Shahrzad. Something had happened to her sister.

Irsa struggled to breathe. Struggled to think.

Aisha moved toward Omar, swift and certain.

Still, he said nothing beyond Aisha's name. Yet she seemed to understand. They'd always been connected in such a way. Omar's eyes wandered to Irsa, then back to his wife, speaking without words.

"Irsa-jan," Aisha said quietly, resting her hand upon Omar's chest to cover his heart. "Will you come with me?"

Irsa stood, her knees wobbling. Her sister. "What-what is it?"

"No." Omar took a steadying breath. He placed a gnarled palm over Aisha's hand. "I shall take her."

Irsa took a step forward. "Has something happened?" Her body did not feel like her own. Her voice sounded as though it were coming from beyond her-a muted echo from across the water.

Omar walked to her side. His eyes fell shut as he inhaled deeply. He clasped both her hands in his.

"Yes, dear one. Something has happened."

"Is-Shahrzad . . ." Irsa could not even finish the thought.

He shook his head. "No. A fight occurred at the palace." Again, Omar paused to steel himself. "And Rahim was killed."

Rahim? The ground beneath Irsa began to sway. "No." She shook her head, her voice sounding so strange. As though she were truly lost at sea. "That's not possible."

"I'm so sorry, Irsa-jan."

She did not believe it. Refused to believe it.

Rahim was not dead. The men had gone to speak under a flag of truce. Aisha had said so herself. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

This could not be true.

"Where is he?" Irsa asked, her voice suddenly all too loud.

Omar's features folded into a grimace. "I don't think-"

"No. I want to see him."

"Take her, Omar," Aisha said in a grim tone. "She is not a child."

The Badawi sheikh sighed, then wrapped an arm about Irsa's shoulders. Irsa concentrated on blinking, on putting one foot before the other as they exited the tent into a beautiful desert sunset. The sky was awash in oranges and pinks. Brilliant colors that should have warmed her. Should have brought a smile to her face.

She'd always loved dusk. It was as though a hand in the sky had pulled the sun from its berth . . . only to have the sun fight back, resisting, leaving a trace of itself to fade amongst the stars.

Irsa stared at the desert sky as she walked. The sight before her blurred, and she ran a palm across her eyes.

No. She would not believe it.

Only this morning, Irsa had walked with him here. Held his hand here.

Watched him smile here.

Guards stood outside Khalid's tent. When they saw the sheikh, they moved to let Irsa pass.

Irsa strode inside, and immediately those within took to their feet.

The captain of the guard stepped before her. "I don't think it's wise-"

"Leave her be," Khalid said quietly.

The captain of the guard gazed down at her for a moment. He put a hand on her arm. Squeezed. Then moved aside.

Irsa stopped at the sight before her. Her heart lurched into her throat.

Tariq and Khalid stood around a raised bed pallet. Tariq's silver breastplate was dull, his expression lost. His face was covered with sweat and dirt. Khalid's hands were stained, his silver-and-gold cuirass marred by dark smears. Both their cloaks were bloody. Red over white. Crimson over black. Colors that could not be ignored.

Irsa knew then that this was not a lie. For blood did not lie.

But still she walked toward them as if in a trance, the warmth stealing from her very blood.

Rahim was lying on the bed pallet. So very still. If Irsa did not look closely, he could have been sleeping.

She halted an arm's length away.

"How-" Irsa cleared her throat. She would not be a mouse. She was no longer a mouse. Because of Rahim. Her chin rose. "How did this happen?"

"It was my fault," Tariq replied, his voice awash in misery. In undeniable self-loathing.

"No," Khalid said. "If it was anyone's fault, it was everyone's fault. And mine most of all." He moved toward her. "But he saved my life, Irsa-jan. And he thought of you, at the last."

Irsa nodded, her eyes wide and unblinking. "Rahim is like that. He always thinks of others first."

At that, the captain of the guard tore from the tent, a choked sound emitting from his lips.

"Do you want us to leave you with him?" Khalid asked, his eyes locked upon her face.

Irsa peered up at him. Only a few days ago, he had frightened her so when he looked at her that way. As though he could see through to her very soul. Now all Irsa saw was a searching look. A look that simply wished to understand.

To help.

"Yes, please," she whispered.

Khalid looked to the others. They quickly cleared the tent, save for he and Tariq.

Tariq came to stand before her, tall and wrapped in white stained with red. He pulled her against him in a gentle embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Cricket," Tariq said into her hair.

He did not seem quite so . . . much now. Before, Irsa had always thought of him as larger than life. So full of vim and vigor. So full of everything Irsa wished she could embody. So incapable of losing to anything or anyone.

Now he seemed like a boy who'd lost his best friend.

A boy who could lose.

Irsa could not reply with words, so instead she merely nodded.

Once they had left, Irsa sat beside the raised bed pallet. Strangely, she did not feel any pain. Again, it was as though she had moved beyond herself. Rahim still looked as though he might be sleeping. Someone had tried to clean him, but they'd missed a line of blood at his neck. But for that, Irsa could almost believe she might jostle him awake with nothing but her touch.

Instead she studied the line of blood in silence for a time.

Then Irsa reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out the white shell with the flower etched on its surface. "I wanted to give you this."

She waited. As though she expected a response.

"Oh." It was a quiet sob. Something tore behind her heart. Though Irsa wanted to fight back the sudden burn, she let it wash through her. She would not be weak. This was not a time to be weak. And fighting herself-fighting how she felt in this moment-would be weak.

Would be denying who she truly was.

"I-" Irsa took a careful breath to steady her words. "I have felt alone for most of my life. Until you." She placed the shell on his chest. "But I promise I won't feel alone anymore. I will never forget." She stood on shaky feet. "I will always remember."

"I love you, Rahim al-Din Walad. Thank you for loving me in return."

With that, Irsa turned and walked through the entrance of the tent, her head high, though her body had begun to tremble.

Khalid and the young magus from the Fire Temple were waiting outside, just beyond a pair of torches. The magus eyed her, his face softening. She started to walk by them. Then stopped.

The magus took a deep breath. He sent a sad smile her way while placing a reassuring hand on Khalid's shoulder. Then, without a word, he left.

"Did he . . ." Irsa bit her lip, tears building upon the burn, threatening to converge at any second. "Did Rahim suffer?"

"Not long."

"I'm glad."

"As am I." Khalid studied her face. Studied the twist of emotions passing across her features. "Irsa-"

"How could you let this happen?" she asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Why didn't you protect him? Why didn't you-"

The Caliph of Khorasan pulled her in to his chest.

And Irsa cried until every last trace of the sun's warmth sank beneath the horizon.

BARTERING, LIES, AND BETRAYAL.

VIKRAM LED SHAHRZAD THROUGH THE UNDERBELLY of the sandstone palace, a single torch held high in his right hand. Though Shahrzad could not make out any sort of path before them, the mammoth bodyguard shifted and spun with a skill that suggested a prior knowledge of the space.

At the very least, he knew these labyrinthine hallways a bit too well for comfort.

Suspicion tugged at Shahrzad's core. "Exactly where were you this entire time?"

"In a prison cell," he grunted back. As curt as ever.

They passed into a winding set of stairs before branching off into another small corridor. With every turn, the halls seemed to constrict on all sides.

Shahrzad refused to be ignored. "Do you know where my sister is?"

"No."

"Then how is it you know your way around this palace?" she pressed.

"I told you: now is not the time for such questions."

At that, Shahrzad halted in her tracks. She had been betrayed one too many times of late. She would not be betrayed again now. "I disagree. Now is precisely the time for such questions. Especially if you intend for me to follow you a single step more."

Vikram pivoted in place. The flame in his hand flared bright as he cast her a look that would send a lesser man scurrying home to his mother.

Shahrzad tapped a slippered foot with impatience.

He frowned. Then huffed a sigh. "I was given a map."

"By whom?"

His frown deepened, though a brief flash of amusement wrinkled across his brow. "Who do you think?"

"By a palace rat," Shahrzad ground out. "How should I know?"

"Despina."

"Despina!" she sputtered. "You were fool enough to trust that turncoat?"

Vikram glared down at her, his torch almost close enough to singe what was left of her hair. "Bite your tongue. Despina is the only reason you have a palace rat's chance of escaping."

"A likely story. Since I suspect she's the reason I'm here at all."

He shook his bald head, grumbling unintelligibly. "There was no way to prevent that from happening, for she did not know of the sultan's plan. She only knew what would likely come to pass. She did everything possible to help you."

"Ha!" Shahrzad cut her eyes in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that the girl who smiled as she watched the palace guards drag me away intended to help me? There were a thousand things she could have done!"

"Such as?"

She flung an exasperated hand into the air. "She could have told Khalid who she was. What she thought would happen!"

"And confessed that she had been spying for the Sultan of Parthia all these years? That she was the sultan's daughter?" Vikram scoffed. "If you think your husband would have believed her following that, you do not know him as well as I think you do. Khalid Ibn al-Rashid is a most distrusting man. Though I cannot fault him for being so."

Spoken like a friend.

Shahrzad rested her hands on her hips. "Vikram, what is Despina trying to accomplish with all this deception?"