The Moth and the Flame Read Free Page A

an instant.
    It was the same girl from three weeks past. The one with the sharp tongue and the sly expression. An expression rich with emotion. Rich with intelligence.
    Rich with secrets.
    As with the first time, Jalal was struck by her bearing. It was not the bearing of a servant. No. There was nothing meek or solicitous about her manner. The girl carried herself with calm pomposity. It reminded him greatly of himself.
    He slowed his gait to a leisurely stroll and let his eyes run the length of her. Skin the color of cool sand. Eyes the blue of the Aegean. Long, rich curls of light walnut hair wrapped in intricate coils.
    Just as lovely as Jalal remembered.
    As he drew near, the girl was taken from her reverie.
    Just as before, she did not fluster at his arrival. No sign of recognition rippled across her face. Not a trace of becoming blush rose in her cheeks. She did not avert her gaze or bite her lip.
    She merely returned his stare. With such steadiness that Jalal instead grew flustered, one hand seeking purchase on the hilt of his scimitar.
    â€œAre you lost, Captain al-Khoury?” the girl asked without pause.
    Ordinarily such a question would be nothing short of an overture for Jalal. An overture demanding a flowery response. Or at the very least, a honeyed quip. Something about her eyes—which truly were striking—or perhaps about the shining crown of curls about her head.
    Something suggestive.
    Something about how he’d like to unravel those curls and watch them fall apart in his fingers.
    But his memory recalled more than her striking beauty. It also recalled a biting wit. One that lanced old wounds as it made new ones. Any felicitous overtures on his part would be lost on this girl. She would likely mock him for his efforts.
    So instead Jalal cleared his throat and leaned back on his heels.
    â€œWhy do you suppose I’m lost?” he began in an airy tone.
    â€œYou’re no longer walking with purpose.”
    Jalal lifted his shoulders, glib to a fault. “Sometimes it’s rather nice to take a stroll without a destination in mind. Have you never thought of such a thing? Getting lost for a moment and seeing where the day takes you?”
    â€œI can’t say. I’ve never been afforded such a luxury,” she bit out drily, though a trace of humor lit her gaze. “Besides, are you certain it isn’t too early for such pithy ruminations?”
    He almost laughed at her boldness. “Is it ever too early for reflection?”
    â€œI don’t know. Is it too early for wine?”
    â€œThe sun has not yet begun its descent.” Jalal glanced through the open window nearby. “Propriety would say it is.”
    She rolled her eyes. “If it’s too early for wine, then it’s too early for reflection.”
    Jalal laughed loudly. Unthinkingly.
    It had been a long time since he’d laughed with true abandon. Laughed without a soul to impress or inspire.
    â€œIt wasn’t
that
funny, Captain al-Khoury,” the girl chided.
    The laughter lingered in his response. “Don’t.”
    â€œDon’t what?” She inclined her body toward his, the silver tray in her left hand twinkling with merriment.
    â€œSeek compliments.”
    For the first time, he saw a hint of annoyance in her features—the slightest dip of her lips. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
    â€œOh?” He drew closer. “Are you not expecting me to tell you it was indeed that funny, and that you might be the most amusing young woman I’ve ever met?”
    She cast him an arched glance. “In fact I am not waiting for you to say such a thing. Though I
am
the most amusing young woman you will ever meet.”
    Another hearty round of laughter.
    â€œAs you can see, I have no need to seek compliments.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” Jalal replied. “All women seek compliments.”
    â€œAnd all men think they know