o.o.o

They move as quickly as they dare push the horses, hoping to outrun any pursuers. Dastan knows that if there are indeed Hassansins after them, they are no doubt master trackers, and he knows there's little he can do to hide their tracks to someone who really knows what he's looking for. So their best option is to stay ahead of them.

For the same reason, they push on well past nightfall—potentially dangerous, but the Hassansins are surely more so, and at least the full moon lights their path brightly—stopping only when they finally leave the open sand and find themselves on rockier ground with trees for cover. There's no water where they set up camp, but luckily Dastan's horse came equipped with full water skins (as well as a bedroll, and he is rather pleased to no longer be sleeping on a simple piece of tent fabric).

"We'll rise early and push hard," Tamina announces as they prepare their camp for the night. "We may be able to reach the temple by nightfall."

"Do you enjoy telling me what to do?" he asks with a grin.

There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she answers. "Only because you're so good at following orders."

That same teasing and warmth seems to radiate through all their interactions that evening. "Dare I hope that you'll allow me to sleep without my hands tied?" she asks as they set out their bedrolls.

He glances over at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why would I tie your hands?" he demands with mock innocence and outrage. "What a cruel thing to do to a person."

She rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her lips.

"Anyway I think we're done with that," he says. "Now that we're . . . allies."

She glances sidelong at him, but her answer is typical Tamina. "Well, I'm glad you've come to your senses," she says, "and realized that I am extremely trustworthy."

"Hold on," he objects. "I never said that. Just that we're on the same side now."

She shakes her head, but still she's smiling.

The mood stays pleasant as they lie down to sleep. Tamina has suggested that he sleep with the dagger, as he's more able to protect it should the need arise, and the knowledge that she would willingly entrust him with it gives him a rather pleasant feeling. All told he's feeling very relaxed as he lays there, which is why he stumbles on his answer when she asks him a sudden question.

"What did you mean earlier when you said you're the prince of Alamut, at least for the moment?" she asks.

His brow furrows. "Sorry?"

"Earlier, when you volunteered to come with me," she says. "You said you were 'the prince of Alamut, at least for the moment.'" Her head drops to the side so she can look over at him. She's lit only by moonlight—he didn't dare light a fire, knowing that Hassansins might be pursuing them—but he thinks that even with the aid of the firelight, he wouldn't have been able to read the expression on her face. "What did you mean by that? What are you expecting to happen?"

He shrugs, turning his gaze back to the stars above. "I assumed that when we got back to Alamut, we'd have the marriage annulled," he says, choosing his words carefully. "Since you never wanted it, even as a political match, and now that you have the dagger back there's no reason to continue this . . . farce." The word is strangely distasteful on his tongue. But he knows that everything he's saying is true, and there's no sense pretending otherwise.

"Oh," she says, and he gets the feeling that she wasn't expecting that answer. "Yes, I . . . suppose that's what we both want."

It is what both of them want, and it all just makes sense. But that doesn't quiet the twinge of regret in his chest.

It's just that . . . since calling this truce, and ending up on the same side, he's found he actually sometimes enjoys Tamina's company. That's all. Not to mention how difficult it will be to explain all of this to his father.

Luckily divorces in the Persian empire are fairly easy to obtain, especially when both parties agree to it.

And they will. Both agree to it, that is.

Of course.

It takes longer than usual to quiet his mind and fall asleep that night.

o.o.o

He's been asleep for what feels like a long time when something pulls him awake. The sky is just beginning to be touched with pink—not long until dawn. He lays there a moment, tightening his grip on the dagger, trying to decide if it was something he heard or just restlessness that awoke him. And then he hears it again: the soft shushing sound of a deadly viper moving toward him over the sand.

"Tamina, get up!" he yells, and she starts awake, looking at him in surprise but trusting him enough to climb out of her bedroll and clamber over to join him.

"What is it?"

He gestures grimly at the the shapes moving toward them: four long, thin shadows moving inexorably in for the kill. Vipers, and he doesn't usually see them in such large groups. What is going on here?

He has no training in fighting snakes, but he hacks and slashes as best he can. One, two, three, four—one by one he manages to incapacitate each one. But he barely has time to celebrate his victory when a long whip appears from nowhere, wrapping itself around his wrist and holding tight by means of metal hooks that run down it. The man on the other end of the whip is so far away as to be little more than a shadowy patch against the gray light, but Dastan has a strong suspicion of what he is, and curses under his breath. The Hassansin gives the whip an inhumanly strong yank, and Dastan is jerked forward, straight into a tree. The collision knocks him senseless—nearly knocks him out—and he falls to the ground, the sacred dagger falling from his hand. The whip loosens from his arm and disappears back into the darkness, only to reappear a moment later, wrapping itself around the dagger and snatching it away. Dastan protests weakly and reaches out toward it, but he can barely focus his eyes, let alone stand and fight. The Hassansin with the whip takes the dagger and disappears into the trees.

Cursing under his breath at how wrong things have gone, Dastan manages to push himself up on one elbow to look for Tamina. Unfortunately she's faring even worse than he is: a second Hassansin has her pinned to the ground. His strangely pale face catches the weak light, standing out starkly against his dark clothes; one hand has Tamina by the throat, holding her down as she struggles beneath him. Fear flares in Dastan's chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

The man is speaking to Tamina, softly enough that Dastan barely catches it. "You're on your way to die for the dagger, aren't you?" He leans in close. "Let me save you the trip."

Before Dastan can wonder too much about what those words mean, he notices a viper winding its way around and down the Hassansin's arm, hissing as he nears Tamina, and he finally understands—somehow this man controls those vipers that attacked him. Maybe if he can stop the Hassansin, he can stop the vipers as well.

The spinning in his head has subsided a little, and he manages to reach into his boot, where he's hidden several darts he collected after the skirmish with the dart-throwing Hassansin in Lambsar. It's not a terribly long distance to throw, but he's still shaky and dizzy and has little faith in his ability to throw well right now. So as he forces himself into a sitting position he finds himself praying, a single word directed toward the heavens—please—before he pulls back his arm and throws.

And maybe the prayer works, because the dart strikes the Hassansin in the neck, where there's no armor. There's not enough force behind it to kill the man, but he does fall backwards, releasing his hold on Tamina and hissing in pain. Shockingly pale eyes fix on Dastan a moment, filled with dizzying rage, and then the man and his viper disappear from his view; a moment later he hears the pounding of horse's hooves disappearing into the distance.

Still unable to stand, Dastan crawls to where Tamina is struggling to her feet, looking helplessly off in the direction the Hassansins disappeared. "They got the dagger, didn't they?" she says quietly.

"Tamina—" he says soothingly.

"I failed in my sacred duty!" she shouts, her voice choked with tears. "Protect the dagger, no matter the consequences. That was my destiny!"

"Tamina—"

"I should never have let you hold onto it," she says, still not looking at him. "Maybe if I'd had it—"

"Because you were doing so much better than I was?" he asked wryly. Her shoulders sag a little, and he sighs. "I know things look grim," he says. "But it could be worse. It's a miracle that we're alive, after an attack like that." Into his mind comes a memory of seeing her pinned to the ground, and the way the blood in his veins had all turned to ice—he shakes his head to banish the thought. "And we still have our horses, and we know where they're going. And now we have my brothers and the Persian army on our side; we'll catch up with them before they reach Alamut, and enlist their help to stop Nizam and the Hassansins. We aren't beaten yet."

She's quite still for a moment, then finally she turns to look at him. Her expression is still tense and angry, and she looks like she's going to argue with him again, but then her expression changes to surprise when she sees him down on the ground, and then to something like concern. "Dastan, you're bleeding."

He glances down to see blood dripping from a series of wounds on his forearm; that Hassansin's whip really did a number on him. He takes a moment to regret having taken off his long-sleeved coat for sleeping—it would have provided some protection—and then he sighs and starts looking around to see how much of a blood trail he's left. This keeps his gaze off Tamina, so he's rather surprised when she suddenly kneels before him, pulling his hand toward her to expose his arm, and carefully pouring some of the water from the water skin over the wounds to clean them. Too surprised (and still a bit too dizzy) to respond, he simply sits quietly and watches her work.

She's also brought with her the shirt Dastan wore to the wedding, the one that's been folded up in the saddlebags for the last two days; it looks a little worse for wear after its wild adventure through the desert, but the sleeves look clean, and she cuts one off with the knife and uses it to bandage his arm. When she's done she stays where she is a moment, kneeling in the sand to examine her work, and he almost doesn't want to talk and disturb the quiet that's settled around them.

But that's ridiculous. "Thank you," he says.

She lets go of his hand and looks up at him; her expression is still tight and wary, but softer than it was. "Thank you," she says reluctantly. "For getting that man off me. And for fighting those snakes." She pauses, and there's a hint of admiration in her voice when she continues, "You are very good at—" she gestures around herself in a way that seems to take in the dead snakes, the camp, and the whole desert around them— "all this."

"Glad you noticed," he smiles.

The moment of levity is brief. "And now Nizam will have the dagger. Then surely it's only a matter of time before he finds the Sand Glass. And if he uses it, I will have failed in my sacred calling."

"In your destiny?" Dastan asks with a hint of a smile. "You keep saying that. But you know what, Princess? I believe we make our own destinies. Let's start by getting the dagger back."

She looks at him a long moment, and then she nods.

They break camp in silence, carefully avoiding the pieces of snake littering the place. As they're climbing onto their horses, Tamina looks over at Dastan and speaks, very reluctantly. "I am . . . I regret shouting at you earlier."

He bites back a smile at the way she couldn't bring herself to say she was sorry. "Just don't do it again," he says. "My head already hurts enough."

She rolls her eyes, and they're on their way south.

o.o.o

Even with their early start, they still have a lot of ground to cover if they're going to catch up to Tus and Garsiv before the princes reach Alamut. So Dastan keeps a relentless pace, and cuts their rests short, and by the time the sun is nearing the horizon, they have found Tus and Garsiv's tracks.

Dastan pulls his horse alongside Tamina's. "If we push hard until dark, and get an early start tomorrow, we may just catch them before they reach Alamut."

"I am glad of it," Tamina says fervently. "I am tired of being on a horse."

"I imagine he's pretty tired of you too," Dastan teases, glancing at Tamina's mount. The horse they stole has turned out to be quite the sturdy creature, but several days of traipsing all over the desert has taken its toll on the poor beast. Dastan decides that if he survives all this, he's going to buy this horse and give it a life of ease. It's the least he can do. Tamina must be thinking the same thing, because she reaches out to pat the horse's neck affectionately; Dastan suddenly remembers the last time he saw her do that, and the way it felt to place his hand over hers, and he looks away quickly.

To cover his discomfort, he says conversationally, "What I'm most tired of is dried fruit and nuts." The food they bartered for has served them well—though it is running low—and Dastan is certainly used to army rations, but still, he could really go for a hot meal right now.

He half doesn't expect an answer; Tamina sometimes responds to small talk, but often ignores him. So he's a little surprised when, after a long pause, she responds, "A bath. That's what I want."

"I already bathed once this week," he teases. "That seems like plenty."

She looks over to fix him with a quelling look. "Believe me, prince, we would both benefit from your bathing. As would anyone forced into a ten-foot radius of you." But her tone and expression are gently teasing, not genuinely meant to barb, and he enjoys the feeling of just talking to her without the rancor and deception that characterized their early interactions.

"And I'm definitely looking forward to not worrying about Hassansin and snake attacks while I sleep," he says, ignoring her bathing comment.

She grows tense and still, her gaze fixed on the back of her horse's neck. "We nearly died this morning, didn't we?"

"I think we did," he says somberly. "It's a lucky thing the Hassansin were focused so much on the dagger, and not on killing us."

She's silent a moment. "When I was a girl, I used to dream of going on grand adventures," she says—the first time she's ever said anything about her childhood. "Now that I'm on one, I'm finding they're not quite as fun as I'd hoped."

"They can be fun," he assures her. "This just happens to be a more . . . serious adventure." But he's not thinking about adventuring; her comment about nearly dying has reminded him of that moment this morning where the Hassansin with the snakes had her pinned down, and of the words the man spoke, which he'd forgotten until just now.

You're on your way to die for the dagger, aren't you?

It's a strange thing to say, and Dastan finds the words bouncing around in his head as they ride in silence, side by side, for a few minutes. What did he mean? What precisely was waiting for them at the secret temple?

He supposes Tamina isn't going to be willing to tell him, but the curiosity eats at him until he finally decides he might as well ask. "About this morning," he says, and she glances over at him. "That Hassansin, he said that you're on your way to die for the dagger. What did that mean?"

Someone who didn't know Tamina might not see her response, but he's come to recognize the subtle tensing of her shoulders, the stubborn set her jaw takes. He's hit on something she doesn't want to tell him.

"Where are you really taking it?" he presses as she turns away from him, focusing only on her horse and where it's walking. "What will happen there? What aren't you telling me?"

After a moment, she says imperiously, still not looking at him. "I'd been taking it to the secret temple, where it would have been safe. That's the truth." He's coming to recognize, though, that her imperiousness is sometimes a shield she puts up around herself when she's uncomfortable.

"Part of it, maybe. What's the rest of the truth?"

Still she refuses to answer, so he urges his horse forward and turns it around so that they're blocking Tamina's way and it's harder for her to avoid his eye. Both horses come to a stop, and the two riders face each other, Tamina's gaze fixed on Dastan's shoulder. He speaks earnestly. "Tamina, please."

Finally, still not looking in his face, she speaks, using the tone he's come to recognize as the one she uses when speaking of her holy things. "The first thing I learned as high priestess is that if all else fails, I can put the dagger back into the stone. The stone will envelop it, pulling it into the mountain, returning it to the gods."

He shakes his head. "If it's that easy, why didn't someone do it ages ago?"

She hesitates. "I'm telling you this only because—depending on how things play out—you, as my husband, may have to deal with the aftermath," she says, almost like a warning.

That sounds ominous. "What does that mean?"

Another long pause, and then, reluctantly: "The original promise must be paid."

"What promise?"

She finally looks into his face, first just a glance, and then a locking of gazes. "The gods must take back the life they spared."

She looks away again as his mind spins and a horrible certainty falls into place. "You'll die."

Her jaw tightens. "I will save the world."

But he doesn't care. "Tamina, you'll die," he repeats, louder, and her eyes lock on his again, fierce and sparkling.

"We have failed to keep the dagger safe," she snaps, and he doesn't know if "we" means her fellow guardians or if it means the two of them. "Your uncle knows of it; if the Hassansins don't know what it is, they at least know it is worth killing for. And who knows how far the knowledge has spread? If your uncle uses it as he intends, the world will end. And even if we stop him, I now have no faith in our ability to protect it in the future. Our walls have been breached for the first time in centuries; we have shown to the world, and to me, that we are vulnerable. So if not your uncle, it will be someone else, and then the world will end. And I could stop it with a single act." She pauses a moment, breathing deeply, then says more quietly, "Far better that I die than that the whole world dies."

For a long few moments, there is silence between them as Dastan struggles to gather his wits; there is so much in her statement that he doesn't know how to respond to. He's never been good with words, as evidenced by the fact that all he can manage to say is "I don't want you to die."

For the briefest moment, her expression warms, like she wants to smile. But then she's all seriousness again. "It's not something you have a great deal of say in, I'm afraid."

"It does concern me a little," he points out. "I'm your husband." And then he pauses and frowns as something occurs to him.

"Not if we get an annulment," she says. "Wasn't that your plan?"

But he's barely listening, turning over the events of the last few days in his mind. "That's why you were willing to marry me," he realizes aloud. "It wasn't a matter of giving up your life in Alamut and moving with me to Nasaf in order to obtain the dagger. You were going to drug me, take the dagger, and flee to the temple. By the time anyone realized what was going on, you'd be dead. You were only willing to marry me because you expected to die soon!" It would almost be insulting, if it weren't so alarming.

Her expression is placid as she regards him, but he can read the truth in her eyes. "It wasn't meant as a personal insult," she retorts, but her voice is mild, even a little flat. Normally when she speaks of her sacred duties she is much more impassioned, and he finds it something of a relief to realize that though she is determined to die to protect the world from the dagger, she isn't looking forward to it.

"And you weren't worried about how we'd react to you running off on our wedding night?" he demands. "Garsiv, at least, would take it as a personal insult to the royal family—"

"Oh, we had a plan," she says dismissively. "There was a horse saddled and waiting for me." She hesitated. "Actually . . ."

He raises an eyebrow, and she simply reaches forward and pats her horse's neck.

"This horse?" He is incredulous. "We've been riding your horse this whole time?"

She smiles a little. "Not my personal horse, but yes, the one that had been prepared for me. That's why I led you to the stables—I knew there'd be a horse there that was ready to ride."

He has to admit, she is good at improvising. "Who chose this horse for you? It's far bigger than someone your size needs."

"I was meant to have an escort. We would have ridden the same horse."

Dastan suddenly remembers that there was an Alamutian man in armor waiting near the horse; that must have been the escort, who Tamina ended up leaving behind to keep up her charade.

"And in the meantime, a trusted servant would have tossed the room, to make it appear there'd been a struggle, and left a ransom note: kidnappers, who used the wedding feast as cover for getting into the palace, drugging your drink, and dragging me away. You would have woken up alone in the morning, and your father would have put together the money. But no one would show up for the ransom exchange, and my fate would forever remain a mystery—but in a way that would have kept the Persians from retaliating against my city."

She speaks calmly, even resignedly, but he thinks he detects a bit of hesitation in her tone. She's a true believer, but if she becomes a martyr, it will be out of necessity, not desire. Which is good; maybe he can talk her out of it.

"But now you don't have to worry about any of that. Alamut is part of the Persian empire now; our army will protect your city."

"Unless it is the Persian army I need protection from," she says primly, lifting the reins. "I have trusted you, Dastan, out of necessity—" Here she hesitates, then adds reluctantly, "And because I have come to believe that you are an honorable man." She rolls her eyes. "Don't look so pleased with yourself," she grumbles, and he obediently wipes the smirk off his face. "But I cannot trust your family. Especially given that we know that your uncle has been concealing his true character for years. So no, having the Persian army on my side does not comfort me as much as you seem to think it should. What if, in opening our gates to its protection, we are simply inviting in a thief? As we have already done, with Nizam." She shakes her head. "Returning the dagger to the stone is the only way to keep the dagger safe," she says, and urges her horse into a trot.

Dastan has no response. So he simply follows after her.

o.o.o