The Wrath and the Dawn(29)

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“This is, by far, the most asinine thing I’ve ever done in the six years I’ve lived at the palace,” Despina said quietly, as they crouched behind a wall of tan stone. The latticework at its top afforded them a vantage point from which to see the sand-filled expanse below.

“You can blame me,” Shahrzad breathed back.

“Oh, I will. Make no mistake.”

“Have you ever seen one of these tournaments?”

“No. They’re not meant for an audience.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe because—” Despina gasped as the first soldier stepped onto the sand.

“That might be the reason,” Shahrzad joked with a slight hitch in her voice.

He was clad in nothing but sirwal trowsers and a burgundy tikka sash. Barefoot. No qamis. No rida’. His bare chest glowed with sweat in the hot afternoon sun. In silence, he withdrew a large scimitar from his left hip. Its blade was narrow at the hilt and widened as it curved outward before tapering to a lethal point.

The soldier raised the scimitar high.

“Where is his opponent?” Shahrzad asked.

“How should I know?”

The soldier began swinging his blade in the air, performing an extended drill. He danced across the sand, the silver sword cutting arc after arc through the bright blue sky.

When he was finished, cheers and whistles of approval emanated from the sidelines.

“They must start with drills before they launch into fighting,” Despina decided.

“Ever the smart Theban.”

“If I push you over, you’ll look decidedly unqueenlike.”

Several more soldiers showcased their drilling techniques before a hulking form materialized in the sand. His shoulders were immense, and every muscle appeared to strain beneath his copper skin.

“My God,” Shahrzad said. “He could crush my skull with his bare hands.”

Despina snickered.

When the Rajput drew his talwar into the sun, he paused for an eerie moment, the sword poised above his head.

Let’s see what it means to be the best swordsman in Rey.

The second he brought the blade down was the last time Shahrzad remembered seeing it for the entire duration of the Rajput’s demonstration. The slender talwar whipped through the breeze, curling over its master’s arm as the Rajput stretched and dove into the sand.

Then, near the end of the drill, he lifted his free hand to his mouth . . .

And blew over his open palm.

A stream of fire extended onto the sword.

The talwar was ablaze.

He whirled it over his head, slicing the screaming dragon of a weapon downward. With a final thrust into the sand, he extinguished the flames.

The soldiers raised an earsplitting chorus on the sidelines.

Shahrzad and Despina stared at one another in shared amazement.

“I—I . . .” Shahrzad attempted.

“I know,” Despina finished.

Lost in their wordless conversation, it took both girls some time to recognize the next figure striding onto the sand. When Shahrzad looked down, she was dismayed by the instant tightening sensation in her chest. She knitted her brow and pressed her lips into a line.

The caliph’s shoulders were tan and lean; each of the muscles in his trim torso shone, defined and well articulated in the afternoon sun.

Despina sighed. “Despite everything, I have to admit I’ve always found him quite handsome. Such a shame.”

Again, Shahrzad felt the strange reaction spike within her core.

“Yes. It is a shame,” she spat.

“There’s no need to be angry at me for admiring him. Trust that he’s the last man I’d ever have designs on. I don’t enjoy gambling with my own life.”

“I wasn’t angry at you!” Shahrzad protested. “I don’t care if you or anyone else admires him!”

Despina’s eyes danced with amusement.

And then the caliph drew his sword.

It was a unique weapon. Not as wide as a scimitar, nor as sharply curved. The blade was thin, and its point tapered to a more severe angle than all the other swords Shahrzad had seen so far.

“Do you know the name of that weapon?” she asked.

“It’s called a shamshir.”

As the caliph began his drill, Shahrzad found herself gripping the top of the wall, seeking a better vantage point.

Like the Rajput, he slashed and arced so quickly it was almost impossible to discern the location of the blade. But where the Rajput’s superior strength granted him the ability to radiate menace without shifting a muscle, the caliph’s far more agile form underscored the subtle grace—the cunning instincts—behind every motion.