Dead Girls Tell No Tales

f i v e

THE THORNS ARE THE FIRST THING SHAHRAZAD notices when she holds the rose, its jagged points scratching the sensitive area of her fingers. It cuts into the skin lightly, and she barely registers Laleh entering her chambers. She does not understand why he left it at the edge of her bed, but his words replay themselves enough. It is almost as though he knows of her deceit.

"Did he actually give you a flower?" The handmaiden asks loudly, pouring two cups of cinnamon flavoured tea from a freshly brewed pot. "Either I had too much wine, or this is just a sad, sad dream."

Shahrazad's heart beats faster and faster, hammering against her ribcage. "It would seem so."

She rests her head on the carnelian pillows, eyes shutting lightly. If he is aware of her plotting against the empire, he doesn't show it. There are questions rattling in her mind, raking frustration. He isn't a fool certainly, eyes keen on detail, blessed with stealth of a warrior. Defeating him is far more complex than stabbing him in the heart. If he even has one, that is.

"Oh, I have a message for you," Laleh says, pushing the steaming cup towards her. "It's from your father so you'd better listen."

At this, nightmare's bride displays a sliver of hope, light rid eyes smiling. "Tell me."

"He wanted to know if you figured any weakness in the Khalifa."

Shahrazad's stomach twists into uncomfortable knots, guilt numbing her veins. She has been too preoccupied with her storyteller tongue that discovering cracks in the palace has taken a backrest.

"You haven't?" Laleh sighs, brows stitching tightly. "The palace is rebelling, Shahrazad. There is going to be a war, and you are the weapon."

"I need more time," she whispers, clutching her chest in an attempt to steady her palpations. She needs it. It has barely been four days, and the rebels are already expecting to wage fire against fire. She knows their misery, understands their thirst, but it's too risky. They aren't prepared to topple the throne. "I'd like to speak with my father."

"The vizier has resigned his duties since your wedding," the handsmaiden says, dull brown eyes flickering outside the windows, trailing the scorching sands below. "But I might have a way to send across your message."

"The way you received them in the first place?"

Laleh nods sheepishly, lilting a smug smile. "Remember how I told you that your father has lots of supporters? I may know just the man for the task."

That is how Shahrazad found herself in the royal stables, surrounded by horses and mules, and a most unusually striking man clad in armour. He is tall, high cheekbones cutting into a defined jaw, built like a solider. His stance has seen a small number of wars, but his eyes are young with inexperience. "It's dangerous to send a message in these times."

"But you have to, Anwar," Laleh huffs, arms stubborn in their vivid actions. "It's for our cause."

Shahrazad watches their conversation with light amusement, their body language clearly hinting that they are more than merely acquaintances embroiled in a noble war. The man, Anwar, places his calloused hands on her friend's shoulders, holding her at a distance. "Listen, I can't betray him like that. He's still my brother, Laleh. I support you in dethroning him, but not killing him. He's family."