"Humor me." Artan pointed at his blistered stomach. "This once."

Shahrzad's brows pinched together. "Just this once." She turned her gaze toward the sky. "There was a girl who lived in a stone tower, surrounded by white dragons that did her every bidding. When she desired a sticky pastry, she had but to ask. When she wished to sleep, they turned the sky to night with the beat of their wings. The sun to moon with a simple roar. Though the girl wanted for nothing, she continued to want-more and more of everything and anything. But more than anything, the girl wished to be powerful. To her, the dragons always possessed more power than any being in the world, because they were able to make her every wish come true."

Artan heaved a breath, holding it for a spell. At this odd behavior, Shahrzad's confusion swelled further, and she stopped speaking.

When Artan eyed her sidelong, Shahrzad continued. "One night, when one of her dragons brought her a thick gold necklace she'd requested from a distant land, the girl smelled the strange perfume adorning its silken wrappings and decided she could no longer live with wanting this power. She had to have it. The girl demanded the dragon take her to its magic's source. The dragon turned to the full moon, its distress plain on its horned face. The girl did not care. She insisted the dragon take her to the moon so that she might harness its power. They flew toward it, a volley of stars collecting in their midst. The girl gathered the stars and from them fashioned a rope. Then-though the dragon roared a final warning-the girl threw a ring of stars around the moon, all while laughing like a bell tolling in the night."

Shahrzad stopped to glance at Artan. "But, like so many things of power, the moon refused to be contained."

At this, Artan smiled. But it was not a smile of amusement. It was a smile of something much darker and deeper.

"The moon began to glide through the sky. Torn from her dragon's back, the girl clung to the rope of stars. She cried out, asking the moon to grant her wish or release her. Like a chilling breeze, the moon's reply chased across her skin: 'You wish to be powerful? Then I will make you into my shadow. A moon to command the lost stars. But know that such a thing will come at a cost.' Without hesitating, the girl trilled with laughter. 'I care not about cost. Take all my worldly possessions, for I have no need of them once I possess such power.' The moon's words wafted through the night air, colder than a first snow. 'Very well, girl. I have long desired a true companion.' Then, in a swirl of stardust, the moon turned the girl into its shadow, bereft of all light. Tethered to it for all time. This shadow moon-the new moon-was granted power only a few nights a year. But never power enough to free itself from its bonds."

"This is why the moon we know seems to disappear," Artan finished quietly. "Overshadowed. Eclipsed."

Shahrzad nodded once. "Always chasing the true moon."

Their voices fell silent as the waves crashed in the distance.

"Why are you here, little snipe?" Artan began. "Is it really for your father?"

"Yes." Her response was swift.

"Nothing more?"

At this, Shahrzad hesitated. Of course she was here for her father. But she was also here for another reason. A reason that needed to remain shrouded in mystery. "Why do you ask?"

Artan turned his head to hers. "Because I know there's more. I know you're queen of a broken city and of a kingdom on the brink of war. That your king is a monster."

Shahrzad said nothing. Her fingers moved to the bare skin of her stomach, tentatively grazing her wound. It felt hot to the touch. Her mind's eye returned to only moments ago, when Artan Temujin's face had lost all hints of pretense.

When signs of true remorse-signs of richer emotion-were all too evident.

"Trust is an interesting matter when it comes to Artan. He will not give it to those who do not offer it first."

Perhaps it was time to put a small measure of trust in this boy. "Khalid is-not a monster. Not at all." Her heart lulled for a beat in the warmth of memory.

"Truly?" Artan studied her further. "Then what is he?"

"Why are you so curious?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why did you agree to help me, Artan Temujin?"

Artan did not reply immediately. "That story about the girl? It's about my family."

"What?" Trying to conceal her shock, Shahrzad turned to face him.

"Don't misunderstand me. Facets of your story are ridiculous. Heavily embellished by time. But its core is rooted in truth. One of my ancestors stole a powerful bringer of light to become an equally powerful wish-granter. In return, her maker trapped her. Bound her to him forever. A powerful genie, trapped in a hollow sword." His expression was equal parts bitter and blithe.

For a moment, Shahrzad was filled with disbelief. "I-"

"You wanted to know why I agreed to help you. It's mostly because Musa-abagha asked me to. And because I am bound by my ancestor's foolishness. Bound to be a trapped granter of wishes. Musa-abagha has kept me safe these many years. Safe from those who would enslave me. Make of me a dragon who does nothing but bring gold necklaces to thankless little girls." He laughed bitterly. "Musa Zaragoza protects me from my family's curse; he keeps us-me, Parissa, Mas, and the others-hidden and teaches us to control our powers. Protects us all here at the Fire Temple. Here, when we are asked to use our abilities, it is always our choice. Here, we are never slaves to our magic."

"But why would Musa-effendi need to protect you from your family?"

"My family is every bit as power-hungry as the girl who grasped the moon. They are monsters imbued with strange magic. My aunt safeguards them in a mountain fortress. But"-Artan paused, his face grim-"she's made mistakes before. My parents were casualties of her arrogance. They left the fortress, seeking a way to destroy their bonds. The magic they leaked into the world brought about terrible consequences. As a result, my aunt expects me to stay near and do as I'm told. Serve whom I'm told. So I ran away." Artan watched her closely as he spoke. "I find my aunt's control to be another form of slavery."

Shahrzad mirrored his scrutiny, taking care in preparing her next question.

"Is your aunt-very powerful?"

He snorted. "She could set fire to this temple with a single belch. And light every candle in Khorasan with the mere hint of her flatulence."

"Be serious."

"She's powerful." Artan laughed without guile. "And, like you, completely devoid a sense of humor."

Shahrzad let another small stretch of time pass, the sound of waves crashing upon one another growing louder, much like her thoughts. "Is she powerful enough to cure the sick?" She gnawed her lip. "Powerful enough to-break a curse?"

"Ah." He cut her a glance, all signs of humor gone. "There it is. Are you the one cursed?"

Shahrzad closed her eyes, then shook her head.

"Well, she'd need to speak with the one cursed," Artan replied. "And she would need to know what kind of magic was used."

"What if we don't know?" she whispered.

He brought both hands behind his neck, weaving his fingers through one another. After a time, Artan responded, his words soft. "You'll have to bring him, Shahrzad. Your king. He'll have to speak with my aunt if she's to help him."

Fear gripped her chest. Though she'd meant for him to help her-which entailed him knowing the truth-it didn't trouble her any less to hear it spoken aloud.

"Sometimes you make it so difficult to despise you," Shahrzad mumbled.

"I know." Artan grinned, still staring up at the stars.

They continued observing the night sky in companionable silence until the sound of footsteps swished in the sand nearby.

"Shahrzad-jan?" Musa's deep voice rang out in the darkness.

She stood, a sharp pang zinging from the burn at her waist. "Yes?"

"If I could speak with you for a moment-" He reached into the folds of his cloak. "I've brought something for you."

In his hand was a square of jade half the width of his palm, strung onto a slim circle of dark leather, meant to be worn about the neck. The surface of the polished green stone was covered in intricate markings.

"The talisman we spoke of," Musa said quietly.

The one to ward away Khalid's sleeplessness.

"I'm not certain it will do much," Musa murmured. "Again, it will likely only stave off the effects for a short while. But I thought to help, in whatever small way."

Artan yawned loudly at this. Shahrzad glared at him before glancing up at the tall figure before her. His black brows were stippled in white, furrowed by concern. "Thank you, Musa-effendi. This is far greater than anything I could have hoped for."

Musa nodded. "Please tell Khalid-I'm sorry I wasn't stronger those many years ago. I'm sorry for leaving him alone. But I'm here now, should he ever have need of me." With that, he placed the talisman in her hand and bowed deeply, his fingertips grazing his forehead.

As her thumb brushed over the etchings carved into the jade, Shahrzad tried her best to ignore the undeniable weight settling around her heart.

The weight of realization.

And the thrill of certainty.

I'm going home.

A MOUSE'S CALL TO ARMS THE MOON WAS A HALF DISC OF ALABASTER. IN THE distance, the clouds churned in tenebrous suggestion.

Just like the twist of nerves in Irsa's stomach.

Alas, she was not a good sneak. For her toes seemed to snag on everything in sight.

Twenty paces ahead, Shahrzad moved from shadow to shadow with a sure-footedness Irsa would have envied, were she not so aggravated.

Were she not so angry.

Irsa drew her cloak tighter about her- And caught her ankle on another tent binding.

Muttering one of Shahrzad's choicest epithets, Irsa tore her sandal loose, then squinted through the dark.

Her sister had disappeared.

Without a moment's pause, Irsa broke into a run.

As she rounded the curve of the next tent, a hand darted from a pool of shadow and snared her wrist.

"Why are you following me?" It was both a demand and accusation.

Irsa gasped. Shahrzad's eyes flashed through the gloom.

Shocked from its temporary stupor, Irsa's pulse began rampaging through her body. Hot on its heels raced her indignation.

Irsa ripped her arm from Shahrzad's grasp. "Where are you going?" Fury dotted every word.

Shahrzad's jaw dropped.

Clearly, Shahrzad had not expected Irsa to be cross with her.

"I-" Shahrzad hardened her gaze. "I asked you first."

"I don't care! Tell me where you're going. Have you not learned anything? After what happened with Teymur, don't you know it's dangerous for you to disappear alone like this? I can't understand why you would-"

Her sister reached for Irsa, pleading and conciliatory. "Irsa-"

"No!" Irsa said. "I don't want a long-winded excuse. I want you to tell me where you're going and why. Now."

Shahrzad sighed. "Of all nights, I wish you hadn't followed me tonight, Irsa-jan." She glanced into the desert with a wistful look. "Would you please let me go this once? I promise I'll take you with me tomorrow. I swear I will."

"I-I don't believe you." Irsa's eyes began to well. She bit back the tears, cursing her wretched sensitivity. "Why should I believe you? You didn't even go to see Baba today. Not once. Did you know he opened his eyes when I fed him his broth this afternoon? It was only for a short while, but he looked for you . . . and you weren't there! I had to lie for you while you slept, Shazi. Just like yesterday. And the day before that."

"I'm so sorry." Shahrzad took her hand and squeezed.

"You can't keep doing as you please and expecting everyone to wait for you. As though we have nothing better to do. As though we are capable of nothing else."

"I know. That was never my intention." Shahrzad chewed her lower lip. "But-can we please speak of this tomorrow?" Her eyes darted into the desert again, and Irsa felt the heat of resentment rise anew, pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"Go." She shook off her sister's grasp. "Go to wherever it is you're disappearing. To wherever it is that is more important than here and now."

Her sister reached for her hand again. "I promise I'll-"

"From now on, only make promises you intend to keep. And be safe, Shazi. Please. Stay safe."

Shahrzad paused, her features tight before she slipped into the shadows ahead without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

Irsa's feet felt leaden as she made her way back through the encampment. Each step seemed involuntary. She dragged her toes, making patterns in the sand. When she looked up again, Irsa realized she'd stopped outside a tent that was not her own.

What was she doing?

Irsa stood outside Rahim al-Din Walad's tent like a ninny absent purpose.

Absent reason.

Then she made a decision. And cleared her throat.

"Rahim?"

It sounded like a mouse's call to arms.

Irsa stood taller and tried again.

"Rahim."

Better. But still not exactly the roar of a lion.

She jumped and wheeled when his tent opened in a burst of lanky appendages.

"What's wrong?" Rahim swiped at the sleep crusting his eyes.

What was wrong?

Why had Irsa even come here?

"Aisha told me a story," she blurted without thought. "Do you want to hear it?"