Khalid let it drip down into his eyes. The water stung at first, so he pressed his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, trying to allay the burn. When he stood, he rolled back his shoulders, basking in this temporary reprieve.

"You ungrateful cur."

There was not even a moment to process the insult before two hands grabbed Khalid by the hood of his cloak and flung him face-first against the roughhewn wall of Rey's oldest library. His foot caught on the pail, sloshing water onto the stone.

Though his sight remained blurred, he'd recognize his cousin's voice anywhere.

"What the hell are you doing?" Khalid demanded, struggling for breath.

Jalal wrapped a fist in Khalid's rida', spinning him around. "I knew you were angry with me, but I never thought you capable of this." His voice was choked by rage. "Truly, I never thought you could be this vile. I suppose I should have known better. I've always put too much stock in family."

Khalid blinked hard, seeking a point of sanity in the madness taking shape around him. "Step back before you make an irrevocable mistake, Captain al-Khoury."

"There's no one to save you, Khalid-jan," Jalal said, with a look to shrivel a cloudless sky. "And it's your own damned fault. No Vikram. No bodyguards. For once, we're going to fight fair, and I'm going to give you the beating you've been due for over a decade, you thankless bastard."

Though his words were clipped and precise, Jalal's features were haggard. He still had not managed a proper shave. Weariness pooled in the shadows beneath his eyes.

Weariness tinged by fury.

"You can try, by means fair or foul," Khalid shot back in a cool tone, despite his unsettled state. "But I insist you reveal your reason for such behavior before I soundly trounce you, as I'd like to know what I'm supposedly guilty of-beyond having the bad luck to call you cousin."

At that, Jalal reared back and punched Khalid in the face.

Khalid had been born the son of a king. An eighth-generation al-Rashid. As such, it was only the third time in his life anyone had ever struck him with such unmitigated force. With such visceral hatred.

First his father. Then Shahrzad.

And now Jalal.

Khalid reeled to the ground, his fingers clawing at the dirt. Blood thundered in his brow, excruciating in its force. The chained beast in his head bayed, thrashing about, its claws raking across his eyeballs.

Still, Khalid pushed himself up to his knees . . .

And launched into Jalal's torso.

They landed in the dirt like two angry schoolboys, in a jumble of arms and legs and clumsy scabbards. Jalal lobbed a fist in Khalid's direction, even while struggling to right himself. It glanced off Khalid's jaw. In response, Khalid shoved the side of his cousin's face into the dirt and pressed a knee to Jalal's stomach. He managed to land several unforgiving blows to Jalal's head and chest before Jalal kicked him off, spitting a mouthful of blood and elbowing Khalid without mercy near his brow once- Then twice more.

A crowd of curious onlookers had begun to gather, surely wondering what had prompted two well-dressed young men to come to such wicked fisticuffs.

Khalid clutched his skull, trying to crush away the agony. Needles of light cut the edges of his vision. Stabbed his temples. Enraged by his cousin's inexplicably brutal attack, he rolled to standing and reached for his shamshir.

Jalal's eyes went wide. Then, without a second thought, he scrambled to his feet and unsheathed his scimitar. "Draw!" A line of crimson dripped down his chin.

Khalid's fingers tightened around the hilt. Yet he refused to unsheathe his sword.

Refused to engage a loved one in a battle of lethal force.

"Do it, you coward!" Dirt marred one side of Jalal's face, coating his skin in an eerie dash of glittering dust.

Even from where he stood-even in a silence fraught by nerves-Khalid could see a suspicious mist forming over Jalal's eyes.

It iced the blood in his veins.

"You think I can't beat you?" Jalal strode closer, brandishing his scimitar. "Or is this guilt? Finally a show of guilt for someone besides yourself?"

"Guilt for what?" Khalid took in a ragged breath, fighting to maintain his preserve. "What did I do?"

The silence stretched inexorably thin.

Jalal licked his bleeding lip. "You never did forgive me for sending her away, did you?" His voice was hoarse, scratched. Defeated. "For asking that boy to take her with him?"

At that, Khalid's hand dropped from his shamshir. Though this was a far cry from explaining his cousin's behavior, at least they were no longer on the cusp of disaster.

"I told you there was nothing to forgive. And I meant it."

"Then why did you do it?" Jalal's sword fell to his side, but his face remained knotted by anger.

"What are you talking about?" Any more of these continued vagaries, and it would be a struggle for Khalid to keep his temper.

Jalal considered Khalid, clearly searching for signs of artifice.

"Despina."

Everything around Khalid stilled. Even the very air around him swirled to a sudden halt.

"You sent her away," Jalal whispered, his tone hollow. "After I confided in you. You must have known of whom I was speaking. Or my father must have asked you to send her away. And you did it. Without question." He took a slow step forward. Then another. "In the end, family is nothing to you. I . . . am nothing to you."

Something flared in Khalid at these words. "I never-"

Jalal's eyes darkened to a muddy haze. "Don't start lying to me. Not now."

"I'm not. I would never lie to you."

"Then it's a coincidence?" He cast Khalid an arch glance. "That-mere days after I tell you I want to marry the girl carrying my child-she's sent away from the palace, without explanation?"

"I didn't send her away. She asked to leave." The truth in its entirety stood poised on the tip of Khalid's tongue. He wanted to tell his cousin what had happened. But now the circumstances seemed so . . . odd. Now that Khalid knew what had transpired-and the true identity of Jalal's love-Despina's hasty marriage to Vikram appeared more than a little suspicious.

More than a little convenient.

Especially for a girl so versed in secrets and lies.

Khalid made another quick study of Jalal al-Khoury's face.

At the poorly hidden pain marring his cousin's features.

He would not risk causing Jalal any further pain. Not until he had answers.

Not until he knew what Despina was hiding.

Khalid closed the distance between them and placed a tentative hand on Jalal's shoulder. "Especially if I'd known your true feelings, I would never have sent Despina away. Even if Uncle Aref had made such a request, I would not have done so. Jalal-"

"Why not?" Jalal's lips thinned, his eyes going chillingly blank. "I sent away the girl you love. So it stands to reason that you would send away the girl I love as punishment. You've always had a bad temper. I just never knew you possessed such a mind for revenge as well."

At that, Khalid felt his temper rise in a hot spike. "I do not possess a mind for revenge."

Perhaps he had in the past. But he didn't now. Not anymore.

Not since Shahrzad.

The pain on Jalal's face dissolved in a scoff of disbelief. "It appears you're more like your father than I thought."

"I am nothing like my father." Though he fought to keep his temper at bay, Khalid's fingers balled into fists. "I thought you knew that. You've spent most of your life trying to convince me of it."

"And you've spent most of yours trying to convince me otherwise. Congratulations. You've finally succeeded." Jalal clapped with pejorative slowness, the hilt of his scimitar caught between his hands. "What was it you used to say in moments of poetic fancy? 'We are as a rose unfurling, becoming more clearly ourselves?'" he jeered, his anger making him reckless. His anguish making him foolish. "You lost something you love. I suppose you thought it only fitting that I lose something I love. Unfortunately in this case, I lost two things-an entire family."

His accusation hung in the small space between them, bitter and broken in tone.

Though no less harsh for its brokenness.

No less effective.

Khalid knew Jalal spoke from a place beyond reason. Still, he could not ignore the sharp stab each of his words inflicted upon him . . . and the responding desire to return his cousin's efforts with some spite of his own.

After all, if he was to be accused of monstrous behavior irrespective of proof, should he not rise to the occasion?

Khalid cut his eyes, peering down his nose at Jalal. "If she left you, it is not my fault," he said, in that softly condescending manner his cousin so despised. "If you loved her, it was your responsibility to marry her. Your responsibility to care for her. Your responsibility to tell her you loved her."

Laughter rolled from Jalal's lips, the sound as caustic as vinegar.

"As you told Shazi?"

Four more stabs. Each so effective.

"She knows how I feel." Despite the cool efficiency of his retort, the air was leached from around Khalid once more, and his fists drew even tighter against his sides.

"And now, so do I. Keep watch over your shadow, Khalid-jan. Because, for the first time in eighteen years, I won't be there to watch it for you."

THE FIRE.

THERE WAS FAR TOO MUCH ANGER IN THE AIR. FAR too much hatred.

Such emotions made it difficult to think rationally. Not that actual sense seemed of import to any of the brash fools present.

Omar al-Sadiq frowned at the gathering of men in his tent.

Frowned and remained silent.

Their war council was not going well. It was clear there was too much at stake for all involved.

Nevertheless, Omar listened as Reza bin-Latief shared reports about the boy-king of Khorasan. His peculiar disappearances. And the sorry state of his ravaged kingdom.

Many of the caliph's Royal Guards had died the night of the terrible storm. A large portion of his standing army had either perished or fled Rey. Now Khalid Ibn al-Rashid was calling on his bannermen to help rebuild and refortify the city.

Rey-and its ruler-were vulnerable.

At this revelation, a collective outcry arose from many of the young men present.

"Now is the time. We must strike at the heart of Khorasan!"

"Kill the bastard while he is weak!"

"Why are we sitting here idling about? We should attack the city with all haste!"

Omar's frown deepened. Still he said nothing. He did not so much as move from his cushioned seat in the corner. Even while he witnessed the clamor rise to a feverish pitch.

It did not behoove Omar or his people to raise objections now. It was best for him to remain unseen and unconcerned. A casual observer of this crisis. Omar did not yet have all the facts. And he needed to know more about the war that would likely transpire at his border.

The war that might put his people at risk.

The request Omar had recently made of Reza had not been met with glad tidings. Only moments before, he'd asked Reza to remove his soldiers from the borders of Omar's camp. This was to be the last war council in his tent. His last chance to witness the seeds of this discord. He'd already risked too much by assisting them with the provision of horses and weapons.

The Badawi people could not be associated with this uprising. Not yet.

Not when Omar had yet to choose which side to take.

It was true he felt genuine affection for the young sahib Tariq and his uncle Reza bin-Latief. But Aisha continued to warn him that neither of these men was to be trusted. One was lovelorn and reckless. The other hid behind secrets and sellswords.

And when it came to such things, his wife was never wrong.

The outcry around him grew even more uncontrolled, tearing Omar from his musings. The soldiers stamped their feet and waved their arms in the air, demanding to be heard.

Finally Reza stepped into the center of the tent.

At his flank stood two hooded soldiers, muscled and menacing. When a surge of men moved forward, the lackey to Reza's right barreled into their path, a hand on the hilt of his scimitar.

The scarab brand on the soldier's forearm flashed into view for an instant.

The mark of the Fida'i.

Omar leaned farther back into his cushions and ran his fingers along his beard.

Hired assassins. In his camp. Aisha was right. Such a thing could not be tolerated beyond tonight. His family. His people. There was simply too much at risk.

"My friends!" Reza raised both hands in the air, awaiting silence. "Though it may seem that now is the best time to attack Rey, it will all be for naught if we fail to secure the border between Khorasan and Parthia first. We must seize control of the lands between the two kingdoms, so that we may have strongholds we can rely on for supplies. I urge you to temper your rage-at least for the time being." A smile coiled up one side of his face. "Save it for when it is most needed. For when justice will finally be served on the boy who dares to call himself a king."

The cheers began anew. Frenzied in their fury.

Omar toyed with his mustache and swallowed a sigh.