The Wrath and the Dawn

  Tariq continued staring at Omar, his suspicions rapidly reaching a logical conclusion. He dismounted from his horse.

  “You are not a servant,” he said.

  Omar turned back to Tariq. Again, his gap-toothed grin took over his weathered face. “Did I say I was?”

  Tariq held Omar’s gaze. The guise of a silly old man had vanished in the lambent torchlight. In its place was a look of wisdom and mirth.

  A look of cunning intelligence.

  “Forgive the misunderstanding,” Omar continued.

  Tariq snorted in disbelief. “There was no misunderstanding. I saw precisely what you wanted me to see.”

  Omar laughed loudly. “Or perhaps you saw exactly what you wanted to see.”

  Tariq knocked back his rida’ and stepped forward. “My name is Tariq.”

  Omar’s bushy eyebrows rose in approval.

  “And I am Omar al-Sadiq, the sixth sheikh of my line . . .”

  He put his wrinkled palm out before him, and Tariq grasped it.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  THE PROMISE OF TOMORROW

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE CALIPH RETURNED FROM Amardha, Shahrzad was ready to put her plan to action.

  Enough was enough.

  It did not matter that Musa-effendi had hinted about a tragic past.

  It did not matter that this world was far from as simple as she might have thought.

  And it absolutely did not matter that her heart was . . . misbehaving.

  She had come to the palace with a clear purpose.

  The Caliph of Khorasan had to die.

  And she knew just how to do it.

  • • •

  She sat across from him in her chamber that night, eating grapes while he drank wine.

  Biding time for the moment to strike.

  “You’re very quiet,” he remarked.

  “And you look very tired.”

  “The journey from Amardha was not an easy one.”

  She peered across the table into his tiger-eyes. The hollows beneath them were pronounced, and his bladed features seemed even more severe with such clear lines of fatigue at their edges. “But you came back over two days ago.”

  “I haven’t slept well since I returned.”

  “Would you rather not continue Aladdin’s tale? Perhaps you should sleep,” Shahrzad suggested.

  “No. That’s not what I want. At all.”

  She looked away, unable to hold his piercing gaze. “May I ask you something, sayyidi?”

  “You may do as you please. And I will behave in a similar fashion.”

  “Why did you go to Amardha?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “I heard Jalal arranged for you to meet Musa Zaragoza. Undoubtedly, you learned interesting facts about my childhood while he was here. I assume you know about my mother now?”

  “He told me about her, yes.”

  “The Sultan of Parthia and I have a tacit agreement. Every six months or so, I go to see him and make veiled threats, posturing like a peacock in a show of force meant to dissuade him from suggesting I am not the rightful heir to the Caliphate of Khorasan.”

  “Excuse me?” Shahrzad sputtered.

  The caliph continued. “It’s logical, really. He openly calls my mother a whore. And everyone questions my parentage. Then he’s able to rally support and wage war for the caliphate. Only, he lacks the strength and the numbers to take a stand. And I intend to keep it that way.”

  “He—would call your mother a whore?”

  “It shouldn’t shock you. My father said as much to me. Many times.”

  Shahrzad took a careful breath. “Did your father also question whether or not you were his son?”

  The caliph raised the cup of wine to his lips and took a long sip.

  “Again, it shouldn’t shock you.”

  She almost wished she had misheard his words.

  What kind of loveless childhood did he have?

  “And this is normal to you?”

  He set his cup down on the table. “I suppose I have a skewed understanding of the word.”

  “Do you want me to pity you, sayyidi?”

  “Do you want to pity me, Shahrzad?”

  “No. I do not.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Frustrated, she snatched his cup from the table and drank what remained of its contents.

  A corner of his lips rose ever so slightly.

  The wine burned; she cleared her throat and set the goblet before her. “By the way, I’ve decided how you can make amends. If you’re still willing, of course.”

  He leaned back into the cushions, waiting.

  She took a deep breath, preparing to spring her trap. “Remember last night, when Aladdin saw the princess in disguise, roaming the city streets?”

  The caliph nodded.

  “You told me you envied the freedom the princess experienced in her city, without the mantle of royalty about her shoulders. I want to do that. With you,” she finished.

  He stilled, his eyes scanning her face. “You want me to go out into Rey without bodyguards?”

  “Yes.”

  “With just you?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused. “When?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t refuse outright.

  “For the adventure,” she goaded him.

  He cut his gaze.

  Calculating.

  “And you are indebted to me,” she pressed.

  Please. Don’t deny me this chance.

  “I agree. I am indebted to you. I accept.”

  Shahrzad beamed.

  His eyes widened at the brightness of her smile.

  And, to her great surprise, he offered her one in return.

  It looked foreign on his usually cold and angular face.

  Foreign, yet wondrously striking.

  The tightening in her chest . . . would have to be ignored.

  At all cost.

  • • •

  They stood in a small alley next to the entrance of the souk. The sky above was purpled by dusk, and the mixture of spices, sweat, and livestock filled the spring air with the heady perfume of life, in all its abundance.

  Shahrzad pulled her dark grey cloak tight about her. The crystal of poisoned sugar she had stolen away in her pocket felt like it would catch flame at a thought.

  The caliph’s keen ochre eyes took in the scene around them. His black rida’ was bound across his brow by a slim circlet of matching leather.

  “Have you been to Rey’s souk before?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “Stay close. It’s very much like a labyrinth. Each year it grows bigger, its corridors snaking about without rhyme or reason.”

  “And here I had every intention of leaving you behind to explore on my own,” he murmured.

  “Are you trying to be funny, sayyidi?”

  His brow furrowed. “You can’t use that word here, Shahrzad.”

  A fair point. Especially considering the riots against him in the city streets.

  “You’re right . . . Khalid.”

  He expelled a quick breath. “And what should I call you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What do your friends call you?”

  She hesitated.

  Why am I trying to protect a silly nickname Rahim gave me when I was ten?

  “Shazi.”

  A suggestion of a smile played across his lips.

  “Shazi. It suits you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come with me.”

  With that, Shahrzad left the safety of the shadows and darted out into the bustling crowds of Rey’s most active outdoor market. The Caliph of Khorasan followed closely behind as they passed under the archway and into the sweltering maze of people and goods.

  To their right were vendors plying food wares—sugared dates and other dried fruits, an assortment of nuts in water-stained wood barrels, mountains of spices piled high in vivid hue
s—and to their left were vendors of spun cloth, dyed fabric, and skeins of yarn idling in a faint breeze, their colors like a banner cut from a rainbow. Many salesmen pounced on the couple, trying to coax them to taste a pistachio or sample a delicious dried apricot. At first, Khalid tensed at every one who approached them, but soon he fell into the leisurely gait of an ordinary patron wandering around the souk on a warm spring evening.

  Until a young man leapt from behind a post to wrap Shahrzad in a bolt of bright orange silk. “So beautiful!” he sighed. “You must buy this. It suits you so.”

  “I think not.” She shook her head, pushing his hands away.

  He pulled her closer against him. “Have I seen you before, miss? I would not forget such beauty.”

  “No, you have not,” Khalid said in a low tone.

  The young man smirked back at him. “I am not having a conversation with you. I am having a conversation with the most beautiful girl I have seen in a long time.”

  “No. You are having a conversation with my wife. And you are quite close to having the last conversation of your life.” His voice was as cold as the edge of a dagger.

  Shahrzad glared at the young man. “And if you want to sell me fabric, being a lecherous bastard is not the way to go about doing it.” She shoved against his chest, hard.

  “Daughter of a whore,” he muttered.

  Khalid froze, his knuckles turning a perilous shade of white.

  Shahrzad grabbed his arm and dragged him away. She could see the muscles ticking along his jaw.

  “You know, you have quite a temper,” she remarked after they had cleared some distance.

  He said nothing.

  “Khalid?”

  “Is that kind of disrespect . . . normal?”

  Shahrzad lifted a shoulder. “It’s not normal. But it’s not unexpected. It’s the curse of being a woman,” she joked in a morose manner.

  “It’s obscene. He deserves to be flogged.”

  Says the king who murders a bride every morning.

  They continued strolling through the souk, and Shahrzad was surprised to note that Khalid now walked firmly in her shadow, with his hand grazing her lower back. His eyes, which were usually vigilant, appeared even more watchful than before.

  She sighed to herself.

  He notices everything. This will be even more difficult than I thought.

  Shahrzad led him through a maze of small alleyways, past vendors of oil and imported vinegar, rugs and fine lamps, perfumes and other cosmetics, until she came to a thoroughfare filled with purveyors of food and drink. She directed him to a small, crowded establishment with outdoor seating.

  “What are we doing here?” Khalid demanded quietly as she pushed him into a chair by an available table near the front.

  “I’ll be right back.” She smiled at his irritation as she weaved her way through the crowd.

  When she returned a short time later with two cups and a pitcher of wine, the corners of his eyes constricted.

  “They are famous for their sweet wine,” Shahrzad explained.

  He crossed his arms.

  Shahrzad grinned knowingly. “You don’t trust me?” She poured some wine into a cup and drank from it first before handing it to him.

  “Where did you get the money?” He took the cup from her.

  She rolled her eyes. “I stole it. From the perfidious Sultan of Parthia.” As he raised the cup to his lips, she saw him smile. “Do you like it?”

  He tilted his head in consideration. “It’s different.” Then he reached over and filled the other cup for her.

  They sat for a time in comfortable silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the souk, drinking wine and enjoying the raucous conversations of those in various states of inebriation around them.

  “So,” she interjected in a conversational tone. “Why are you having difficulty sleeping?”

  Her question seemed to catch him off guard.

  He stared at her over the rim of his cup.

  “Do you have nightmares?” she probed.

  He inhaled carefully. “No.”

  “What was your last dream?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How come you don’t remember?”

  “Do you remember your last dream?”

  Shahrzad canted her lips to the side in thought. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what it was about.”

  “It’s a bit a strange.”

  “Most dreams are.”

  “I was in a grassy field with . . . my best friend. We were twirling. I was holding her hands. We were spinning slowly, at first. And then faster and faster. So fast it felt like we were flying. But it didn’t seem dangerous at all. It’s strange now that it didn’t seem dangerous, but I guess that’s the way of dreams. I remember hearing her laughter. She has the most beautiful laugh. Like a lark on a crisp morning.” Shahrzad smiled to herself in memory.

  Khalid stayed silent for a moment.

  “You have a beautiful laugh. Like the promise of tomorrow.” He said it gently, with the poise of an afterthought.

  And Shahrzad’s heart hurtled about in response, roaring for attention.

  Shiva, I swear to you, I will ignore the fickle little beast.

  She refused to look at him as she drank from her cup and remained proud of herself for this display of fortitude, until she felt his entire body go rigid across from her.

  A sandaled foot came crashing to a stop on the empty seat nearby.

  “If it isn’t the beautiful girl with the barbed tongue,” a voice slurred from above.

  When she gazed upward, her eyes thinned in disgust.

  “Apparently, this is too popular a venue,” Khalid said, the tension banding across his features.

  “For lecherous bastards and kings of old alike,” Shahrzad retorted under her breath.

  “What?” the young man drawled, the wine clearly impairing his comprehension.

  “Never mind. What do you want?” Shahrzad asked with a spark of annoyance.

  The young man leered down at her. “Perhaps I may have been a bit forward earlier. But I’d like to share a recent observation. This one here?” He gestured toward Khalid with his thumb. “He seems entirely too grumpy for a girl like you. I think you’re much better suited for a man with charm. Such as myself.”

  At this, Khalid made a motion to stand. Shahrzad placed her palm against his chest, her flashing eyes never wavering from the young man’s glazed stare.

  “You seem to have forgotten—in a rather short time, I might add—that you called my mother a whore. In what world do you think I would prefer you to any man, grumpy or not?”

  He grinned at her, his friends behind him laughing at her temerity.

  “Don’t take it to heart, beautiful girl. What if I told you my mother really was a whore? Would that make it better? In any case, I happen to have a great appreciation for women of that ilk.” He winked at her.

  The laughter behind him grew louder.

  Again, Shahrzad felt the fury beneath her palm as she pressed against Khalid, keeping him in his seat with nothing more than the force of her will.

  She nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. As for me? I believe I’ll leave this set of goods on the rack, as well. I have no interest in . . . tiny cucumbers.”

  At this, Khalid’s head twisted to hers, his eyes registering shock. And the edge of his lips twitching.

  The silence around them was deafening for a painful beat.

  Then a wild chorus of amusement filled the air.

  The young man’s friends slapped their knees and pounded one another’s backs as they guffawed at his expense. His face turned several shades of red once he comprehended the full breadth of Shahrzad’s insult.

  “You—” He lunged for her.

  Shahrzad bolted out of the way.

  Khalid grabbed the man by the front of his qamis and hurled him into his passel of friends.

  “Khalid!” Shahrzad shouted.

  Once the y
oung man managed to scramble to his feet, Khalid reared back and struck him in the jaw so hard he staggered into a table of dangerous-looking men, heavily engrossed in their dice match, with the betting at an all-time high. The coins and the astragali dice crashed to the ground as the table shuddered under the young man’s weight.

  The gamblers roared with rage as they shot to their feet, everything around them falling to shambles.

  And their precious game destroyed beyond repair.

  All eyes turned on Khalid.

  “Holy Hera,” Shahrzad moaned.

  With grim resignation, he reached for his shamshir.

  “No, you idiot!” Shahrzad gasped. “Run!” She grabbed his hand and spun in the opposite direction, the blood pummeling through her body.

  “Get out of the way!” she cried as they dodged past a vendor’s cart, her sandaled feet flying above the dirt. The sound of their pursuers only spurred her faster, especially with Khalid’s broader strides propelling them along the narrow thoroughfare of the souk.

  When he yanked her down a small side alleyway, she pulled him back.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” she demanded.

  “For once in your life, stop talking and listen.”

  “How dare—”

  He wrapped his right arm around her and pressed their bodies together in between a shadowed alcove. Then he shoved his index finger onto her lips.

  Shahrzad listened as their pursuers ran past the alleyway, still shouting and carrying on in a drunken haze. When the sounds faded away, he removed his finger from her lips.

  But it was too late.

  Because Shahrzad could feel his heart beating faster.

  Just like hers.

  “You were saying?” He was so close, his words were more breath than sound.

  “How—how dare you say that to me?” she whispered.

  His eyes glittered with something akin to amusement.

  “How dare I imply you caused this mess?”

  “Me? This is not my fault! This is your fault!”

  “Mine?”

  “You and your temper, Khalid!”

  “No. You and your mouth, Shazi.”

  “Wrong, you wretched lout!”

  “See? That mouth.” He reached up and grazed his thumb across her lips. “That—magnificent mouth.”

  Her traitor heart thudded against his, and when she peered up at him through her eyelashes, his hand at the small of her back pulled her impossibly closer.