Chapter 7: Laleh

I pulled my sleeve out of his hand.

He made a small sound and his fingers closed on the empty silk.

He didn't wake.

I went back behind the screen and sat there until the sun was up, with my arms wrapped around my knees.

Sorry.

Three months in the Waste and a burned house, and he said sorry in his sleep, where it cost him nothing.

I went back three more nights.

Each night I thinned his lamp with clean oil, and each night he slept.

He didn't say my name again. He didn't catch my sleeve.

I kept my arms inside the screen to make sure of it.

On the fourth morning I didn't go down to my room at dawn.

I waited behind the screen, and at first light a boy came in with a covered jar.

He didn't look at the screen.

He filled the clay lamp to the brim, trimmed the wick, and went out again with the jar on his hip.

I went after him.

Down the long stairs. Through the kitchen yard. Across the stable court, where the grooms were watering horses.

He went in through a low green door at the far end of the stables.

I'd smelled that door before.

Camphor. Vinegar. Dried poppy heads.

The royal physician kept his stores there, next to the horse medicines, because his rooms were too small for them.

I was halfway across the court when somebody stepped out of a stall in front of me.

"You," she said. "Tel Zahra."

Laleh Sahran was wearing riding trousers and a short coat with straw on it.

She had her brother's eyes and none of his patience.

She held a gray mare by the halter.

The mare put her nose into my veil and blew.

"She likes you," Laleh said. "She doesn't like anybody. She bit the Vizier last spring and I gave her a whole melon."

"She smells my road salt."

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