The Wrath and the Dawn(39)
That hope was shattered.
And it made Shahrzad angry.
Three nights of mostly uninterrupted sleep had not dulled the anger.
This afternoon, Shahrzad had elected to wander one of the many terraced courtyards in search of a perfect rose. The banality of this task added a feeling of uselessness to her already irritated disposition.
She wandered past another flowering hedge, her eyes squinted against the sun, and her forehead creased with frustration.
“If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can help,” Despina offered.
“No. You can’t.”
“My, but you’re in a mood.”
“You really can’t help me. There’s an art to a perfect rose. The scent. The color. The arrangement of the petals. My father even argues that one too many petals can ruin the entire flower . . . can disturb the way it grows.”
“And I would argue the prettiest flowers are the ones that seem a little imperfect.”
“See? You can’t help me,” Shahrzad groused.
Just then she felt Despina stiffen by her side.
“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad asked.
“Cap—Captain al-Khoury is coming down the stairs.” Her flush spread from throat to hairline.
“So? Why are you nervous?”
Despina hesitated. “Ever since the incident with the tea, I’ve felt uncomfortable around him.”
“I see.” Shahrzad pursed her lips, fighting to contain the accusations.
As Jalal stepped into view, Despina took special pains to scramble behind the Rajput, out of sight. Jalal curved a languid eyebrow in her direction and then turned to Shahrzad.
“How are you this afternoon, Shahrzad?” He bowed with an easy grin, his gold-trimmed cloak spilling over one shoulder and a hand resting casually on the hilt of his scimitar.
“Alive.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m glad to see it. Are you in the midst of something important?”
“Of course. I have a possible coup in the works. Then I intend to draw up plans for a new form of trade involving elephants at sea and sails of spun silk. Would you care to join me?”
He smiled. “Only in the coup. The rest sounds a bit commonplace, if you ask me.”
Shahrzad laughed. “No, of course I’m not doing anything important. I’m firmly entrenched in the mundane. Please rescue me.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could do something . . . queenly for me.”
“Queenly? What do you mean?”
“We have an unexpected visitor. I was wondering if you could receive him, in the caliph’s absence.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s—a scholar, so to speak. He was Khalid’s first tutor, as well as the lifelong tutor of Khalid’s mother. He has not seen Khalid since he was a little boy. I know he meant a great deal to his mother, and I would hate to send him along without receiving him formally.” He winked.
Shahrzad could not help but smile.
“Additionally, I assume the visit may satisfy some . . . lingering curiosities.” Jalal grinned knowingly.
“Why, Captain al-Khoury, you make it sound so . . . intriguing.”
He laughed. “So are you coming, Shahrzad?”
She nodded, her hazel eyes sparkling.
“I have to warn you, he’s a bit—odd,” Jalal stated as he began retracing his steps, with Shahrzad and her tiny retinue in tow.
“How so?”
“He’s a relic of days past. Very devoted to the ancient arts. But I think you’ll like him, and I know he’ll be very pleased to meet you.”
“What’s his name?”
“Musa Zaragoza.”
“That’s a very unusual name,” Shahrzad said.
“He’s Moorish.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.”
They continued up the numerous flights of stairs and into the cool marble hallways. Jalal led them to a large room with a domed ceiling five times the height of a man. Its walls were tiled and covered with painstakingly carved reliefs, depicting battle scenes long forgotten of warriors brandishing their weapons and vanquishing their foes.
In the corner stood a very tall man draped in garments of vibrant fabric. His deep blue rida’ fell to the floor, and its hood was wound about his head, secured by a circlet of leather and gold. Thick mankalah cuffs were wrapped around both wrists, and his beautiful dark skin reminded Shahrzad of the finest Medjool date.