomiting into it.

Shahrzad stood there in shock, her eyes huge as she watched her handmaiden sink to the floor in a miserable heap, clutching the silver lid in both hands.

Once Despina’s suffering had lessened to dry heaving, she peered up at Shahrzad through tear-stained lashes.

“You—are a miserable brat, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran,” she choked.

At first, Shahrzad could think of no way to string together a coherent response. “I—you’re—Despina, are you . . .” Shahrzad trailed off. Then she cleared her throat. “Well, are you?”

Despina rose to her knees, blotting her forehead on her arm. She sighed in defeat. “I truly despise you right now.”

“Hate me or don’t hate me. But answer my failed attempt at a question.”

Despina expelled a pained breath. “Yes.”

Shahrzad fell back against the cushions in disbelief.

“Holy Hera.”

Despina laughed hoarsely. “I must say, you donning the guise of a friend is quite the heartwarming sight. Especially in light of the fact you thought I was trying to poison you.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think? Especially after last week’s incident with the tea. I suppose you were sick that day, too?”

The handmaiden sighed again.

“Despina,” Shahrzad said, “who is the father?”

“Now, that question I won’t answer.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you share a bed with the Caliph of Khorasan.”

“Ah, the web of secrets grows thicker every day!” Shahrzad retorted. “So is he the father?”

“No!”

“Then why does that matter?”

Despina sat back on her heels. “Because I can’t trust that you won’t tell him.”

“What? I don’t tell him anything.”

“You don’t need to. Your eyes search for him the moment they leave this room.”

“They do not!” Shahrzad screeched.

“By Zeus, my ears.” Despina clutched the side of her head. “Don’t yell. I beg of you.”

“I won’t tell Khalid. I swear.”

“Khalid?” The edges of Despina’s lips curved upward. “I know you’re tenacious in your endeavors, Brat Calipha, but I would give up on this one. You’re bound to be disappointed when your attempts at persuasion prove futile on me . . .”

Shahrzad frowned.

“After all, I am not the King of Kings.”

“Enough!” Shahrzad flushed. “Tell me who it is.”

“I’m very sorry, Shahrzad, but I am not telling you. I simply can’t.”

“You can’t?” Shahrzad mulled over the word. “Then he must be someone of import.”

“Don’t push the matter.” Despina’s voice was tight.

“I wonder . . .” Shahrzad disregarded Despina’s look of warning and drummed her fingers along her chin. “It can’t be the Rajput or any of the other palace guards. There would be no reason for someone as bold as you to conceal that.”

“Shahrzad—”

“So,” Shahrzad continued, “it must be either the Shahrban of Rey, which is preposterous, or . . .” Her expression smoothed in sudden understanding. “Jalal.”

Despina burst into laughter. “The captain of the guard? Even I’m not that bold. What makes you—”

“Actually, you are that bold.” Shahrzad pushed back the tray of food and rested her elbows on the beveled ledge of the low table. “And this explains your odd behavior whenever you’re around him.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Despina laughed again, the sound trilling ever higher, her eyes burning with a blue light.

Shahrzad grinned slowly. “I know I’m right.”

Despina glowered at her in sullen silence.

“You needn’t worry.” Shahrzad propped her chin on the heel of her palm. “Your secret is safe. You can trust me.”

“Trust you?” Despina sputtered. “I’d sooner trust a sieve.”

“That’s—rather unfair.”

“Is it? You don’t trust me.”

“Of course I don’t trust you. You’re a self-admitted spy, and I’ve nearly died twice on your watch.” Shahrzad stared at her pointedly.

Despina blinked. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Need I remind you about the tea?”

“You still think that was me?”

“Then who was it?” Shahrzad demanded. “If you want me to trust you, tell me who was responsible.”

“It wasn’t the caliph, if that’s why you’re asking. He was . . . quite furious when he found out about it.”

“Was it the shahrban?”

Despina said nothing, but failed to conceal a cringe of affirmation.

“I’m not surprised,” Shahrzad continued. “I suspected as much.”

“Did you? Perhaps you should be the spy and I the calipha.”

“Perhaps. But I believe your pregnancy by another man may present a hindrance to that,” Shahrzad said in a droll tone. “Does Jalal know about the baby? If so, he should marry you. Or face my fury. The choice is his.”

“He doesn’t know. And I don’t intend to tell him.” Despina stood up and straightened the folds of her dress. “Because I don’t think he needs to know.”

“Well, that is simply ridiculous.”

Despina hooked a strand of golden brown hair behind an ear. “Maybe it is. But, for now, I choose to believe it is not.”

Shahrzad watched in pained silence while her handmaiden began cleaning up the mess as if nothing had occurred. As if a world of chaos had not been unleashed only moments before.

Like a canary in a gilded cage, Despina flitted about, stunning and resilient.

Trapped.

“You should rest,” Shahrzad directed.

Despina faltered, midstep. “What?”

“You’re pregnant. You don’t have to hide it from me anymore. Sit. Rest.”

Despina’s eyes swam crystalline for an instant before they flashed back to blue. “I don’t need to rest.”

“I insist.”

“Truly, it’s not—”

“Rest this morning. I’ll go with the Rajput to practice shooting in the training grounds. Come there when you feel better.” Shahrzad began preparing a cup of tea. “Do you think some tea would help your stomach?”

“I can make the tea,” Despina whispered.

“So can I.”

Despina paused, staring down at the figure of the small girl with the long mane of sleep-rifled hair. “Shahrzad?”

“Yes?”

“You are not at all what one would expect.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Shahrzad grinned over her shoulder.

“Absolutely. I think it’s kept you alive.”

“Then I’m very grateful for it.”

“As am I.” Despina smiled. “Most grateful.”

• • •

A wild cheer rang out from the sidelines as the arrow struck the eave on the opposite side of the courtyard with a solid thud. The shouts of the soldiers rolled into a chorus of laughter that rose into a cloud-filled sky.

A sky tinged with the scent of impending rain.

Shahrzad smiled at Jalal.

His shoulders shook with soundless mirth. He ran his free hand through his curly brown hair and shrugged at his men.

“You cannot dispute that, Captain al-Khoury,” Shahrzad announced.

“Indeed. I cannot, my lady.” He bowed, his fingertips to his forehead. “Your arrow struck the target. Mine . . . did not. Name your price.”

Shahrzad thought for a moment. Her question had to be a good one. It had to be worth discarding any attempt to conceal her skill with a bow. It also had to be worded in a judicious manner. He was gifted at deflecting responses and offering eloquent nonanswers.

“Why are you permitted to call the caliph by his first name?”

Jalal shifted the yew of his longbow from palm to palm. Ever careful. Ever calculating. “Khalid is my cousin. My father married his father’s sister.”

Shahrzad had difficulty suppressing her reaction. This was the most information she had obtained the entire morning.

Jalal grinned with a dangerous gleam in his light brown gaze.

“Choose the next target, Shahrzad.”

She scanned the courtyard. “The topmost branch of the tree to the right, beyond the roofline.”

He wagged his eyebrows, appreciating the challenge, as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string. When he drew it back, the edges of the unyielding longbow barely shifted.

Jalal was an excellent archer. Not as gifted as Tariq, but precise and sharp in his movements. He loosed the arrow. It flew in a spiral and sailed above the roofline before it struck the topmost branch, causing the entire tree to shudder from the force of its impact.

The men began to cheer in approval.

Shahrzad fitted an arrow to the recurve bow. She closed her eyes as she nocked it tight against the sinew. Exhaling, she pulled the arrow back.

The instant she opened her eyes, she released the string. The arrow soared through the air, whistling past the branches . . .

Embedding just below her intended target.

Shahrzad frowned.

The soldiers raised another cry of triumph. Again, Jalal bowed, this time with his hands outstretched at his sides.

“Oh, don’t gloat,” Shahrzad scolded. “It’s quite unbecoming.”

“I have never gloated. Not a day in my life.”

“I find that rather difficult to believe.”

“Gloating is for weaker men.”

“Then stop smiling like such a fool.”

Jalal laughed, raising his arms to the sky. “But it’s going to rain, Shahrzad. And I’m a fool for the rain.”

“Just collect your prize, Captain al-Khoury,” Shahrzad grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, letting her recurve bow dangle by her feet.

“Don’t be so frustrated with me. I’ve been quite fair in my questions.”

She rolled her eyes.

“In fact,” he continued, “this will be my first truly unfair question of the day.”

Shahrzad’s posture reacted to his words before her features did.

Jalal took a step forward, balancing his longbow across his shoulders. “Where is your family, my lady?” he said in a low voice.

They’re looking for my family . . . as I expected.

She smiled up at him. “Safe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“In a place of sand and stone.”

“That’s also not an answer. Everything is made of sand and stone.”

“You cannot force a better answer out of me, Jalal. These are my answers. If you dislike them, we can cease with our game.”

His eyes moved across her face with an odd mixture of ready discernment and playful diversion. Yet, in that instant, she saw more of his father in him than she had ever seen thus far. And she understood.

This was not merely his occupation. Jalal al-Khoury was protecting his family. To him, family always came first.

And she was not family.

“No,” he countered, “but I would like to ask another question in lieu of the last. Since your answer was quite unsatisfactory, I feel it only appropriate I be permitted another question.”

“Excuse me?”

“I promise to grant you the same right, should the occasion arise on your end.”

“Jalal—”

“Why do you always close your eyes before you aim?”

“Because . . .” Shahrzad hesitated. “I—”

What is the harm?

“I learned to shoot in a place where the sun played tricks on the mind. You could not rely on it if you wanted to aim well. So you had to practice until you were good enough that you only needed its light for the blink of an eye.”

Jalal braced both palms on the yew of his longbow. A slow grin spread across his sun-drenched face.

It unnerved Shahrzad. And made her want to provoke him.

“That was much better,” he said loudly. “You know, not everything has to be so difficult, Shahrzad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said. Next time, just answer the question.”

“We shall see. Choose the next target, Jalal.”

His grin grew even wider. “Yes, my lady.” He studied the courtyard. Then he pointed to a slender pillar with a tabarzin axe embedded in its side. “The winner is the archer with the arrow closest to the axe blade.”

It was by far the most difficult shot. The tabarzin’s wooden handle was quite narrow by the blade, and it was wedged into the pillar at an odd angle that all but obscured it from view. To make matters worse, the impending storm had now added a wind factor that would put to rout even the most gifted of archers.

As the winner of the last match, Jalal was given the first shot. He waited for the gusts to calm as much as possible before he positioned the arrow to the string and let it fly. It spiraled toward the tabarzin and managed to strike the wood of the handle.

An impressive achievement.

Shahrzad pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back. She fitted it to the sinew and nocked it tight. Closing her eyes, she let the breeze blow against her face, calculating its trajectory. Her fingers curled around the white-feathered fletchings.

She opened her eyes and pinpointed the small stretch of wood fixed before the gleaming axe blade.

Then she loosed the arrow.

It sailed through the wind, over the sand . . . and thudded into the handle, a mere hairsbreadth from the metal.

The soldiers shouted in collective disbelief.

Jalal began laughing. “My God. Perhaps I should try my hand at not aiming.”

Shahrzad mimicked his previous bow, her arms outstretched at her sides.

His laughter grew. “Well, you’ve earned this next question, my lady. Do your worst.”

Yes. I believe I will.

It’s time I learned the truth.

She strode forward. “What is the real reason all of Khalid’s brides must die?”

It was posited in a ghost of a whisper. Only Jalal could have heard it.

But it was as though she had shouted it from the rooftops.

Jalal’s amusement vanished, doused by an urgent gravity she had never seen on his face before. “This game is over.”

Shahrzad pursed her lips. “Why is it you get to decide the rules on all fronts?”

“It’s over, Shahrzad,” he said, confiscating the recurve bow from her grasp.

“At least give me the right to ask another question.”

“No.”

“You promised me that right!”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot honor that promise.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” He stalked to the weapons rack and restored both the longbow and the recurve bow to their respective places.

“Jalal!” Shahrzad raced in his footsteps. “You can’t—”

He nodded to the Rajput, who began making his way over to Shahrzad.

Outraged, Shahrzad snatched a scimitar from a nearby weapons rack.

“Jalal al-Khoury!”

When he still refused to acknowledge her, Shahrzad raised the sword into the light with both hands, and the Rajput shifted closer.

“How dare you dismiss me, you horse’s ass!” she yelled.

At that, Jalal turned around, his stride off-kilter. She swung the heavy blade in a sloppy arc meant to goad him into taking her seriously.

He dodged her and reached reflexively for the scimitar at his hip. “What the hell are you doing, Shahrzad?”

“Do you think you can get away with treating me in such a manner?”

“Put down the sword,” he said in an uncharacteristically stern tone.

“No.”

“You have no business handling a blade like that. Put it down.”

“No!”

When she swung it again in another haphazard slice, Jalal was forced to deflect it with his own blade. The Rajput grunted loudly and withdrew his talwar, shoving Jalal away from her with a single push of his palm.

“Stop it!” Shahrzad said to the Rajput. “I don’t need your help.”

The Rajput sneered down at her with obvious disdain.

“Are you, is he—laughing at me?” Shahrzad asked incredulously.

“I imagine so,” Jalal replied.

“Unbelievable. What’s funny?”

“I would assume it’s both the sight of you wielding a sword in such an abysmal manner and the presumption you wouldn’t need his help when doing so.”

Shahrzad spun to face the Rajput. “Well, sir, if you’re really in the business of helping me, then, instead of laughing at my ineptitude, do something about it!”

The Rajput merely continued sneering at her.

“He’s not going to help you, Shahrzad,” Jalal said, seamlessly resurrecting his smug façade. “I’d venture a guess that not many soldiers out here, save myself, would take the risk of getting within an arm’s length of you.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, by now every soldier in Rey knows what happened to the last guard who dared to put his hands on the queen. So if I were you, I’d give up on cajoling the Rajput into giving you lessons on swordplay. Even though you did ask him so nicely,” Jalal joked drily.

“Did . . .” Shahrzad frowned. “What happened to the guard?”

Jalal shrugged. “A bevy of broken bones. Your husband is not a forgiving man.”

Wonderful. Yet another attribute of note.

“So please put down the sword and go back to the palace, my lady,” Jalal finished in a firm tone.

“Don’t you dare dismiss me, Jalal al—” And Shahrzad’s rant died on her lips, before it even started.

She wanted to turn around.

Because she knew, instinctively, that he was there. There was no logical explanation for it, but she felt his presence behind her, like the subtle change in the seasons. A shift in the wind. This was not necessarily a welcome change. She did not suffer that kind of delusion. Not yet.

But even the moment when the leaves fall from their boughs—even that moment—has a beauty to it. A glory of its own.

And this change? This change made her shoulders tense and her stomach spin.

It was real . . . and terrifying.

“This moment could not be any more perfect,” Jalal muttered, glancing to his left.

Still Shahrzad did not turn around. She clenched the scimitar tight in both hands, and the Rajput stepped even closer, his talwar glinting with a silent warning.

“By Zeus, Shahrzad!” Despina cried. “Is this what happens when I leave you alone? You get into a sword fight with the captain of the guard?”

At that, Shahrzad twisted her head to the right.

Despina stood by Khalid with a look of worry and dismay on her pretty face.

Khalid was as inscrutable as ever.

As cold as always.

Shahrzad wished she could end it here and now, with the slash of a sword. She wished she could grab Khalid by the shoulders and shake a semblance of life onto his frozen countenance.

Instead, Shahrzad continued with the pretense—the one she gave to the world, and the one she gave to herself.

“Well?” Despina said.

Khalid’s eyes flicked to the handmaiden.

“I apologize, sayyidi. I did not mean to address the queen so informally.” Despina bowed in haste, her hand to her brow.

“You don’t have to apologize, Despina. I did not get into a fight with Jalal. We’re merely trading a few . . . lessons. Apparently, I am not that gifted with a sword. There are, in fact, limitations to my greatness,” Shahrzad jested.

“Thank the gods,” Despina mumbled.

“Limitations plague us all, Shahrzad.” Jalal grinned, seizing upon this opportunity for levity. “Don’t take it to heart.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, plunking the scimitar to the ground.

“What limitations?” Khalid asked quietly.

The sound of his voice slid down her back, bringing to mind cool water and sun-warmed honey. She gritted her teeth. “For one, I can’t seem to wield a sword. And that seems to be a basic premise of swordsmanship.”

Khalid watched her as she spoke.

“Pick it up,” he directed.

Shahrzad looked at him. He blinked, and his features softened. She raised the scimitar in both hands. Then, to her surprise, Khalid backed away and unsheathed his shamshir.

“Try to hit me,” he said.

“Are you serious?”

He waited in patient silence.

She swung the sword in a clumsy swipe.

Khalid parried it with ease and grabbed her wrist. “That was awful,” he said, pulling her into him. “Again.”

“Can you offer some direction?” she demanded.

“Widen your stance. Don’t throw your entire body into the movement. Only your upper body.”

She sunk into a lower stance, her brow lined with irritation. Once more, she curved the scimitar at him, and he blocked it, grasping her by the waist and bringing the flat of the shamshir against her throat.

In her ear, he whispered, “Do better than this, Shazi. My queen is without limitations. Boundless in all that she does. Show them.”

Her pulse raced at his warmth. In the words and the actions. The nearness of him.

She broke away and raised the scimitar.

“Smaller movements. Quicker. Lighter,” Khalid commanded. “I don’t want to see you act before you do.”

Shahrzad lashed out with the sword. Khalid parried the blow.

The Rajput grunted, crossing his mammoth arms.

After Shahrzad cut the scimitar in Khalid’s direction a few more times, she was shocked when the Rajput stepped forward and kicked at her back foot, nudging it into a new alignment. Then he lifted his bearded chin with a jerk.

He . . . wants me to keep my head up?

Khalid stood by, watching.

“Like—this?” Shahrzad asked the Rajput.

He cleared his throat and moved back.

When Shahrzad looked at Khalid again, his eyes were alight with an emotion she recognized.

Pride.

And the moment felt so terrifyingly real that the thought of anything destroying it cinched the air from her body . . .

Like a silk cord around her neck.