Chapter Eight

In the Desert

Fes, Marinid Sultanate (Morocco)

1292

The university welcomed several new professors that autumn, but one stood out amongst the rest. She was European, with pale skin and flowing yellow hair that was unlike anything the students had seen before. They had been told she was highly knowledgeable, and that they were privileged to be taught by her. All the other professors seemed to be in awe of her, which made the students all the more eager for her seminars.

Saladin El-Sherif paid no mind to these whisperings. The seventeen-year-old resented his parents for sending him to the University of Al-Karaouine. He'd only been there six months, but it felt like much longer. The days dragged. Saladin dreamt of traveling the world and writing – not being a merchant or being stuck in a classroom. The white walls of the great school felt like a prison to him, keeping him locked away from adventures. Though he supposed it was aesthetically beautiful, he found the cold marble architecture unwelcoming and grim.

When he first laid eyes on the new professor, she was in a corner of the small, marbled courtyard, her head bent over a scroll. Her blond waves covered her face, but every so often, he could catch a glimpse of her profile, which was quite lovely. Even more than her face; however, he was intrigued by the concentration in her movements and deliberation in her pose. The way her wrists twisted, the way her delicate fingers gripped the paper. She held herself as if she wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, reading and taking notes. She seemed to have all the time in the world to do as she wished. It was striking.

He began debating different ways to go over and introduce himself, wondering if he should just step over, or if he should plan something clever to say. Just as he summoned the courage to simply walk over, she suddenly turned and looked at him, directly in the eye. He held back a gasp.

Her blue-green eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the universe as they gazed fixedly and mournfully into his own. She broke eye contact after only a few short but electrifying seconds, rolled up her scroll, and left the courtyard swiftly.

Saladin felt he could barely catch his breath. Her absence left him feeling hollow and he couldn't understand why. He was now more determined to find her again and learn everything he could about her.

He didn't have to wait long.

The very next morning, he arrived at his world history class and found her pacing in the back of the room. His teacher introduced her as Professor d'Ebanne; she would be taking over the class for the next couple of weeks, since her expertise in Chinese history far surpassed his. Saladin raised his eyebrows at that – Professor Tabet rarely complimented other teachers.

The woman - Professor d'Ebanne - stepped to the front of the class. Her beautiful hair had been pulled back and she wore simple black robes. He could tell his classmates were equally entranced and perplexed by her.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I will begin by ascertaining how much you already know about the Far East, and then we will go from there. I have no wish to teach you things you already know, nor do I intend to move too quickly. Can anyone tell me who wrote The Art of War?" she asked, her voice bright and tinged with an accent Saladin could not place.

There was a long silence before a student in the back raised her hand timidly. The professor looked delighted.

"Please, tell me your name before you answer. I should like to know my students," she smiled at Farah.

"My name is Farah Tourek, Professor d'Ebanne. I believe the answer may be Sun Tzu," she said.

The professor beamed. "Thank you for being the first, Ms. Tourek. Sun Tzu is the credited author, yes, though there is reason to believe there were other contributors. Now, does anyone know during which dynasty Ganges Khan lived?"

The lesson went on from there, with students raising their hands one by one and contributing to the class. All, except Saladin.

"Last question, students. Which Ancient Chinese figure was given the epithet of 'Laudably Declarable Lord Ni'?"

Other students raised their hands hesitantly, but the professor called on none of them. She turned to Saladin and smirked.

"I'm going to need to know your name eventually, so you may as well take a crack at it."

Saladin froze. He had no idea what the answer was. "My name is Saladin El-Sherif. I apologize, Professor, but I do not know."

She gave him a long look. "Then I suggest you do some reading tonight, Mr. El-Sherif. I hear there's a very impressive library at this college."

That night, Saladin isolated himself in a quiet corner of the library, ensconced with old tomes and scrolls concerning China. He had been humiliated in class that morning, but his was determined to impress Professor d'Ebanne.

She had been right about the library, of course. Al-Karaouine housed one of the largest, oldest collections in the world. Dust motes swirled through the twilit air and the intermittent sound of rustling pages broke the heavy silence of the place. Most students were enjoying dinner in the hall, so it was rather empty.

"I see you took my words to heart. Good," a light voice said from behind him.

He jerked around. Professor d'Ebanne was wearing a long cloak with the hood up and carrying a lantern. She had clearly been outside, from the look of the dust on the cloak's trail and the smell of night emanating from her rosy skin.

He stood quickly, nearly knocking his chair over. "Professor d'Ebanne," he said, nodding his head in respect.

"Mr. El-Sherif, good evening. Are you brushing up on the history of China?" she asked.

"Yes. I apologize for my lack of knowledge in class this morning; it won't happen again. I'm afraid school is not my strong suit, and I must work harder than my classmates."

"Why is that? Does school not interest you?" She stepped around the table.

"My mind has always been more invested in other things, like exploring the world and writing," he said, hesitantly sitting back down.

She sat across from him and raised an eyebrow. "So why are you here, if you don't want to be?"

"Because my parents forced me," he admitted.

She laughed softly; it was heavenly. "Ah, familial obligation. Something I haven't concerned myself with in a very long time."

He knew it would be rude to prod, but he couldn't help himself. "Why is that?"

She gazed off into the dark labyrinth of the library. "Life," was her vague answer.

"My father is a merchant and my mother a mathematician," he began nervously – he always talked too much when he was nervous. "They want me to get a full education before joining my father on his travels. I'd rather just start now; see the world. Although, of course, I'd rather do without the merchant business."

She looked at him and smiled. "School is important, but you should find a reason for it to be meaningful to you and not just your parents."

"I'll try, Professor. May I ask why you have come to Al-Karaouine?"

"I am here due to my expertise in matters of the Far East, particularly Chinese culture and history. My specialty is The Art of War, which no one here has read, as they are not fluent in Chinese," she informed the young student.

"How did a woman from Europe become an expert in Chinese history?" Saladin asked, fascinated.

His teacher smiled. "That's a long story. I've been a lucky woman, in some regards."

Saladin leaned forward. "Please, tell me all about your life. I am curious. I've never left my homeland. Coming to Al-Karaouine is the farthest I've ever been from my family, but home is only a few days' journey away. I want to know all there is to know about the world."

A shadow flickered across her face. "You don't want to know everything, I promise," she muttered mysteriously before brightening. "Would you like to hear about my homeland?"

"Yes, please, my teacher," he said eagerly.

"I am from the Kingdom of France, a land of farmers, lords, scholars, and artists. A country with a long history of queens and kings, and knights and princesses. We have legends and myths and wars aplenty. My mother reigned over a large duchy in the southern part of the kingdom, so I grew up in a great big castle surrounded by all sorts of interesting people. For most of," she began, but Saladin cut her off.

"What is a duchy?" he questioned, dubious.

She grinned. "A dukedom. It means she owned a lot of land and had a lot of money. She inherited the land from her mother and it remained hers even after marriage. She was the duchess while my father remained a simple knight. Everyone on my mother's side of the family was well-connected - her cousin Eleanor became the Queen of France and later England."

"I know nothing of any of these places. I should like to see them one day," he said eagerly.

She laughed then. "They're actually not all that wonderful. That's partly why I left; Europe is a mess. It's much better here, where there are universities and scholars and growth. England and France are always fighting and constantly dogged by plague and pestilence. I spent some time in Catalonia, which is quite beautiful. But in the end, I needed to see the world. As you dream of."

Saladin leaned forward. "What do you think? Should I just leave?"

The professor leaned in. "Wait it out a few more months. You may find an education useful."

"It's Confucius, by the way," he said lightly.

She smiled. "Laudably Declarable, indeed."

The pair stayed in the library well after it closed that night. The professor spoke to the librarian quietly and they were allowed to stay after-hours. Saladin was fascinated by her pull over people. She was magnetic, full of energy and stories and mystery. They talked for hours, until Saladin felt himself nodding off. The professor bade him good night before quickly disappearing into the night.

It became a routine for them quickly enough – she would torture him in class, he would submit to the library, and she would appear to distract him from his studies. No – that wasn't quite right. He did suppose she helped. She would tell him story after story about generals and invaders and artists, from all over the world. She was teaching him, but not with facts and numbers. She was weaving something deeper. Through these stories, she revealed qualities about herself. She was fiercely loyal, but had a tragic past and could be very stubborn and unforgiving. Once she loved someone, she loved deeply. She talked of her adoptive family, who had taken her in after her parents died and opened her up to an entirely new world. There was a sister she shared a close bond with who was protective of her but easily distracted, a sophisticated older brother who cared deeply about keeping the family together, a middle brother who she never said much about besides that he was recovering from an illness, and a younger brother who was full of mischief. She never spoke their names, and Saladin could not decide if this was due to her missing them, or if she was protecting them. He wondered what they needed protection from, if that was the case. Either way, he knew she did it out of love, and he began to crave that love - that loyalty. He wanted to unravel her mysteries. He wanted to know her whole history. And above all, he wanted her to love him as he did her.

Three months to the day after they began their nightly ritual, Professor d'Ebanne failed to appear in the library. At first, Saladin figured she must have forgotten before realizing that was impossible. She forgot nothing. He was distractedly browsing through a scroll about the history of the Frankish people when a lone sentence made him pause.

Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of France 1137-1152, Queen of England 1152-1189, was the only woman to be queen consort of both kingdoms.

He stared at the text, his thoughts swirling together. Professor d'Ebanne had once said that her mother's cousin Eleanor went on to be queen of both those countries, but this woman had to have died nearly a hundred years ago. It was impossible. Could there have been two Eleanors who both became queens of England and France? He supposed it was possible, but highly unlikely. Well, he thought, there is no other option. He put the scroll away and left the library, deciding to seek his professor out.

He roamed the halls of the school restlessly, feeling put out and rejected. Maybe she didn't want to exchange stories with him anymore. Maybe all his childhood memories of being tormented by older sisters were boring her. He should start telling her more interesting things. She's a very sophisticated and well-traveled woman, you're not good enough for her, he thought morbidly, depression starting to seep in with insecurities. He was about to give up when he reached one of the more secluded courtyards. One of his classmates brushed past him dazedly as he stepped into it. Under a fig tree, bathed in moonlight, sat the professor with her head tilted back.

"Professor d'Ebanne," he breathed, unsure if she wanted to be disturbed.

But her head snapped around, her eyes round and glowing. She looked alarmed, quickly brushing a hand over her face. As her pale breast heaved, Saladin noticed she was wearing very little clothes. He averted his eyes and shifted his weight awkwardly.

"Saladin! You surprised me. I was about to retire to bed early tonight when I felt a sudden urge to see the moon. Isn't it lovely?" she asked, but he could hear the strange tone in her voice. Like she was asking him to not comment on her strange state.

"I understand. Professor. I will leave you to it, then. Good night," he said quietly, backing out of the courtyard. Just as he turned away and took a step forward, she appeared in front of him. He blinked at her in shock. She had been sitting down many paces away just seconds before.

"Saladin, do you want to know my Christian name?" she asked lowly.

"I – I'm sorry. What?" he asked, confused.

"Sorry, you don't know what that means. My first name, I never told you what it is," she said, moving closer to him.

"No, but I never felt it would be appropriate to ask such an intimate thing," he stuttered.

"How old are you, Saladin?" she pressed, very close to him now.

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next month," he murmured. He could smell her everywhere; there was no escaping. Not that he wanted to escape. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to touch her silky skin. He wanted to bury his face into her luxurious hair. He wanted to kiss her small nose and hollowed cheeks and rosy lips. She was the night and the earth and the moon and the stars. She was heaven.

"Do you know that I am very close in age to you?" she breathed out.

"Impossible," he breathed back. "You are far too wise."

"It is very possible," she held a hand out to him. "Why don't you escort me back to my room? Make sure I get to bed safely."

He paused, his eyes round, unsure of what she was asking. He had never been with a woman before. He took her hand. "Of course, my lady."

"It's Caroline," she said softly as they walked through the dark halls.

He turned towards her. "Professor?"

"My name is Caroline," she said.

They were silent after that; the only sound was their feet hitting the stone floors. Saladin felt anticipation flow through him as they neared her chambers. She didn't ask how he knew where her chambers were, and he offered no explanation: she didn't need to know that since meeting her, he desired to know everything about her. When they reached her door, she pulled her hood back.

"Saladin, I'm only going to ask you this once. Feel free to say no," she said huskily.

He nodded, breathless.

"Would you like to come into my bedchamber?" she asked.

He said nothing for a long moment as his body, mind, and soul reacted to her invitation. Finally, he stepped forward, leaned down, and very briefly brushed his lips against hers with aching tenderness.

She smiled at him as he pulled away and opened the door. As Saladin walked through the doorway, he knew nothing would ever be the same.

It was a large and spacious room, filled with candles and books and scrolls. She had notes everywhere. Her earthy scent hung heavily in the air, teasing him. It was all musk and honeysuckle.

"Make yourself comfortable," she implored as hung up her cloak.

Saladin stood still in the middle of the room, overwhelmed. She came to stand in front of him and kissed him on the cheek.

"I will guide you, dear one. Don't worry."

She stepped back to remove her gown in one swift motion. She was bare underneath; her skin shone in the candlelight. Saladin was awed by her beauty and poise. She walked over to the bed and crawled on top of it, falling back against the pillows, a dark, hungry look in her eyes.

"Stay," she ordered, her right hand sliding across her silky skin and resting on her thigh. She opened her legs, very slowly, and brought her hand to her folds. Saladin had never seen a woman's intimate place before. He froze.

"Do not be nervous, my love. I will guide you," she told him confidently.

He removed his gaze from her core and looked her in the eye, a blush on his cheeks.

"Please," he said, not knowing what he was asking for.

She smiled softly and began to caress herself, her pale body striking against the brown silk of the beddings. He watched, mesmerized, as she ran her fingers along her folds, inserted a finger into herself, and then removed it, slick with her fluids. She rubbed the fluid into her folds and rubbed the pads of her fingers on a nub atop her opening. A look of pleasure took over her face as she closed her eyes. She applied greater pressure to the nub, making firm, tight, circling gestures and letting out soft moans. Her hand moved back down to play with her folds, returned inside her once more, and rubbed even more liquid over the whole area, her hair glistening with it. She brought her fingers back to the nub and now they rubbed hard, faster, her mouth parting slightly in ecstasy as a pink flush erupted over her porcelain skin. Saladin had never seen anything so beautiful and erotic. It made him want to join his body with hers, but he knew he had to wait for her to finish. She was still his teacher, after all.

Caroline let out a loud moan as her body shook with spasms that rocked through her, making her cry out as she rubbed furiously and rode the orgasm out, her breathy moans heading straight to Saladin's manhood. Finally, she collapsed onto the bed, her breath evening out. He took a hesitant step forward. Before he could say or do anything, her hand shot out and grabbed him.

"Come, Saladin. I will teach you how to do that to a woman. And then we will find out what you need."

His member twitched and he kneeled onto the bed.

"Yes, my lady," he whispered, running a hand down her body and introducing himself to her curves.

"I can come again, very easily. The female body is a wonder, and I want you to know all about it."

They stayed up very late that night, not retiring until the early hours of morning. To be joined with a woman was an incredible wonder. He would never forget how it felt to slide into her for the first time, or the look in her eyes as she thrust into him from atop his body. He had been right: nothing would ever be the same.

Now their daily ritual changed again: she would torture him in class, they would talk in the library, and then they would retire to her bedchamber where they would make love for hours. Saladin learned new skills and positions every night. Caroline had once been to India; she taught him all about the Kama Sutra one weekend. He had enjoyed those lessons immensely and not gotten any studying done. She let him in a little more, day by day, but still kept up a veil of mystery that he both loved and hated.

One day, nearly a year after they had first met, he woke in her bed to find his lover was not beside him. He rose and looked around the room to see her sitting in the window, hunched over papers and scrolls that were scattered around her.

"Caroline, come back to bed. You need rest."

She looked up and smiled at him. There was sadness in her eyes. "I don't need much sleep anymore," she said softly.

"What are you reading that has you so absorbed?"

"I'm trying to learn more about the history of my people," she explained.

"Your new family?"

"Yes, a little. But more so, my coven- er - tribe in France. We are a very particular kind of…tribe."

"Why do you think you'll find information about them here? We are so far away from France," he asked, perplexed.

"This university has one of the oldest libraries in the world. And it's not just about them; I'm curious about similar tribes." She began gathering the notes.

He sat down next to her and gently caressed her wrists. "Is that why you came here? Answers about your tribe?"

"Yes," she said.

"And what about China?" he pushed, rubbing circles into her skin.

She looked out the window. "I was travelling because I had to come to terms with my new life. A lot changed at once, especially for… Well, anyway. That was a spiritual journey. This is about finding my past and knowing myself. At least, that's how it started," she turned back towards him and placed a hand on his cheek. He leaned into her cool hand.

"I wish you could truly let me in, Caroline. I know you still hold things back. Essential parts of yourself. I could never ask for more, since I am so grateful for what you have given me. But I can't help wishing for it."

She leaned in to kiss him. She started to pull away, but he deepened it, opening his mouth and biting her lower lip gently. Her body responded, falling into him. He placed open-mouthed kisses on her breast and neck. She straightened out as his hand trailed up his skirt.

"Adi, I can never be your wife. I can never bear your children or die with you. I cannot even stay at Al-Karaouine for much longer. But I love you as I have loved no other, and I need you to know that," she said passionately.

He stared into her eyes and saw the truth of her words. "I will take you for as long as you'll have me, my love."

Another year went by, and Saladin began to wonder if maybe Caroline had changed her mind. They went on adventures into the desert, she came home with him for Ramadan and met his parents, they visited his favorite sister in Tangier, they made love every night, and she revealed more about her past. Her relationship with her late mother had been mired by mistreatment, abuse, and deception and she still carried a lot of resentment towards her, even though she had tried to forgive her. She also had become disillusioned about her father, whom she had loved deeply in life, but later discovered upsetting details about him after he died. She was trying to figure out the meaning of life and was adjusting to the mysterious lifestyle her new family had introduced her to. She still held some things back, but Saladin felt much closer to her. He was approaching his nineteenth birthday, and he wanted to leave Al-Karaouine and see the world - with her.

They were walking through the gardens one evening when he decided to broach the subject. She had been very quiet all day and kept zoning out. There was obviously something on her mind making her sad.

"Caroline, I've been thinking," he began just as she said, "Do you fear death?"

Her question startled him. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you afraid of dying?" she pressed, her blue eyes wide and demanding.

He frowned. "No more than the next person, I suppose."

"That's not a real answer," she scolded.

He sighed. "I think about death and the afterlife plenty, but I know I will never find answers while I am amongst the living, so what does it matter? I would fight to survive if my life was in danger, but I do not overwhelm myself with concerns about my death. I have bigger things to worry about. Like you."

"You don't need to worry about me. Then let me ask you this: if you were offered immortality, would you take it?" she asked.

He stopped walking then and tilted his head in confusion.

"What?"

"Is that a concept here? Immortality?" she paced in front of him, her shoes clicking against the patterned marble floors.

"It's a concept, but just that. A fantasy. Or a curse, more like."

She paused. "A curse?" she repeated darkly.

"Yes, because what would you have to live for then? I can't think of a worse fate than that - how boring it would be, with no goals, no end, no life to lead. It would be infinitely listless and purposeless. I'm eager to do as much as possible with my short life because it is short. Why are you asking me this, Caroline?"

She stared at the floor for a long moment. Her scarlet red robes contrasted starkly against the white walls of the building. Saladin would give anything to know what she was thinking.

"It is nothing. Just thoughts swirling around in my head," she finally answered, but her voice sounded numb.

He cradled her face. "Come away with me, my love. Let's leave the school and travel the world. I want to see it so badly, and I've learned plenty now. My parents said I've been here long enough when we went to visit them. Nothing is keeping us here," he pleaded.

She shook her head slowly, tears swimming in her eyes. "I can't yet," she whispered.

He stopped the conversation there but was determined to bring it up again soon.

They were lying in bed a few nights later when he knew something had to be said about her melancholia.

"You are so sad, my love," he whispered, caressing her arms.

"I am sad because I think I must leave you," she said slowly, looking up at him.

Saladin froze. "Leave me? For how long? Where are you going?"

"I won't be coming back."

He stared at her. "Where are you going?" he repeated.

"Oh, wherever life takes me. The wind will guide my way," she said breezily, but she averted her eyes.

"I do not understand. I want us to go away together and see the world. Why can't that happen?" he demanded.

She closed her eyes then. "I could never expect you to. I told you years ago I could never be your wife and that someday I would have to leave."

"Yes, but that was before. Now, I cannot be without you," he said, desperation staining his voice.

"You will have to learn how to. I've had to do it countless times."

"Let me help you, Caroline. I can protect you."

"You cannot but thank you for the offer. I would love nothing more than to stay here with you, but the time has come. I will start drawing too much attention to myself," she said hollowly.

"This is a place of learning and knowledge. No one here cares that you are a foreigner," he argued.

"As much as I wish that was our biggest challenge, it isn't."

Saladin rolled over then, his naked body caging his lover against the bed. He lifted his arms and grabbed her hands, holding her hostage.

"Why do you want to leave me, Caroline?" he asked, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck, nibbling on her earlobe, sucking on the skin near her collarbone, and moving towards her hardening nipples. She let out a low moan.

"That's not going to work," she breathed out.

He grinned against her warm skin. "No? Is that a dare?" he asked before wrapping his mouth around her left breast and biting ever so gently. One hand held her wrists firmly in place while the other trailed down much further south until it touched her folds.

"Tell me you hate me and never want to make love to me again, and I'll stop," he baited.

His lover groaned in frustration as his hand teased her, never applying pressure to the place she wanted it most. She tried to rub against him, but he lifted his body slightly to avoid her.

"Ah, ah, ah. Now the student becomes the teacher," he said. Her eyes darkened, and he could have sworn they turned red before she blinked and they returned to their normal blue. Whether or not he had imagined it, his arousal grew, brushing against her. She smirked at him.

"The teacher, huh?" she mocked.

He smirked back at her. "You'll pay for that remark."

His mouth left her throbbing breasts and he kissed down her flat stomach, sliding further south until he reached his goal. He lapped at her nub very lightly. She squirmed underneath him.

"Adi!" she cried.

He licked all around the nub before coming back to it, pressing his tongue flatly against it, then placing his mouth around it and swirling his tongue firmly. She was getting close, as all his teasing had built so much tension. He removed his mouth and gently bit the inside of her thigh to really make her mad. Sure enough, her strong fingers threaded through his hair and pulled his head up, forcing him to look at her.

"Adi, finish it! Stop this teasing!" she demanded with completely flushed cheeks.

"Promise me you won't leave me," he said steadily.

"I promise I'm leaving for a good reason," she gasped out, her pale hands struggling against his brown hands.

"That's not good enough," he frowned, lowering his head once more and attacking her nub with both his mouth and hand. She let out a shriek of pleasure while her right leg shuddered, and her head thrashed wildly. He knew she was about to see stars, but he lifted off of her again right before she came.

"Do you not realize how much I love you?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled at him sadly, "It is you who does not realize."

He let out a groan of displeasure and slid his member into her with one swift move. She cried out, her head lolling backwards and hitting the pillows.

His thrusts were steady and hard, gradually making his tempo faster. Her torso lifted off the bed and she buried her face into his neck, sucking hard. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands digging into his back. He brought his hand to her nub again and just as he felt himself cum, he applied pressure and she joined him. He knew her body could not have children, but he wished his seed could somehow create a miracle for them. He wanted it almost as much as he wanted her. They rode out their orgasms together, her insides shaking and squeezing him, making his even stronger. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, their breathing slowing down.

After a long moment, he rolled off, his member throbbing as he pulled out of her. Their fluids were everywhere, even some –

He paused, looking at the blood on the sheets. He looked at her in bewilderment.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Of course not," she said, and she almost seemed amused by the idea. "Why?"

He pointed to the blood. Her face paled slightly. She examined his back.

"My love, I apologize. I scratched at your back a little too harshly. Forgive me?" she begged, looking horrified.

He cupped her face. "Of course. I don't feel anything. There is nothing to forgive."

They held each other after that. Both feigned sleep in order to savor the last moments they had together.

She left just three days later, packing nothing but a few books, and the bracelet he had given her.

"You still have not given me a reason for leaving," he said as they stood next to her horse. That was it: no ceremony, no caravan, just her and her horse, riding off into the desert. If he didn't know her so well, he'd fear for her life. But he knew she could take care of herself and was much sturdier than she appeared.

"I thought about not saying anything. Just disappearing into the night," she confessed.

"Why didn't you?" he asked lightly.

"It would be selfish and childish. You deserve a good-bye."

"Why? It's not like I'm your husband," he dismissed.

She caressed his face. "But you are, in my heart. You are the greatest love I have ever had and believe me when I say that means something."

It was only after she had disappeared completely from the horizon that he retired to his room. He was washing his face for bed when he noticed something strange on his neck. He lowered the towel and leaned closer to the mirror; his brown eyes scrunched up in concentration as they focused on the mark. Or marks, actually: they were two small scars. It looked almost like… a bite mark. His mind flashed to three nights previously, when Caroline had claimed she had scratched him too hard. He twisted his body around. His back was smooth and unmarred. What did she do to me? He remembered when she had risen to suck on his neck, but… A short moment of pain? He couldn't remember… His thoughts went to the information about Eleanor of Aquitaine, whom had been related to Caroline. But that was impossible… He shook his head, clearing it of weird coincidences. It was time for bed; he was imaging impossible things due to his heartbreak. Caroline d'Ebanne, his first love, was gone from his life forever, and he had to come to terms with that. He would be leaving in the morning to start a new chapter.

Cairo, Mamluk Sultanate (Egypt)

1295

Caroline observed the bustling city from her position high above on the roof of a mosque. She touched two fingers to her fangs. On her last night at Al-Karaouine, she had succumbed to her desires and thirst and tasted Adi's blood for the first and last time. It was delicious. It made her hunger for more. She had already begun her feeding frenzy and was fascinated to see how the citizens responded. To spread fear and panic was her only wish. She wanted to watch a city burn, and Egypt, where the school's library purported the first traces of immortality could be found, was to be held accountable for her cursed life.

A curse, he had called immortality. And he had been right.

Down below a group of men stumbled out of a hall where a wedding celebration was taking place. She jumped. Before they could register her presence, she began biting. She would draw blood from one for only a few seconds, then move on to the next. Each tasted of honey and goat and alcohol. By the time the last one hit the ground, she was already walking away.

"My, my, haven't we gotten sloppy?"

She paused. "Like you're one to talk."

"I beg your pardon, darling - I always finish my food."

She turned to face her old friend. "What are you doing here, Kol?"

He grinned. "Same as you - bored, thirsty, looking for some fun."

"I'm not having fun."

Kol leapt over the pile of dying men - she hadn't taken enough blood to kill them, but her fangs had done irreparable damage to their arteries - and paused before her, his dark eyes taking her in.

"Shame, that."

She shrugged.

"Perhaps you need some lessons in enjoying our existence."

"There's nothing to enjoy about it."

"Caroline, that's terribly depressing. Allow me to prove you wrong."