Khalid removed the jeweled dagger from his sash. Then he placed the book on a rise of sand before him. Once he'd unwrapped it, he studied it for a spell.

It was strangely unremarkable. Ugly, even. Bound in tattered, water-stained leather. Degraded at the edges. Rusted at the bindings. Sealed in its center by a tarnished lock Khalid felt certain even the most unskilled thief could open with a hairpin.

Strange that something so commonplace could signify so much. Could do so much incalculable damage to so many lives. To entire cities. To so many families.

Just a book. Merely scratchings on a page.

Khalid smiled a bitter smile. The power behind words lies with the person. It had always been one of his mother's favorite teachings. One of the more notable bits of wisdom Musa Zaragoza had ever imparted upon them both.

He narrowed his gaze on the worn volume below.

The words in this particular book would never give power to anyone again.

And, if the sorceress had not lied to them that evening in the mountain fortress, her words would spare Khalid from a life rooted in the past.

From a life spent atoning for his sins.

Khalid removed the black key from around his neck. And unlocked the book.

The pages sprang open. An eerie white light emanated from within. Sickly. The slashing text was indecipherable to him.

When Khalid reached out to touch the pages, a sudden flare of heat shot toward him, burning the tips of his fingers. He swore. With the burn came another flash of light, violent and vivid and bright. Wickedly so.

No more.

Khalid unsheathed the dagger.

The book pulsed in response. Rippled with a vital sort of menace.

He drew the blade across his palm. Dripped his blood onto the metal. It began to glow a fiery red. Then he let his blood trickle onto the pages of the book.

The book began to scream. A high-pitched, keening wail. For a moment, its pages seemed to scorch. The smell took on a presence, heavy and thick in the air. The drops of crimson blackened as they struck the book's surface. Pale grey swirls rose above them, curling in sinister suggestion.

The wind bowed around Khalid, covering him in an eddy of dust and smoke. With the blooming gusts, the symbols the sorceress had worked into the blade began to shimmer as if in response to a threat.

Khalid lifted the dagger high.

But the smoke stayed his hand. It gathered a life force of its own and wrapped itself around his wrists in an icy vise.

What Khalid felt in that moment was like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life. It was not a vision, nor was it a memory. It was not a dream, nor was it a nightmare.

It was simply a feeling. A naked, exposed sort of feeling. The kind that ebbed from his center, drawing itself to the surface for all the world to see. The kind he'd spent so much of his life trying to deny, for fear it would make him appear weak. Would make those around him see past his skin into his very soul.

It was every moment he'd ever felt alone. Every moment he'd ever felt powerless. Every moment he'd ever wanted to disappear.

Every ugly thought and every empty feeling coursing through him, as though the book had reached within him and grasped every doubt-every insecurity-and brought it to the surface.

Brought it there to tell Khalid he was not worthy.

Of anything.

Not worthy to be a king. Not worthy of his uncle's faith. Not worthy of Jalal's loyalty. Not worthy of Vikram's friendship.

Not worthy of Shahrzad's love.

After all, what had he done to deserve any of it? He was the unwanted second son of an unwanted second wife. Everything to one person, then nothing to no one.

Nothing.

He'd been nothing but an angry boy in the shadows for so long. A boy who'd envied his brother from the shadows. A boy who'd watched his mother die from the shadows.

A boy who'd thrived in the shadows.

Now he had to live in the light.

To live . . . fiercely.

To fight for every breath.

Khalid grasped the dagger with both hands. But the smoke fought back. The jade talisman coiled about his neck. The screams rang louder around him. The sand swirled in a raging vortex, pressing in, tighter and tighter, trying to swallow him. Trying to make him disappear.

All he'd wanted for so long was to disappear. To take all the ugliness with him-all the vicious memories of his mother's blood spilling across blue-veined agate and silken cords at sunrise- And vanish without a trace.

"No."

He squeezed the dagger tighter.

"No!"

Every letter Khalid had ever written, he'd written for a purpose. Every apology he'd ever made, he'd made for a reason. Every journey he'd taken into Rey, he'd taken with hope.

Because he wanted to be better.

Here was his chance to be better. Finally.

A chance to live-to love-in the light.

Blood dripping from his hands, Khalid slammed the dagger into the book.

As the book let out a final, gut-wrenching scream, the sand closed in around him. Pressed in on him, biting into his skin.

Khalid couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. The wind and the sand strove to choke him. To steal away his last bit of purpose.

To fight for the book's last bit of strength.

His chest heaving, Khalid tore a scrap of coarse brown linen for tinder, then struck the flint to catch a flame. The wind snuffed out the tinder in the same instant.

It took five tries to light. Five tries to fight against the billowing silt. Five tries to cup the fire close and let the pages catch flame.

The book burned blue and foul for hours.

Until the sand finally swirled back to the ground. Until Khalid finally fell with it, exhausted. He stared up at the sky, his body broken. Every wound across his skin ached, the scars reopened in the struggle. Khalid's blood seeped into the sand. His eyelids began to droop.

He was losing consciousness. Losing blood. He would die here in the desert.

But it did not matter. If he took the curse with him. If he kept his people safe.

If he kept Shahrzad safe.

Nothing else mattered.

A strangely peaceful breeze ruffled his hair. It brought a sense of calm Khalid had only experienced around Shahrzad. That small measure of peace he always fought to keep. Like water cupped in his hand.

If Shahrzad was safe, he could be at peace.

His eyes drifted closed. Then Khalid slept.

With the jade talisman in pieces beside him.

THE SANDSTONE PALACE.

WHEN SHAHRZAD WOKE, IT WAS TO THE SOUND of birds and the feel of silk.

Even the faintly scented breeze around her conveyed nothing but light and beauty.

Yet beneath it she felt nothing but the sense of being controlled. The sense of being imprisoned.

She was in a bower.

True, she was still dressed in the same rumpled qamis and dirty sirwal trowsers she last remembered wearing, but the chamber she'd slept in rivaled the finest rooms of the palace in Rey.

Indeed, it could be argued that it might even surpass them.

The open screens to her right were far more ornate in their carvings. Perhaps even a tad garish. The richly stained wood was inlaid with ivory, flecked by dark green jasper. Beyond the screens, Shahrzad could see a series of trellises shading a marbled balcony. Branches of flowering trees hung over the terrace, threading through the white latticework like drapery, their bright pink blossoms heavy on their boughs.

The walls of her chamber were sandstone. Where she could see the walls, that is. Thick tapestries clung to every exposed surface. In the corner was a table fashioned from many bits of colorful tile. It was as though a crazed artisan had taken a hammer to a rainbow, destroying something beautiful in an effort to create something decidedly less so. The pillows tossed about were bold and fringed with tiny mirrors embroidered by threads of gold and silver. On the gaudy table was a basket of flatbread and a copper tumbler, along with a platter of fresh herbs, rounds of goat cheese, small cucumbers, and an assortment of sweet chutney.

When Shahrzad examined the tray of food more closely, she noticed her host had not provided her with a knife, nor was there a utensil or sharp object of any kind in sight.

Her suspicions as to her whereabouts mounting, Shahrzad rose from the mass of silken cushions and took a turn about the room. She could not see past the intricate screens at the edge of her balcony. Indeed, she could see very little outside this prison of sandstone and ivory. When she attempted to turn both handles of the double doors-which were presumably the chamber's entrance-they were firmly sealed from without, just as Shahrzad had expected.

Her shoulder still ached, but at least it no longer debilitated her. At least it would not inhibit her from fleeing were the opportunity to present itself.

It's clear I've been "asleep" for quite some time.

Shahrzad's thoughts turned more grim.

How long has Shiva's father been planning to take me from the Badawi camp against my will?

For it was now obvious Reza bin-Latief had been in league with the Fida'i assassins for quite some time. Had likely been the one to send the mercenaries to Rey those many weeks ago, in an attempt to either kill Khalid or kidnap Shahrzad with a mind to use her as leverage.

And now Shahrzad had successfully been taken unawares.

To a place she was certain would bring about a predictable turn of events. Especially since Shahrzad had a sinking feeling she knew where she had been taken.

Trying to tamp down her fears, Shahrzad made her way to the tray of food on the garishly colorful table in the corner. She dripped some of the water from the tumbler onto the silver edge of the tray, waiting to see if it would darken the tray's surface. When it did not change color, Shahrzad trickled some of the liquid onto her skin to see if it would do her any harm. Then she took a tentative sip. Her throat was terribly parched. She did not yet trust the food, but she knew she must at least wet her tongue if she meant to survive for any stretch of time.

When Shahrzad heard the sound of grating metal beyond the double doors, she knocked aside the herbs and smashed the platter against the edge of the mosaic table. Then she grabbed one of the larger shards of porcelain and wrapped a linen napkin around one end to fashion a rudimentary weapon.

At the very least, she would not face down her enemy without a fight.

One of the double doors swung open. Shahrzad concealed her weapon to one side of her sun-worn trowsers.

Only to watch her father breeze across the threshold- Well-dressed and wearing a smile through the wisps of his neatly trimmed beard.

Baba?

When Jahandar saw Shahrzad-armed and crouched in an almost feral position upon the marble floor-he lifted his scarred hands in a placating gesture.

"Shahrzad-jan! You mustn't be afraid." He moved to her with a swift-footedness Shahrzad had not seen from him in quite some time.

"Baba"-she blinked, beyond confused to see him in such a poised and polished state-"where are we?"

"Dearest, please put down the weapon. There is no cause to be afraid!" He smiled again, even brighter. "The guards outside told me you'd tried the door not long ago, so I came straightaway."

"Where are we?" Shahrzad demanded again.

"I know you must be afraid, but he does not wish you any harm. No one does. Indeed, you will be safer here than you were in the encampment. And much better cared for. As befitting your status." His shoulders rolled back at the last, filled with a peculiar sort of pride. A pride that did not fit her situation at all.

"Baba!" she admonished, her frustration clear, for he had yet to answer the question she'd now twice posed.

His smile faltered. But only slightly. "Reza thought it best you be brought to Amardha."

As she'd suspected. Nevertheless, Shahrzad's heart lurched. For a moment, she could scarcely breathe. "You brought me to Salim Ali el-Sharif?"

"Of course!" Jahandar did not even flinch at her dangerous tone. "He is your husband's uncle, is he not?" He spoke simply, though his expression indicated much more knowledge.

"How could you do this to me?" she whispered.

At her quiet accusation, her father's watery eyes wavered, then stiffened at the edges. In that instant, Shahrzad realized he would not be moved by her pleas.

Not this time.

He pulled straight. "Perhaps it is I who should be asking you this question, daughter."

Immediately, Shahrzad recoiled from both his charge and the cold light that had entered his eyes. Eyes that had always been a warm mirror to her own.

"What have you done with my book?" her father asked in a mincing tone.