“Do you regret it?” she whispered, suddenly self-conscious.
Nicholas seemed startled by her words, shaking his head emphatically. He took her face between his big, warm hands and kissed her so deeply, she felt her toes curl against the floor. “Never. Never.”
But those had been the last words he’d said; he hadn’t even managed a cheerful greeting to their host. Etta couldn’t understand it—if that look hadn’t been about what they’d done, then what was he thinking about?
“Eat, eat!” Hasan said, his warm smile at odds with the rough bruises on his face from his fight with Nicholas. “Little niece, you look beautiful. How do you find our manner of dress?”
The first word that leapt to her mind was overwhelming, which was hardly fair. The entari and shalvar were beautifully crafted; the layers of sapphire and emerald silk and brocade were beyond luxurious, even if they were heavy. She was glad for them, though, not just because her dress from London was nearly in tatters, but because she did feel more comfortable blending in, and being respectful of the customs in this place and era.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of us.”
Etta accepted the heavy plate of food gratefully, barely sparing another breath before she dug in, practically swallowing the first pieces of pomegranate and figs whole.
Nicholas was slower to come around to eating, his attention focused on the surrounding courtyard, searching for shadows and hidden corners that didn’t exist.
“Baha’ar, my new friend,” Hasan said. “Eat, please. I do not keep servants in this house. There is no fear of discovery. I would not be so careless.”
“Baha’ar?” Nicholas repeated.
“Sailor,” Hasan explained.
Nicholas gave a wry smile, breaking off a chunk of the bread in front of him. “What was this about the clue?”
But it was a testament to how seriously he took his role as host that Hasan would not so much as approach the topic until he was satisfied that they’d had their fill of food.
“The riddle?” Nicholas pressed again. Hasan’s brows rose.
She bristled at the insistence in his tone, as if every second they spent here was wasted. “Thank you,” Etta said quickly, “for a delicious meal. We would love to hear your thoughts about what you think it means.”
Hasan seemed to take this bit of rudeness in stride. “Bring jasmine to the bride who sleeps eternal beneath the sky—that was it, no?”
She nodded.
“I have tried to break it apart into pieces, to understand,” Hasan said. “I thought, surely, Rose meant Damascus. There are many names for this place. The City of Jasmine, but also the Bride of the Earth. But this clue…it implies a kind of travel, would you not say? Bring jasmine to the bride. She wishes for you to leave this city, the City of Jasmine. So it must refer to another bride.”
“And?” Nicholas interrupted, his fingers drumming against the table. “Go where?”
Hasan held up a hand. “Patience—”
Nicholas’s hand came down hard enough to make the plates and platters jump across the table.
“Hey!” Etta said, only to be cut off.
“Every moment of delay is a moment that we can be found, tracked by the guardians,” Nicholas said. “I don’t wish to take any unnecessary risks by prolonging this to the point that Ironwood’s guardians can catch us—not when we’re so close to finding the astrolabe. Not to mention, we do have a deadline, do we not?”
Etta sighed, but nodded.
Hasan nodded. “Then we will make haste. But, baha’ar, as well as you know the sea, you do not know this land. The desert is a ruthless beauty, a punishing empress who bows to no one. It is past midday now, and you should not expect to leave this night. We will make your preparations today and leave tomorrow at sunrise. But first you must listen to what I have to say, or you will not know which direction to go. Yes?”
Nicholas looked down at his hands spread across the richly gleaming wood and nodded.
“As I said before, Damascus is known to some as the Bride of the Earth, but there is another bride—Palmyra, the Bride of the Desert. I think perhaps this is your destination. And what comes next: who sleeps eternal beneath the sky? The city itself was a jewel of our trade, a glimmering civilization. But it has since fallen to ruin. There is a valley of tombs remaining, however.”
A city her mother had painted for her.
“That’s it,” she told Nicholas. “We’ll find it there.” To Hasan, she asked, “Is there any way to narrow down which tomb it might be referring to? Are there very many?”
“Many,” Hasan said, almost apologetically. “I have not visited in many years, so I could not tell you. But Rose tells you to look for the sigil, the sign of our family. I think you will recognize it when you see it.”
Etta nodded, thinking of the tree etched into the cover of her mother’s travel journal. Her hands came up to thoughtfully twist one earring’s cool pearl.
“I worry, though,” Hasan continued. “It is a three-day ride from Damascus on horse, longer by camel. You may be able to push the horses harder, arrive in two days, but it is dangerous—water is not plenty, and if you drive them to exhaustion you will have to go on foot.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take, then,” Nicholas said. “We’ll need a map, a compass if you have one—water, food—can we go to the markets at once?”
“Well, yes, of course, but you will not require a map nor a compass, for I shall go with you. As your guide.”
Nicholas was rising to his feet, but at that, he stopped. “We don’t need a guide.”
Why? she wondered. Did he think navigating the ocean gave him some kind of magical insight into handling the desert? This was a gift that Hasan was offering. She wasn’t about to spit in his face.
“It would be my honor,” Hasan said. “It is not ideal to go in a group so small, but I will protect you both with my life.”
“I am perfectly capable of—” Nicholas began, stopping only when Etta put a hand on his shoulder.
“I would hope that will not be necessary,” she said, “but we accept your help. Thank you.”
One to recognize when a battle was already lost—maybe—Nicholas made his way back into the house, crossing the courtyard in long, purposeful strides. He might as well have turned back and glared at them, his posture was so rigid.
“That is a man who does not like to lose.” Hasan waited until Nicholas was well out of sight before leaning toward Etta, soft concern on his face. “I would be pleased to kill him for you.”
She was so startled by the words, it took his laughter to make her see it had been a joke. “He’s been on edge lately. It’s been a hard couple of days.”
“I am more concerned for you. You seem unhappy this morning,” he said. She knew that they were roughly the same age; that, if anything, he had only a few years on her. In that moment, though, his face was so knowing that it felt like she was being offered the opportunity to unburden herself to someone as ancient and knowing as the sun itself—someone who could make sense of what she was feeling.
“We had a bit of a fight,” Etta admitted. “We resolved it the best we could, but it’s not a permanent solution. He’s upset about it and on edge about everything happening. So am I.”