Arabesque

Sarn

Surrounding Sarn were ancient vineyards, which were among the most highly regarded and most sought after in all of Qatana. Trellised vines of grapes draped the cloud-dappled hills. The wines produced here were excellent—dark and full-bodied reds as well as fruity whites with hints of citrus.

He'd stopped for a brief respite—but lingering thoughts of the past persisted in their torment. Have I not suffered enough from my sins? Sarn reflected, as he gazed out over the land. The scene reminded him of his childhood summers, when he'd toiled in his uncle's vineyards in Annafi: a distant memory faded almost beyond recall. Until now.

Where have the years gone? Sarn felt the impossible desire to reverse time to a point when he could have altered the course of his life. But he knew it could never be. There was no going back.

Sarn stood and listened. There was only the quiet breeze and a falcon's distant call. His horse had wandered farther than usual, the temptation of incense grass luring her astray. He was alone.

Sarn tired of waiting he called to his horse, who answered the signal with a ringing neigh. The horse cantered up, and he leapt into the saddle and galloped away. Sarn felt the rush of anticipation course through him, his pessimism sloughing off, replaced by a renewed vigor.

His fate still lay ahead.

Racing along well-worn paths that marked the final miles of his journey, Sarn could see the purple-blue silhouettes of the Haffal Mountains in the distance as dusk approached. The twilight failed to dampen his mood. Sarn knew that he would make it to the riad before noon tomorrow, where Dassai no doubt waited.

Neither killing nor his epithet—Widowmaker—bothered him. Having to kill at Dassai's orders—that was entirely different.

The talisman his father had given him was the key to his freedom. But to unlock it, he needed to confront the Sultan, and this would require the aid, willing or not, of the man who held his chains. Sarn relished the thought of breaking them, and afterward looking into Dassai's eyes as he slit the man's throat.

Sarn's thoughts focused on the coming confrontation. The yearlong affair with Jannat was an effective—and bloodless—weapon he'd relished using against Dassai. What better way to stab a man in the back than to bed his wife?

But it had not been enough. Dassai had been oblivious. So Sarn had arranged for him to find out; therefore he knew Dassai would be waiting for him at the riad.

Sorting it out in his mind, Sarn realized that some puzzles still remained. Shortly before he received the cryptic message to visit Barrani in Havar, Jannat disappeared. She simply left. Those she employed had not seen her depart, nor could they give him any information concerning her whereabouts.

Why? What was the cause? If she knew he'd betrayed her to Dassai, that would be reason enough to leave, to escape a certain and painful death. But he doubted her ability to recognize his true intentions.

He had no feeling one way or the other for Jannat's life or death. Yet her disappearance had been inexplicable.