The Moth and the Flame by Renée Ahdieh Page B

ways,” Despina replied without pause.
    Now it was his turn to laugh. The sound enveloped her, taking root in her stomach, its warmth curling beneath her skin.
    He’s trouble. Stay away.
    Despina returned to her task, straightening the torn seam as best she could.
    Behind her, his footsteps drew near, crisp against the polished stone.
    A whisper at her ear. “I find myself unconvinced, lovely girl.”
    â€œThen—by all means—scurry away, ridiculous boy,” she retorted in airy tones.
    Another rumble of laughter.
    â€œI don’t run from challenges.”

A CLOAK OF JESSAMINE
    I T HAD ALL BEEN A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.
    The Calipha of Khorasan was not supposed to be in her chamber. She was not supposed to be anywhere inside the palace on this lovely spring afternoon. So when Despina rounded the corner and saw the young queen sitting beneath the shade on her balcony, she stopped short.
    Holy Hera.
    The calipha was supposed to be on a stroll with the caliph through the royal gardens. Her chamber was supposed to be empty at this moment. Empty and ready for Despina to deliver the newest selections of cosmetics, in the quiet and discreet manner she’d espoused for the last three weeks. She’d even knocked on the double doors twice, just to be sure no one was there to question her. No one to notice her.
    No one to draw attention to her superfluousness.
    After all, as Despina had realized early on, the new calipha did not need a handmaiden. Not with all her servants from home recently taking up residence in the palace.
    Well, there was nothing to be had for it. Despite all Despina’sattempts to remain beyond the calipha’s notice, it had inevitably happened. The calipha would ask who she was. Despina would be turned away outright. Scolded. Or worse yet, dismissed.
    And Despina was not one to stomach a dismissal of any sort. She’d never been the kind to suffer a slight in silence.
    Worst of all, these possible scenarios had the problematic effect of wreaking havoc on her pride. After a childhood of being overlooked, Despina’s pride was her one constant.
    Hell and damnation.
    Despina braced herself, intent on backtracking with the stealth of a shadow.
    An exercise in futility.
    As she started to turn, her slippers brushed across the marble floor with the softest
skirr
. Nevertheless, the whisper of leather against stone managed to cut through the quiet. The calipha turned and saw her. Caught in the act of escape, Despina clutched tight to the small silver tray in her hands while swiveling to meet the calipha’s gaze. The tray’s contents swayed about, jostling a tiny glass vial positioned at its edge. The vial nearly tipped over, several amber drops seeping down one side. The sweet scent of jessamine wafted through the air.
    At the tinkling of glass, the queen stood. She did not appear angry. She appeared . . . weary. Dressed in elegant cream linen, her willowy form braced on an idle breeze. Her skirts swayed about as though she were the most delicate of flowers, ready to wither in an instant.
    Before Despina could string together a sentence of apology or explanation, the queen blinked at her and spoke.
    â€œYes?” The question was not harsh or demanding. Not even curious. At most, it was reflexive—a nod to propriety.
    Despina bowed, holding the silver tray steady. “I did not mean to disturb you, my lady.”
    â€œYou haven’t disturbed me.” The young queen’s head shook from side to side slowly, with the appearance of great effort. Her long plait fell behind a shoulder, its rich brown color catching bends of sunlight.
    Despite her better instincts to depart with all haste, Despina attempted a warm smile. “Can I bring you anything, my lady?”
    Another slow shake of a bejeweled head. The calipha shifted position, and Despina caught sight of a large roll of parchment spread across the lacquered table in the balcony’s