The Moth and the Flame (2 page)

“I can't say. I've never been afforded such a luxury,” she bit out drily, though a trace of humor lit her gaze. “Besides, are you certain it isn't too early for such pithy ruminations?”

He almost laughed at her boldness. “Is it ever too early for reflection?”

“I don't know. Is it too early for wine?”

“The sun has not yet begun its descent.” Jalal glanced through the open window nearby. “Propriety would say it is.”

She rolled her eyes. “If it's too early for wine, then it's too early for reflection.”

Jalal laughed loudly. Unthinkingly.

It had been a long time since he'd laughed with true abandon. Laughed without a soul to impress or inspire.

“It wasn't
that
funny, Captain al-Khoury,” the girl chided.

The laughter lingered in his response. “Don't.”

“Don't what?” She inclined her body toward his, the silver tray in her left hand twinkling with merriment.

“Seek compliments.”

For the first time, he saw a hint of annoyance in her features—the slightest dip of her lips. “I'm doing nothing of the sort.”

“Oh?” He drew closer. “Are you not expecting me to tell you it was indeed that funny, and that you might be the most amusing young woman I've ever met?”

She cast him an arched glance. “In fact I am not waiting for you to say such a thing. Though I
am
the most amusing young woman you will ever meet.”

Another hearty round of laughter.

“As you can see, I have no need to seek compliments.”

“Don't be absurd,” Jalal replied. “All women seek compliments.”

“And all men think they know everything.”

“I never laid claim to such a belief,” Jalal said, his feet taking him one step closer. Still the moth to the flame. “But I
do
happen to know everything about women . . . what they like, what they
dislike”—he moved his hand through the air in an endless circle—“what they mean to say though they refuse to say it.”

The girl snorted with derision. “Further idiocy. With the snap of my fingers, I could ask you a question about women to which you do not know the answer.”

“Are you making a wager with me?” As Jalal bent toward her, a distinctly floral fragrance caught his attention. It hovered about the girl, its scent soothingly sweet, saturating the air in alluring waves.

“Perhaps.” She quirked her chin in teasing fashion.

“And the terms?”

The girl brought the empty tray between them, as though it were a shield. “If I win, you must give me any flower of my choosing.”

“And if I win?” Jalal dropped his voice with deliberate suggestion. “Will you give me whatever I wish?”

“Oh, don't be an ass.” Her laugh was meant to sound caustic, but Jalal sensed a hint of disquiet behind it. “I'm not foolish enough to make such a reckless promise with a notorious rake.”

He stood toe to toe with her. “But you could be a fool,” he murmured. “Just this once.”

Her breath caught, her eyes glittering like a sea after a storm. “Only in the wildest of your dreams would that ever happen.” The tray lifted higher, pressing the silver against the swell of her chest. “If you win, I will tell you one thing you wish to know about me.”

The decadent sight of the girl before Jalal distracted him. Took him off guard. Rendered him incompetent. “Ask away, my lovely tormenter. Ask and be proven wrong.”

“You claim to know everything about women,” she began. “But tell me, Captain al-Khoury, do you know my name?”

Jalal was at a loss. Her perfume had cloaked his senses. Clouded his judgment.

He hadn't been expecting such a question.

An easy one. A silly one.

One Jalal could not romance his way through.

Such an occasion happened but once in the lifetime of a profligate such as he. It took every ounce of his self-control not to frown or grumble or kick at nothing, like a bested schoolboy. Infuriated by how easily he'd fallen prey to this cheeky handmaiden's wit, Jalal took a step back.

He racked his mind for an answer. Any answer that would color him less the fool.

It took him far longer than he wished. But soon Jalal managed to contrive a way to remedy this situation. In
his
favor. He smiled.

“Meet me to collect your winnings in the first tier of the royal gardens at sunset.”

With that, Jalal spun on a heel and walked away.

A SUNSET STROLL

T
HIS WOULD NOT END WELL.

Of that, Despina was certain.

But her current reservations were of little consequence. She would not show the young captain of the guard the effect he'd had on her. The effect he was sure to have on her. So instead Despina stood at the edge of the first tier in the royal gardens, her head high as she watched the sun descend along the horizon. The sky above was tinted in hues of pink and orange. Hues of fire and light and celebration.

What kind of celebration, Despina wouldn't pretend to know.

Below her, the tiers of the royal gardens blossomed with color and life, their terraces stacked like large stones in a descending staircase. Each tier brought with it a new experience. The first tier—the one in which she waited—included an aviary, filled with songbirds of every sort. The tiny creatures flitted about behind her, trilling their mockery to riotous discord. The lark in particular appeared to have much to say regarding her current circumstance.

Much to lecture.

Indeed. Despina never should have made a wager with a rake. A rake who may not even honor their arrangement today.

But in that single, memorable moment earlier, Despina had thought she'd won the day. The moment when the captain of the Royal Guard's face had dropped, she was certain he would declare himself bested.

Bested by a handmaiden. Then he would walk away and leave her be. Leave the sudden tumult in her heart to settle.

Leave her to reflect on the lessons of her mother from long ago.

Alas, Despina had been dismayed to discover the captain's reputation not the least bit ill founded. He'd caught her unawares with his charm. Unawares and almost enamored.

But Jalal al-Khoury would not take the better of her. She would triumph over him.

For that precious moment, Despina had thought she had.

Then the captain of the guard's features had smoothed. All too knowingly.

And Despina had known she'd lost.

Anything that made a rake of his reputation appear that self-assured was not something to dismiss so readily. Now it fell upon her to find a way to remove that knowing smirk from his face. To remove it or rearrange it . . .

To one of chastened humility.

“You're here.” He spoke behind her, amusement leavening his tones.

Despina glanced over a shoulder, affecting a look of disdain to mask her surprise at his arrival. “You're late.”

“I had a devil of a time escaping the caliph.” The captain of the guard groaned as he sauntered to her side, leaning back against the marble balustrade at the terrace's edge. “He's spending an obsessive amount of time with the royal engineers, intent on re-creating a system of heated baths he saw when he last traveled to Damascus.”

“And he wished you to be present for this discussion?” Despina felt her body ease closer to his and caught herself with a firm grip along the rail.

“He wishes for me to care about things of this sort.”

“And what sort would that be?”

When he turned his head to look at her, the sunlight warmed one side of his chiseled face, gilding it bronze. “Things of the boring, intellectual sort.” He winked.

Despina fought the urge to avert her gaze. “I suppose that would be too much to ask for.”

“No. I wish for him to care, too. Just not about the same things.”

“Oh? What sort of things matter to you, Captain al-Khoury?”

A sobering pause filled the space between them. “The caliph and I are very different.” With his right hand, he indicated her to proceed through the gardens. Despina did not miss that—with the same gesture—he also made it clear he no longer wished to follow this line of discussion.

They walked toward the staircase, falling in step with each other, their motions graceful and unimpeded. Natural.

The light on the horizon continued to deepen while the inky black of night reached from behind their shoulders. They made
their way down the gritty granite pavestones. “When you first arrived, you were surprised to find me here?” Despina asked conversationally.

“Of course. I half expected you to disappear.” The edge of his white cloak swayed in time with his steps, the royal seal at his shoulder gleaming bright.

“I'll admit I considered it. But I, too, refuse to run from challenges.” Despina repeated his words from their first encounter, a playful gleam entering her gaze.

He looked at her, smiling all the while. “How do you see this as a challenge? You bested me.”

“Despite all evidence to the contrary.”

“How do you suppose—”

“If
I
had truly won, I would be the one telling you when and where I'd like to claim my prize.”

The captain of the guard laughed softly. Conciliatorily. “I am curious, though—which flower would you like to claim for your own?”

It was the way in which he worded it. The subtle challenge behind the question.

What kind of girl are you?

Most girls would ask for a rose. Or perhaps another flower with the same kind of bright, arresting color. A color to match an intoxicating fragrance. Or perhaps they would ask for a spray of citrus blossoms. They'd perfume a room for days, long after their petals had wilted to the floor.

Yes, most girls would ask for flowers such as these.

Despina was not most girls.

Immediately she knew what to do.

With purpose, Despina quickened her pace. The scent of citrus blossoms flew past her as she wove her way through the second tier, progressing down to the third. The captain of the guard paused by a maze of rosebushes, his intention clear—but Despina moved past them without a second glance.

It was late spring. The perfect time. The flower she wanted would just be blooming, its scent rich and heady.

Sure enough—in the very center of the third tier—Despina spotted the grove of trees in question. She found the tallest one. It stood more than twice the height of a man.

She studied its topmost branches through squinted eyes.

Then she turned toward the captain of the Royal Guard.

“Do you see that branch of jessamine at the top?” she said. “The one bending toward the light, with the flowering buds?”

He stepped alongside her, lifting his gaze to the tree. “The purple one?”

“Yes.”

A frown marred his expression. “Why not one of the lower branches that have already produced blossoms?”

“The buds of the jessamine are far more fragrant than the blossoms.”

“I prefer the white flowers to the purple buds.” He assumed a stubborn stance, his feet shoulder length apart and his arms crossed tight. “Besides, there are many buds available within arm's reach.”

“The buds with the most exposure to the sun are the best,” Despina insisted. She turned to look him in the eye. “Are you honestly balking, Captain al-Khoury?”

He shook his head, lines of consternation forming at the bridge of his nose. “Not balking. Merely strategizing.”

“More like delaying the inevitable. Collect my winnings, if you please.” She spoke as though she were the one in a position of power, and he the servant.

The captain of the Royal Guard seemed to appreciate it. “Cheeky wench.” He grinned, though the furrow between his eyes remained intact.

He withdrew his scimitar and removed his cloak. Despina watched, her smile spreading with uncontrolled glee. She thought she heard him mutter choice epithets to himself.

He planted his hands on his hips and studied his leafy adversary. “If I had a bow and arrow, this task would be far easier.”

“Even you cannot be such a skilled archer.” Despina snorted.

The captain of the guard glanced her way. “You've heard I'm a skilled archer?”

“No doubt from your own tongue.”

He laughed, then heaved his way onto the lowest limb. He swung with grace from branch to branch, his feet and hands moving in perfect tandem.

Despina had to admire the sight. Though he'd seemed reticent to make the climb at first, it was apparent he was more than capable of such a challenge.

More than capable of triumphing in this task as well.

Again, Despina had been bested.

Bested by an obnoxious rake.

She began tapping her foot against the soil in annoyance,
waiting for him to reemerge with her winnings and another challenge in his eyes.

A crack resounded through the branches above. Followed by a yelp of surprise.

And the son of the second-most-powerful man in Rey spilled from amongst a tangle of leaves onto the ground below with a terrible thud.

Despina's heart lodged in her throat.

His arms and legs were splayed all about.

He was not moving.

Without thought, Despina dashed for his lifeless body. The moment she fell to her knees beside him she was certain this was the end for her.

Yet strangely that fact was not her chief concern. She did not want it to be the end for
him
. Not at all.

“Captain al-Khoury!” she gasped.

His eyes remained closed, his limbs frozen in place.

She searched for evidence of broken bones, her hands roving over a body corded with muscle.

“Captain al-Khoury!” Despina yelled again. She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers running across his face.

His eyes opened suddenly. Clearly. Then shut once more.

“Captain al-Khoury! Are you—”

“Softly,” he whispered.

Exasperation flared through her, bringing a flush to her cheeks. “What?”

“You're shouting in my ears.” He held back a grin. “Softly, my sweet.”

Despina almost shoved him. “Better I shout at them than bite them off.”

“Oh?” One of his eyes slid open, slyly. “So then you're good with your—”

“For the love of all the gods, Captain al-Khoury!” That time she did shove him.

His laughter was low and hoarse. “My name is Jalal.”

“You arrogant ass.” Despina fell back on her heels, her pulse thundering. “I nearly died of fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“Fear I wouldn't be able to collect my reward,” she retorted scathingly. The instant the words escaped her mouth, Despina wanted to take them back.

He aimed his grin at her. “And here I half expected you to be afraid I might be injured.”

“Not you.” Her lips twitched. “Only the flower. I'm not completely heartless.”

“No,” he agreed. “Only partially.”

Despina harrumphed. After a moment, the defiant tone in her voice fell away. “It—it was foolish of me to ask you to climb the tree for that flower,” she said softly.

He looked up at the darkening sky. “Even more foolish of me to agree. I've been afraid of heights since I was a small boy.”

“You didn't show it,” Despina said. “I thought you were merely griping about having to do work.”

“I work all the time,” he insisted, despite another dismissive roll of Despina's eyes. “And I'd much rather fall to my death than admit a weakness to you.”

“The captain of the Royal Guard wants to impress a lowly handmaiden?”

“A clumsy young man wants to impress a beautiful young woman.” He met her gaze, his dark eyes piercing. “The question is, did it work?”

Despina held back a smile. “You failed to retrieve my flower.”

In response, he lifted his left fist and unfurled his fingers. In it was the crushed stem of jessamine she's requested from the topmost branches. Its delicious aroma spilled into the air around them, clean and unmistakable.

“You ruined it, Captain al-Khoury,” Despina said flatly.

“Jalal.”

A pause. “Jalal.”

“Do you wish for me to retrieve you another?”

“Not in the least.” Despina smiled. “The ruined flower will do.”

His gaze still had not left hers. “It smells like you.”

“A ruined flower?”

“Yes.”

“How flattering.” She laughed.

At the sound, his features softened. “Touch my face again.”

Despite her sense of caution, Despina lifted her hands to his jaw and bent closer. He smelled like sweat and steel and the green of newly trod grass.

So much more than a boy with an arrogant smirk.

Jalal leaned into her touch. “Had I won the wager, I would have asked for your name.”

“Is that all?” Despina snorted.

“Then I would have asked when you would kiss me.”

“Only a kiss?”

“Only a kiss. Nothing more.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “How am I to believe that, given your reputation?”

“Time will tell.” He beckoned her closer, lifting himself on an elbow. A calloused finger traced behind Despina's ear.

And for a single moment, they forgot who they both were.

The captain of the Royal Guard. And the queen's handmaiden.

It was she who kissed him first.

Without thought. Without warning. Her lips found his.