The Wrath and the Dawn

  “Would you mind if I borrowed the calipha for a moment?” Yasmine fluttered her eyelashes at him with a skill Shahrzad could never hope to espouse.

  He nodded vigorously, spittle flying from his lips in place of an actual response.

  Yasmine took Shahrzad’s hand, pulling her into the shadows behind an immense stone column.

  “You looked like you needed to be saved.”

  “Thank you.” Shahrzad hid her suspicion under a warm smile.

  Yasmine studied Shahrzad in the torchlight emanating from the roaring lion nearby.

  “You are frustratingly pretty,” she pronounced.

  “What?” The comment drew Shahrzad’s brows together.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be so beautiful.”

  Shahrzad held firm to her smile. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

  Yasmine laughed airily, leaning against the polished marble with her hands behind her back. “You’re honest. It makes sense now. He adores honesty.”

  “Forgive me, but I’m a bit dense. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “It makes sense why he chose you.” Yasmine’s long-lashed eyes were trained on Shahrzad.

  Is she trying to be funny?

  “I’m quite certain you know he didn’t choose me.”

  “You’re wrong. He did choose you. And he does not make such decisions lightly.” Yasmine pushed off the pillar and took a step toward Shahrzad. “Especially when he could have chosen a girl who wants nothing more than to love him.”

  Shahrzad’s baser instincts drove her to strike back at Yasmine for the slight, but she refused to argue with the beautiful girl over a mercurial boy.

  Especially a boy who kept his secrets closer than he kept his confidences.

  “While I do appreciate you saving me from a rather tedious conversation, I think it’s time for me to rejoin my guests.” Shahrzad started to turn away.

  “Do you love him?”

  The question stopped Shahrzad in her tracks. “I believe that’s none of your business.”

  “I disagree. You see, I’ve loved Khalid since we were children. And he deserves to be loved by someone who understands him.” Yasmine paused for a breath. “Even if it’s not me.”

  Of all the things Shahrzad expected Yasmine to say, it was not this. She’d expected the girl to threaten her or engage in other such pettiness. But this admission proved Yasmine was not just a spoiled princess, denied her heart’s desire.

  She actually cares about him.

  Even though he’d shown her the same icy welcome he’d granted her father.

  A strange feeling of pity began eclipsing Shahrzad’s irritation.

  “You understand Khalid?” Shahrzad laughed in an effort to mask her growing unease. “If so, please enlighten me. I’d be most grateful.”

  Yasmine smiled with an almost mincing kind of sympathy. “That depends. How willing are you to assist your enemy, Shahrzad?”

  “Alas, your great failure of the evening is that I do not see an enemy, Princess of Parthia.” Shahrzad inclined her head in a brisk bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “What do you see, then?” Yasmine stepped into Shahrzad’s path, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

  “I see a beautiful manipulator. A weaver of words.”

  Yasmine nodded, her half smile swooping in a lazy arc. “It must be like looking in a mirror.”

  She’s quick. And fearless.

  “How very fortunate.” Shahrzad grinned back. “We should all be so lucky as to share a reflection with you.”

  Yasmine laughed, and for the first time, it sounded genuine. “What a shame, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. A part of me thinks I could like you, were we to meet under a different sky, at a different time.”

  “I’m surprisingly inclined to agree, Yasmine el-Sharif.” Shahrzad bowed deep, her fingertips brushing her forehead in a flourishing gesture. Then she turned on her heel to round the column . . .

  And ran smack into the broad chest of a man.

  She stumbled and almost fell to the floor, but a steadying hand reached for hers, saving her from certain humiliation. When Shahrzad faced her erstwhile rescuer, a pair of familiar silver-and-ash eyes stared down at her, shining with a fierce light.

  Unmatched in their love.

  Tariq. No. You can’t . . .

  She tried to withdraw her hand, but he pressed something in her grasp.

  A scrap of parchment.

  Shahrzad wrapped her palm around it and pulled away.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, my lady.” He smiled politely.

  Concerned that others might see this strange interaction, Shahrzad stepped back and smoothed the fabric of her mantle, tucking the scrap of parchment beneath her thumb.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said casually, though her heart tripped in her chest with worry.

  He shook his head, taking her lead. “I am Tariq Imran al-Ziyad of Taleqan, my lady.” Tariq bowed, touching his hand to his brow.

  The Rajput emerged from the shadows behind Tariq, scowling all the while at the young nobleman’s impressive height.

  “Is this your first visit to Rey?” she continued, determined to appear at ease.

  “No, my lady. I used to have relatives in the city.”

  “Used to?”

  Tariq grinned with ready charm, though his eyes continued to betray their depth of feeling. “Yes. But I hope to change that soon.” He lowered his voice. “When I marry.”

  The sentiment behind his words was clear. She felt the warmth in his gaze, and for a moment, Shahrzad allowed herself to really look at him. To look up into the perfect face of the brash boy she fell in love with, and remember . . .

  The scrawny girl whose eyes followed his every move.

  And the tall boy who followed her with all of his senses.

  “Shahrzad.”

  At the sound of Khalid’s voice, Tariq took a protective step toward her. Shahrzad’s hazel eyes sparked in warning as she warded off a sharp current of fear.

  Khalid will see everything. Because Tariq . . . can’t hide anything.

  Khalid strode to her without so much as a glance at Tariq.

  “Shahrzad,” he repeated.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he said in an even tone.

  Shahrzad twisted his way, not even bothering to hide her anger. “A thousand apologies, sayyidi. I was talking to Yasmine and lost track of what truly matters.” Her words were a carefully aimed strike.

  Khalid took the blow without flinching, his amber eyes cool.

  “I see.”

  Do you?

  Shahrzad held his gaze, her mind a muddle of thoughts and emotions.

  Now was not the time or the place to share them.

  After all, Khalid had his secrets.

  He did not deserve to know hers.

  Baba and Irsa.

  Tariq.

  She had to keep those she loved safe. Safe from this boy with a cruel past and an untenable future.

  Safe from the sway he held over her heart.

  “Have you met Tariq Imran al-Ziyad, sayyidi?” she asked Khalid, determined to have control over the situation.

  Khalid blinked once. Finally, he turned to acknowledge Tariq’s presence.

  Tariq’s entire demeanor hardened. His mouth flattened into a line.

  Oh, God. Please do better than that.

  Then he relaxed and smiled at Khalid.

  “Sayyidi.” He bowed low with a hand to his brow. “I am Tariq Imran al-Ziyad, son of Nasir al-Ziyad, Emir of Taleqan.”

  Khalid returned a crisp nod. “I hope you enjoy your stay in the city.”

  Tariq’s smile widened. “With such hospitality, sayyidi, I’m certain I will.”

  • • •

  Is he insane?

  Shahrzad paced in the shadows on her balcony, her heart pounding in time with her steps.

  The sliver of
parchment in her hand was now mingled with the sweat from her palm. A dash of ink had managed to bleed onto her skin, making a black-and-blue mess of the whole thing. She unfurled the ruin once more to read the outlandish missive scrawled across its surface in Tariq’s bold script:

  Your balcony. When the moon is at its highest point in the night.

  I’ll wait until dawn, if I must. Do not test me.

  At least he’d had the sense not to sign it.

  Utterly mad!

  She crumpled it in her fist for the fifth time.

  He was risking everything with his foolhardiness. With his arrogance. With his—

  “Shazi?” A form materialized in the darkness at the edge of the balcony.

  “Come here,” she seethed.

  Tariq glided closer, hunching low. Shahrzad grabbed him by the hood of his rida’ and hauled him against the deepest shade along the wall.

  “Are you completely insane?” she demanded. “Do you realize how dangerous—”

  Tariq pulled Shahrzad into his chest. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  When Shahrzad tried to speak again, he pressed her face tight against him, laughing at her protests. “Just stop. For the space of a moment, let me hold you.”

  “You are mad, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. Utterly mad,” she grumbled, smacking his shoulder. “How did you even manage an invitation?”

  He shrugged. “I intercepted the one sent to my father at Taleqan. Or, to be more precise, Rahim intercepted it.”

  “You idiot! Coming here was beyond foolish, and—”

  “Foolish though it may be, I am here to finish what you started.” Tariq ran his fingers through her hair. “Tell me how you plan to kill the boy-king.”

  Shahrzad was oddly silent.

  “Shazi?”

  “I—” she hedged.

  “Have you not made plans yet?”

  Shahrzad pushed away from his chest, unwilling to give voice to her uncertainty.

  “Fine. What have you learned?” he continued.

  She frowned and glanced from the shadows to the stone railing beyond.

  “Shahrzad. You’ve been here for weeks. What have you learned? What are the boy-king’s habits? His weaknesses?”

  Tell him what you know.

  “I—don’t know. He’s difficult to read.”

  Why can’t I tell him?

  “Difficult? He has the personality of an aging camel. Just as surly and just as useless.”

  A strange pang cut through Shahrzad at this assessment. “What do you mean?”

  “He picks at his food, lounges in sullen silence, and lets his wife fight his battles for him.”

  “What? No. You misunderstood the situation.”

  “Please tell me you’re not defending him. He barely acknowledged your presence the entire evening, except to parade you before everyone like a prize he had won . . . and then that irritating moment when he fidgeted with your jewelry. I could have done without that.”

  “I’m not defending him. I’m saying that it’s—complicated.” Even through the layers of darkness, Shahrzad could see Tariq’s thick eyebrows gather at the bridge of his nose.

  “Complicated? There’s nothing complicated about it. As far as I’m concerned, all I need is ready access to a weapon and a clear shot.”

  No!

  Shahrzad heard a sound in her room.

  Her heart stopped. She pressed a hand to Tariq’s lips and shoved him into the shadows. Then she strode into her chamber, sighing with relief to find no one there.

  Tariq was leaning against the wall when Shahrzad returned.

  “Are you expecting someone?” he asked in a cool tone.

  “You have to leave.”

  “Why?” There was a note of warning to his voice.

  “Tariq, please.”

  His eyes narrowed to silver slits. “Will he come to see you tonight?”

  “You need to leave. Now.” Shahrzad tugged at his wrist, but he refused to budge from the wall.

  “Good. Let him come. That will solve the matter on all fronts.”

  “Do you have a death wish?” she cried in muted despair.

  Tariq laughed, and the sound was full of heedless arrogance. “From the boy-king? That aging camel?”

  “You idiot! He’ll kill you!”

  “Are you sure? You don’t think he’ll ask his mother to do it for him?”

  Shahrzad sucked in a breath. Before she could stop herself, she launched into a whispered tirade.

  “You know nothing about him, and your ignorance will be your downfall. Get out of here, Tariq, because if Khalid walks through that door, he will cut you to ribbons before you have a chance to open your mouth, and it will destroy me. Beyond words. Beyond time. If you love me, do not force me to watch such a sight.”

  Shahrzad clutched the front of his rida’ as she spoke. Her features twisted in deep distress.

  Tariq’s initial shock melted away at the prospect of her pain. “Shazi—I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just . . . go.”

  Tariq took a slow step from the wall. Then he swiveled around to grab Shahrzad by the waist and press her back against the stone. He ran his palms along her arms.

  “I love you, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. There is nothing I would not do for you. Nothing I would not consider if it meant keeping you safe. The world itself should fear me if it stands between us.”

  “I—I love you too, Tariq.”

  He smiled. Then, without warning, he caught her lips in his. Shahrzad’s jaw slackened in surprise, and Tariq deepened the kiss, tilting her chin upward with a gentle caress of his thumb.

  Shahrzad’s mouth responded automatically. Her lips curved over his as they had on many occasions before. But . . . why did it feel wrong this time? Where was that breathless, weightless thrill? That thoughtless moment of incandescence?

  Where was that feeling of falling?

  It’s here. I know it’s here. I can get it back.

  I have to get it back.

  REALIZATIONS

  UPON EXPLANATIONS

  A DAY OF HUNTING FOR SPORT SHOULD PROVE interesting, indeed.

  Tariq strode down another never-ending corridor with a guard at his side. As he walked, he glanced around him at the splendor of the palace at Rey. The walls and domed ceilings above were polished beyond reason, and each portico was delineated at its center by a golden sunburst, supported by swooping beams and columned arches of blue-veined agate.

  It was beautiful, without a doubt. If a bit cold and imposing.

  Soon, he joined a gathering of noblemen taking part in today’s hunting excursion. In truth, Tariq was glad for the distraction and glad for the opportunity to spend time in the company of his target; his interaction with Shahrzad the night before had troubled him greatly.

  It was unlike her to be so cagey and distant. It was also unlike her to be so concerned with safety. Usually, she was the first one to throw herself into the fray, heedless of the consequences.

  When they were younger, Shahrzad had wanted to learn how to climb trees. Bored with the prospect in short order, she’d then insisted on breaching the walls of Taleqan. Both he and Rahim had begged her to cease in this foolishness, but, if anything, it had only spurred her onward. While watching her climb one afternoon, with her black hair streaming behind her in a tangled mess, he had caught sight of the mortar easing from the wall in a cloud of white dust by her foot. He had known, in that instant, that the brick was about to come loose. Tariq had shouted an all-too-late warning. He had heard Shiva’s scream from behind him when Shahrzad fell. His heart had left his chest as her small body plummeted to the sand. Tariq was the one who had reached her first, who had clutched her to him, demanding she respond. And he was the one who had cursed loudly when she laughed at him, saying she was fine, even if her head did hurt a little.

  That was the day he first told her he loved her.

  Tariq inhaled through his nose.

  It was also unlike Shahrzad to hes
itate. About anything.

  And she had hesitated last night.

  When he said he loved her on the balcony, she hesitated in her response. Then, when he kissed her, something was wrong. He could feel her thinking. Feel her questioning. Feel her wanting . . . something else.

  Or someone else.

  It was driving him mad.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Captain al-Khoury.”

  Standing next to him was the arrogant boy with the curly hair and the omnipresent smirk.

  Tariq returned a polite smile. “Tariq Imran al-Ziyad.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Does my reputation precede me?”

  “I should hope not, if I were you.” The boy grinned in jest. “You brought your own falcon, correct? Rather fortuitous, considering today’s event.”

  “Are you this well informed in all matters?”

  “It’s a hazard of my occupation. Speaking of such things, I was surprised to learn that you arrived with your father’s invitation in hand; I was looking forward to meeting him.”

  Tariq crossed his arms to conceal his sudden discomfort. “He was ill and asked me to come to Rey in his stead.”

  “A pity. Please convey my wishes for a speedy recovery.” Captain al-Khoury’s gaze roved to an archway in the corner, and his features leveled, retaining a semblance of their former amusement.

  The boy-king had arrived. This time, Tariq took care to note the sword at the caliph’s left hip. The blade was an unusual one, to be sure—longer and more slender than a scimitar, with a sharply tapered edge.

  “It’s called a shamshir,” Captain al-Khoury offered, watching Tariq with unabashed curiosity.

  “I’m not familiar with that particular weapon.”

  Captain al-Khoury nodded. “It’s unusual. But then, so is Khalid.”

  “Khalid?”

  “He’s my cousin.”

  Tariq’s lips flattened. “I see.”

  Captain al-Khoury laughed. “Don’t worry. We have very little in common, beyond blood.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I won’t break every bone in your body for a single misstep.” Though he continued smiling, his tone hovered on the verge of threatening, and Tariq chose to ignore it.

  “That sounds unduly harsh.” And appropriately fitting.

  Captain al-Khoury grinned again, this time a bit wider. “I told you. Khalid is unusual.”