Swiping his damp hands across his face and neck, Khalid remained silent for a time. "Tariq Imran al-Ziyad and I have come to a sort of understanding." He lifted the lid off a small wooden container beside the basin and shook a measure of ground mint and crushed rock salt onto his palm to cleanse his mouth of sleep.

"Then I should not worry?"

Finally Khalid turned to meet her gaze. "For Nasir al-Ziyad's son, I can make no promises. But for me, you should not worry. I promise."

The last word hung in the air with palpable meaning.

Shahrzad took in a slow breath.

Khalid would not seek reprisal for what had happened last night. Which hopefully meant he did not harbor any hidden resentment toward Tariq for trying to kill him. Nor did he wish him harm for injuring Shahrzad in the process.

The hope of reconciliation she'd dreamed of by the fire began to take shape once more.

"Will you not let me take you to Rey?" Shahrzad asked, seizing upon this newfound sentiment.

"No. I will not." He finished his ablutions without another word on the matter.

Shahrzad wrinkled her nose in frustration as Khalid wiped his chin of excess water. "I wish you would not be so stubborn."

"And I wish you had not jumped before an arrow last night. But wishes are for genies and the fools who believe in such things." The hint of anger in his words brought a rash of heat to her skin.

Surely he's not angry with me for doing such a thing.

"Do you think I meant to be shot with an arrow?" she accused. "You can't possibly be angry at me for this, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid. I certainly did not intend to-"

"I know." Khalid knelt before her, his hands coming to rest at her sides. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. But"-he stopped short, the harsh lines on his face melting away-"you cannot do that again. I-cannot watch such a thing again, Shahrzad."

Her throat swelled tight at his pained expression. And her mind drifted back to the memory of a boy who had watched his mother die before his eyes.

Khalid brought a palm to the side of her neck, brushing a thumb along her jaw. "Do you know how close that arrow came to your heart?" he whispered. "To killing you in an instant?"

"If I hadn't pushed you, Tariq would have killed you," she replied, lifting her hand to cover his. To press the whole of his touch into her skin.

"Better me than you."

Her gaze hardened. "If you're asking me if I would do it again, I would. Without question."

"Shahrzad, you can never do that again." His words were muted and harsh. "Promise me."

"I can't promise that. I will never promise such a thing. Not as long as I live. As you once said, there isn't a choice in the matter. Not for me."

Khalid's chest rose and fell on a deep inhale. "I wish you would not be so stubborn." He echoed her earlier words as his thumb grazed her cheek.

As his eyes rippled with unfettered emotion.

Shahrzad smiled. "Are you a genie or a fool?"

"A fool. As I've always been when it comes to you."

"At least you can admit it."

"At least twice." One side of his mouth curled upward. "And only to you."

Shahrzad shifted both hands to Khalid's face. His stubble dragged across her skin as her fingers caressed his jaw. His eyes fell shut for an instant.

It was not the right time. Alas, it was never the right time.

But it did not matter.

Even the heaviness of the tonic did not dull the fire racing through her blood. She pulled him toward her, slanting her lips to his.

He tasted of water and mint and everything she ever hungered for in all her moments of remembrance. He smelled like the desert in the sun and the faintest trace of sandalwood. The palace at Rey and the billowing Badawi sands, coming together in perfect concert.

His touch was silk over steel. It made her hot and cold all at once. His kisses were the perfect mix of hard and soft. Practiced and unrestrained.

When she tried to tug him closer, Khalid was careful. Too careful.

As always, Shahrzad wanted more. She wound her fingers in the front of his borrowed qamis, wordlessly telling him so. He stilled her, capturing her face between his palms.

Shahrzad sighed, silently cursing her injuries. "I hate that I'm not going with you."

"And I hate that I'm leaving you behind. Leaving you amongst all this-chaos." Khalid's features tightened at the edges.

The reminder brought back another equally pressing matter she'd nearly lost sight of.

Her eyes drifted about the room. "Where is it, Khalid?"

Her father's book. The reason for so much death and chaos.

Khalid reached beneath the bed pallet, then lifted the small bundle her sister had been clutching by the well. "Irsa left it with me last night," he said quietly. "I kept it within arm's reach, along with my sword and your dagger."

"Irsa?" Shahrzad almost smiled at the familiarity. "She gave you permission to call her that?"

"In a fashion," he murmured, tucking her hair behind an ear.

"You once said you had no intention of being beloved by your people, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid. Yet you've managed to win over several of your harshest critics in a single evening." Shahrzad grinned without reserve.

"Irsa was one of my harshest critics?" He arched a brow.

"She's my sister. Of course she was."

The hint of a smile touched his lips. Shahrzad's heart warmed at the sight.

From beyond the tent, the loud bleating of a goat brought them back to the present.

"I should go." Khalid pushed aside the bloodied bandages on the floor to reach beneath the bed pallet a second time. He collected his sword and her dagger, placing them with her father's book, still wrapped in a length of coarse brown linen.

"And the key?" Shahrzad whispered.

Khalid tugged the silver chain from around his neck. The black key hung over his heart, alongside the jade talisman. The very sight of both sent a shiver down Shahrzad's spine.

She brought her hand to Khalid's chest to cover the cold metal. "Destroy it as soon as you can. Tonight, if possible. Waste no time."

He nodded once. "I'll ride through the day and destroy it as soon as the sun sets." Khalid rested his forehead against hers. "I'll return for you as soon as I can."

"No. I'll come to you."

Khalid smiled before pressing another heart-stopping kiss to her throat. Then he tucked the dagger into his tikka sash and disappeared beneath the tent flap.

An unexpected chill fell over the tent.

And Shahrzad realized how very dark it still was.

It was the cold that woke Jahandar.

He could not recall the last time he'd felt so cold.

His mind was battered and waterlogged, as though he'd been tossed about at sea. His throat felt as though it had been stuffed with silk thread. Dry-mouthed and disoriented, Jahandar reached for the book atop his chest, seeking its reassuring warmth.

But it was not there.

In a sudden panic, his eyes flew open.

He sat up in his bedroll, his useless blankets peeling away like an onion's skin. His tent was still shaded in the cloak of night. Dawn had barely broken through the tent seams, trickling down in fractured beams of light.

Jahandar passed his palms across the bedroll. Then across the floor beside him. Then farther into the darkness.

Still he could not find the book.

His panic mounting, he reached for the key around his neck.

It, too, was gone.

Realization came crashing down on him in a flash of light.

Someone had stolen the book and key from him. His sluggish head and his swollen tongue were proof positive that someone had drugged him with a mind to pilfer his most prized possessions.

Someone had fooled him and fleeced him.

In a fit of rage, Jahandar bolted to his feet, kicking aside the brass lamp positioned next to his bedroll. The oil dripped from its innards in a slow dribble, filling the air with its pungent aroma.

Reminding him of the power lying dormant in the most innocuous of things.

Indeed, with a mere snap of his fingers, Jahandar possessed the power to set fire to the whole of this camp.

Or, rather, had possessed the power.

For he did not yet know the toll the storm had taken on his abilities. Nor did Jahandar know the full price he'd been forced to pay to wield such awesome ability.

He needed the book to restore himself back to his former graces.

Needed it to assist Reza with his efforts.

Jahandar paced from one end of his tiny tent to the other, his mind a constant flicker of thoughts, the thoughts piling one on top of another, turning tinder to flame.

There were only three people in the camp who knew of the book.

One of them had prepared his tea last night-the tea that had likely brought about his unusually restful slumber.

Another had been asking about the book for the past three days. Had asked to see the book, and learn of its contents. The book that had, until then, been of little import to anyone, save Jahandar.

Jahandar stopped pacing.

Had he been deceived by his own flesh and blood? Had his own children fleeced him? And then taken from him his one true chance to be a man of power and influence?

A man worthy of consideration.

Jahandar's hands clenched tightly into fists. He reached for his cloak, the rage building. Passing into his arms and chest.

Swirling through his mind in a storm of hot fury.

The last of these individuals would help Jahandar get the book back.

For this man had just as much to lose by its disappearance.

Just as much to gain by its use.

Jahandar may not be sure of much anymore, but of that he was certain.

Just as he knew he would do anything to get the book back.

Even beg, barter, or steal.

Even murder.

Shahrzad knew she should leave Tariq's tent.

She'd been inside almost all afternoon.

Though her shoulder was still sore and her body still weak from the past night's ordeal, it was time to return to her own tent. To proceed as though all were well. For if she spent another night in Tariq's tent, someone was bound to take notice.

And such a thing would not bode well for either of them, in the long run. Despite their feigned relationship.

She rose to her feet and winced at the sudden flare of pain that shot down one side of her body.

Her mouth and throat were parched. With a frown, Shahrzad reached for the tumbler of tonic by her bedside and nearly toppled over in the process. Cursing under her breath, she righted herself before taking a long swallow of the bitter liquid.

If she never again drank anything steeped in barley or willow bark, it would be too soon.