“We shall be making history soon,” remarked the girl, in soft tones. “The Khan will pass away, and Kasam is here.”
The vizier moved uneasily on his seat.
“Kasam is here; yes,” said he. “But no one knows the secret save us. No one knows who our Kasam is.”
“They will know soon,” returned the girl in a calm, expressionless voice. “Our cousin Kasam is rightful heir to the throne—when the Lion’s eyes are closed in death.”
“You forget that Burah Khan has also a son,” said the old man, harshly. “Even now Dirrag is riding full speed to the Sunnite monastery at Takkatu to bring hither the Prince Ahmed.”
“That he may be acknowledged successor to the throne by the assembled sirdars of the Nine Tribes?”
“Yes.”
“But the Khan is dying. The Prince cannot arrive in time.”
“Perhaps not. Yet that accursed Persian has promised to prolong the Khan’s life for seven days. If he succeeds—”
The girl bent forward suddenly.