The Moth and the Flame Read Online Free PDF Page A

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.
    Startled, Jalal fell back to the ground. His arms encircled Despina. When he kissed her back, it stole the very breath from her body. The touch of his tongue against hers sent a swirl of maddening desire through her.
    No boy had ever kissed her like this.
    No man would ever kiss her like this.
    â€œDespina,” she whispered. “My name is Despina.”

ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES
    D ESPINA WAITED ALL DAY FOR THE CALIPHA TO CALL for her.
    Waited all day for the calipha.
Not
for Jalal al-Khoury.
    She was certain the young queen would request her presence. After all, they’d spent a good deal of time together yesterday afternoon, and the calipha had been receptive to the cosmetics Despina had brought to her chamber.
    Not to mention their discussion on the young queen’s gift to the caliph.
    But the sun rose and fell without a word from the calipha or her servants.
    When Despina returned to her chamber, she found a spray of jessamine before her door.
    Her heart leapt at its sight.
    No. Only a fool would fall prey to such an enticement.
    Would fall prey to such a boy.
    Even if he does kiss like a man.
    Despite the yearnings of her heart, Despina ignored the tiny sprig of flowers. As luck would have it, they blossomedovernight and left a fragrant reminder at her doorstep.
    The following day came and went without a word from the calipha. The hope that had kindled within Despina two days ago began to fade; the young queen had no intention of bringing Despina into her fold.
    No intention of bringing a new handmaiden into her confidences.
    But Despina did not allow herself to fall to despair. For it did seem the calipha would not draw attention to Despina’s superfluousness after all. Their conversation had produced at least one desired result.
    Despina would not be demoted or dismissed.
    There
was
that.
    She spent the third day following her chance encounter with the queen—and her ill-fated stroll with the captain of the guard—reorganizing a pile of already pristine silk and damask.
    When Despina moved beyond the tiny chamber housing the garments and through the queen’s empty bedchamber, she saw the parchment with the beautiful calligraphy rolled into a bundle. Stowed to one side, unfinished.
    Though it gave her pause, Despina knew it was not her right to pursue the matter. Not her right and not her place.
    The young calipha would make her decisions. Choose her own way.
    As with two nights before, when Despina returned to her chamber door at dusk, she found another sprig of jessamine lying on the marble threshold.
    She stepped past it. Thought better of it.
    Sighed.
    And brought the flowers inside.

DARK DAYS AND A NIGHT OF LIGHT
    A LAS, ALL DESPINA’S WAITING PROVED FUTILE, FOR the calipha never called on her again. Several months passed in relative obscurity. But Despina continued to hope for a word from the queen. To wait—
    For a tragedy that shook their world at its very center.
    The palace had been shrouded in shadow for the last two days and nights.
    Everywhere Despina walked, servants tiptoed about the corridors, their shoulders hunched and their whispers low.
    Every face she encountered was agonized, every pair of eyes bloodshot.
    There were no more tears left to shed.
    The young Calipha of Khorasan—Ava, the girl who studied calligraphy and spoke with the gentleness of a passing breeze—had perished.
    Two mornings ago, the caliph himself had found her on that very same balcony, cold and motionless and alone.
    Thankfully, Despina had not witnessed what had happened that fateful morning.
    She’d heard the wails as the news spread through the marbled hallways. She’d heard the queen’s servants cry to the heavens.
    Very briefly, she’d seen the caliph’s face.
    Haunted.