The Wrath and the Dawn(54)

“You have a rather strange preoccupation with flowers, so I asked them to bring some to your room.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Despina snorted. “You don’t sound grateful. You sound disappointed.”

Shahrzad rolled over. She rose from the bed and slipped into her shamla.

I hate that she notices everything. Almost as much as I hate her for being right.

As Shahrzad stepped from the platform, Despina removed the lid from the tureen of soup.

And Shahrzad heard her stifle a gasp in the process.

“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad took a seat on the cushions before the low table.

“Nothing,” Despina squeaked.

Shahrzad gazed at her handmaiden, and her heart lurched.

Despina’s brow was beaded with sweat. Her usually flawless coloring of delicate ivory and blushing coral was decidedly green and sallow. Tension darkened every crease. Her graceful fingers trembled next to her beautifully draped dress of lilac linen.

She looked exactly as she had the day Shahrzad’s tea had been poisoned.

“Where is the servant who tastes my food?” Shahrzad’s voice wavered at the end of her question.

“She just left.” It was a terse response, pushed forth from unwilling lips.

Shahrzad nodded. “Fine. I’ll ask you once more, Despina. What’s wrong?”

Despina shook her head, backing away from the table.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Shahrzad.”

Shahrzad stood up, jangling the edge of the tray. “Don’t make me do this!”

“Do what?”

“Why do you look scared?”

“I’m not scared!”

“Come here.”

Despina hesitated before striding back to the table. As she stood alongside Shahrzad, her trembling worsened, and she pressed her mouth into a single, bright pink line.

Shahrzad’s heartbreak began anew. “Sit down.”

“What?” The word passed through clenched teeth.

“Sit down, Despina!”

“I—no.”

“No?”

“I—can’t, Shahrzad!” She shuffled away from the table, raising a hand to her lips.

“How could you?” Shahrzad whispered.

“What?” Despina gasped.

“Stop lying to me!” She seized Despina by the wrist and dragged her closer. “Why?”

The flat of Despina’s hand remained clamped over her mouth as she glanced at the tray of food below.

“Answer me!” Shahrzad wailed. “How could you do this?”

Despina shook her head, the beads of sweat dripping from her brow.

“Despina!”

Then, with a retching sound, Despina snatched the lid of the soup tureen and began vomiting into it.

Shahrzad stood there in shock, her eyes huge as she watched her handmaiden sink to the floor in a miserable heap, clutching the silver lid in both hands.

Once Despina’s suffering had lessened to dry heaving, she peered up at Shahrzad through tear-stained lashes.

“You—are a miserable brat, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran,” she choked.

At first, Shahrzad could think of no way to string together a coherent response. “I—you’re—Despina, are you . . .” Shahrzad trailed off. Then she cleared her throat. “Well, are you?”

Despina rose to her knees, blotting her forehead on her arm. She sighed in defeat. “I truly despise you right now.”

“Hate me or don’t hate me. But answer my failed attempt at a question.”

Despina expelled a pained breath. “Yes.”

Shahrzad fell back against the cushions in disbelief.

“Holy Hera.”

Despina laughed hoarsely. “I must say, you donning the guise of a friend is quite the heartwarming sight. Especially in light of the fact you thought I was trying to poison you.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think? Especially after last week’s incident with the tea. I suppose you were sick that day, too?”

The handmaiden sighed again.

“Despina,” Shahrzad said, “who is the father?”

“Now, that question I won’t answer.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you share a bed with the Caliph of Khorasan.”

“Ah, the web of secrets grows thicker every day!” Shahrzad retorted. “So is he the father?”