The Wrath and the Dawn

  But it was too late.

  He was the Mehrdad of her nightmares. She had opened the door. She had seen the bodies hanging from the walls, without explanation. Without justification.

  And without one, Shahrzad knew what must be done.

  Khalid had to answer for such vile deeds. Such rampant death.

  Even if he was her air.

  Even if she loved him beyond words.

  • • •

  His guards were on edge and much too close.

  Their glaring torches and clattering footfall were not doing service to the torturous ache in his head. Nor were they of benefit to the fire that battled for dominion over his eyes.

  When a nervous sentry dropped his sword with a noise to rouse the dead, it took all of Khalid’s willpower not to snap the young man’s arm from his shoulder.

  Instead, Khalid paused in the darkened corridor and pressed his palms to his brows.

  “Leave,” he grumbled to his guards.

  “Sayyidi—”

  “Leave!” Khalid’s temples pounded as the word reverberated down the halls.

  The guards glanced at one another before bowing and taking their leave.

  Jalal remained against the wall in somber watchfulness.

  “That was rather childish,” he chastised, once the soldiers had turned the corner.

  “You are free to leave, as well.” Khalid resumed his trek toward his chamber.

  Jalal cut in front of Khalid. “You look terrible.” His eyes were bright, and his forehead was lined with worry.

  Khalid stared back at him, calm and aloof. “I suppose you expect me to confide in you, following your honest assessment of a rather obvious condition. Forgive me, but I’ve had a trying evening, Captain al-Khoury.”

  “I’m truly concerned.”

  Khalid feigned bemusement. “Don’t be.”

  “If you refuse to talk about what happened tonight, I must continue to press the matter.”

  “And you will be met with disappointment at every turn.”

  “No. I won’t.” Jalal folded his arms across his chest. “You are a disaster. You flinch at the slightest noise, and you nearly ripped that poor boy’s head off for dropping his sword.”

  “The boy was stumbling about, wielding an unsheathed blade. I find it fortunate he didn’t trip and impale himself on the cold steel of his own stupidity.”

  “Your sarcasm gets more brutal with age. And with arrogance. It’s not nearly as entertaining now.”

  Khalid glowered at his cousin. The blood pulsed along his neck and thrummed in his temples. Each beat blurred the lines of his vision.

  He shoved past Jalal.

  “What were you doing tonight, sayyidi?” Jalal called after him. “Do you realize you put our entire kingdom at risk when you discarded your weapon at that hired dog’s behest. He could have killed you, and you would have left Khorasan without a ruler. You would have allowed Salim’s mercenaries to leave us leaderless, on the brink of potential war with Parthia.” He paused pointedly. “All for the sake of a girl—one of so many.”

  At that, the frayed strands of Khalid’s composure tore apart, and he turned the full force of his fury onto Jalal, whirling around and freeing his shamshir from its scabbard in a single, fluid motion. He raised the curved edge of the blade until it was positioned a hairsbreadth from Jalal’s heart.

  Jalal stood still, his serenity at odds with the situation. “You must love her a great deal, Khalid-jan.”

  After a beat, Khalid lowered his sword, his brow marred by pain and consternation. “Love is—a shade of what I feel.”

  Jalal grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. “As your cousin, I’m glad to hear it. But, as the captain of your guard, I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t alarmed by tonight’s events. You are not responsible to only one girl.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Khalid sheathed his sword.

  “I’m not so certain you are. If you plan on behaving is such a heedless fashion, I think it’s time to tell Shahrzad the truth.”

  “I disagree; therefore, this discussion is over.” Khalid strode down the corridor once more, and Jalal walked at his side.

  “She’s family now. If you are willing to die for her, then it’s time we entrust her with our secret,” Jalal pressed in a quiet voice.

  “No.”

  He reached for Khalid’s shoulder. “Tell her, Khalid-jan. She has a right to know.”

  “And how would you react to such news?” Khalid shoved his hand aside. “To the knowledge your life hovers on a precipice, bound by a mutable curse?”

  “My life is at risk every day. As is yours. Something tells me Shazi does not live in a world that denies this fact.”

  Khalid’s eyebrows flattened. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to tell her.”

  “And you never will be. Because you love her, and we fight to protect those we love.” Jalal halted by the corridor leading to Khalid’s chamber, and Khalid advanced down the marble and stone without a glance in his direction.

  “Sayyidi?” Jalal continued from behind him. “Make sure you summon the faqir tonight. You are a bowstring ready to snap.”

  Khalid shoved past the first set of doors into the antechamber and moved toward the entrance of his room. He paused before nodding to one of the guards, who twisted one of the bronze handles and pushed open the polished wood.

  Upon crossing the threshold, Khalid found the room completely silent. Utterly still. The only things amiss were the bloodied strips of linen and the pitcher of water beside the raised platform—

  And the girl asleep in his bed.

  Shahrzad lay on her side. Her dark hair was splayed across dull silk, and her knees were tucked against the lone cushion on Khalid’s bed. A fringe of black lashes curved against the skin beneath her eyes, and her proud, pointed chin was tucked into a gathering of silk beside her palm.

  Khalid sat down with care and refrained from looking at her for too long. Touching her was not an option.

  She was a dangerous, dangerous girl. A plague. A Mountain of Adamant who tore the iron from ships, sinking them to their watery graves without a second thought. With a mere smile and a wrinkle of her nose.

  But even knowing this, he surrendered to her pull. Succumbed to the simple need to be by her side. With a slow exhalation of breath, Khalid placed his shamshir on the floor and eased his body next to hers. He stared up at the ceiling, at the single flame in the golden lamp above his head. Even the dim light shining from its depths pained his eyes. He shuttered his gaze, trying to push past the weariness and the ever-present torment of the chained beast roaring inside his head.

  Shahrzad shifted in her sleep and turned toward Khalid, as though drawn by her own inexplicable compulsion. Her hand fell to his chest, and she settled her brow beside his shoulder with a muted sigh.

  Against his better judgment, Khalid opened his burning eyes to look at her one more time.

  This dangerous girl. This captivating beauty.

  This destroyer of worlds and creator of wonder.

  The urge to touch her now past logic, Khalid’s arm moved to encircle her in an embrace. He buried his nose in her hair, in the same scent of lilacs that taunted him from outside his window. The small, graceful hand on his chest drifted higher, beside his heart.

  Whatever torment he had to endure. Whatever evil he had to face.

  There was nothing that mattered more.

  Then he heard a noise in the far corner of the room.

  He blinked hard, trying to refocus. His muscles tensed with heightened awareness when a flash of movement blurred across his vision. Khalid squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to clear the lines, fighting to see through the layers of fog and shadow. The pain between his brows grew as his pulse rose to meet the unforeseen challenge.

  Another blur of motion flitted across the room, this time in the opposite corner.

  Khalid removed his arm from around Shahrzad and reached for the pitcher of water by the platfo
rm.

  When a new flash of movement caught his attention beside his desk, Khalid heaved the pitcher in its direction and shot to his feet, his shamshir in hand.

  The sound of the pitcher shattering against the ebony woke Shahrzad, and she sat up with a startled cry.

  “Khalid? What’s wrong?”

  Khalid said nothing as he regarded the stillness around his desk. He blinked again. Hard. His eyes blazed with the fire of a thousand suns. He pressed a palm between his brows and gritted his teeth.

  Shahrzad rose from the bed and strode to his side. “Are you—hurt?”

  “No. Go back to sleep.” It sounded needlessly cruel, even to him.

  “You’re lying to me.” She reached up and wrapped soft fingers around his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Again, his pain lanced through the word, making his response more abrupt than he intended.

  She tugged on his arm. “Liar.”

  “Shahrzad—”

  “No. Tell me the truth, or I’m leaving your chamber.”

  Khalid remained silent, the beast in his head roaring with untold vigor.

  Shahrzad choked back a sob. “Again. And again.” She spun on her heel and glided toward the ebony doors.

  “Stop!” Khalid tried to go after her, but his head throbbed and his sight distorted to such a degree that following her was impossible. With an incoherent slur, Khalid dropped his shamshir and sank to his knees, his palms clutching either side of his head.

  “Khalid!” Shahrzad gasped. She ran back and crouched beside him. “What is it?”

  He could not respond.

  Khalid heard her race to the doors and yank one open.

  “My lady?” a guard inquired.

  “Find Captain—no, General al-Khoury,” Shahrzad insisted. “Right away.”

  She waited by the door until a soft knock struck a short while later.

  “My lady Shahrzad,” his uncle began. “Is everything—”

  “His head. Please. He’s—in a lot of pain.” The sound of fear in her voice unnerved Khalid. More than he cared to admit.

  “Stay with him. I’ll return shortly.”

  The door closed.

  Shahrzad returned to his side. Khalid leaned back against the edge of his bed and braced his elbows on his knees, pressing both palms to his forehead with enough force to paint stars across his vision.

  When the door opened once more, Shahrzad stiffened. He felt her draw closer in wary protectiveness.

  “Sayyidi.” The voice of the faqir echoed from above him.

  Khalid sighed, his eyes still squeezed shut.

  “My lady,” his uncle said. “Please come with me.”

  Her body tensed even further, gearing for battle. “I—”

  “Shahrzad-jan,” his uncle interjected very gently. “Please.”

  “No,” Khalid rasped. He reached out a hand for her. “She stays.”

  “Khalid-jan—”

  Khalid forced opened his screaming eyes and stared up at his uncle.

  “My wife stays.”

  AVA

  SHAHRZAD DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF THE scene unfolding before her.

  The strange old man garbed in white did not walk with the gait of a normal person. He did not blink, nor did he appear to breathe.

  And he was studying her with such piercing intent that it twisted her stomach into a coil of knots.

  “Sayyidi,” the strange man repeated, shifting closer to Khalid.

  Without a word, Khalid bowed his head. The man raised his palms beside Khalid’s temples. Then he closed his eyes. Shahrzad felt the air in the room still. A peculiar sensation settled around her heart, sliding chills down her back.

  When the strange man opened his eyes once more, they glowed white, like the blinding center of a flame. Between his hands, a warm, red-orange fireburst spread around the entirety of Khalid’s brow.

  The peculiar feeling in her chest flared, and Shahrzad smothered a gasp. It reminded her of that afternoon last week . . . with the floating carpet.

  The circle of light around Khalid’s head pulsed yellow, flashing brighter before spiraling up into the darkness. Then it retracted back into the old man’s clawed hands.

  And the sensation around her heart disappeared.

  Khalid exhaled carefully. His shoulders rolled forward, and the tension began easing from his body.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to the man, his voice parched and raw.

  Shahrzad gazed up at this strange wielder of magic. Again, he was staring down at her with an oddly discerning expression.

  “Thank you,” Shahrzad reiterated, at a loss.

  The old man frowned, his unblinking eyes awash with discomfort. “Sayyidi—”

  “Your counsel is always appreciated. I’m aware of your concerns,” Khalid interrupted in a quiet tone.

  The old man paused. “It’s getting worse. And it will only continue to progress in this fashion.”

  “Again, I understand.”

  “Forgive my insolence, sayyidi, but you do not. I warned you before, and now my worst fears are coming to fruition. You cannot maintain this farce for much longer. If you do not find a way to sleep—”

  “Please.” Khalid rose to his feet.

  The old man drifted back and bowed with preternatural grace.

  “Again, I thank you.” Khalid returned the bow and raised his hand to his forehead in respect.

  “Do not thank me, sayyidi,” the old man replied as he floated to the ebony doors. “My service is to the hope for a great king. See that you grant him the chance to prove me right.” He grasped a bronze handle, stopping to glance at Shahrzad once more before disappearing into the darkness, leaving them alone.

  Khalid eased onto the edge of the bed, his eyes bloodshot and his features holding fast to traces of strain.

  Shahrzad sat down next to him. She said nothing for a time, and the air grew thick, laden with their unspoken thoughts.

  Then he turned his head toward her. “Before—”

  “You can’t sleep?” she interjected in a small voice.

  He inhaled through his nose. “No.”

  “Why?”

  Khalid bent forward, his black hair grazing his forehead.

  She reached for his hand. “Tell me.”

  He peered sideways at her, and his look of misery robbed her of breath.

  Shahrzad wrapped both her hands around one of his. “Please, Khalid.”

  He nodded once. “Before I start, I need you to know how sorry I am.”

  Her pulse wavered. “For what?”

  “For everything. But mostly for what I’m about to tell you.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It’s a burden, Shazi,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “This secret is an encumbrance I never wanted for you. Once you know it, it can’t be taken back. Whatever happens, its cold certainty will remain with you. The fear, the worry, the guilt—they become yours.”

  Shahrzad inhaled carefully. “I won’t say I understand, because I don’t. But if it’s your burden—if it causes you to suffer—I wish to know.”

  Khalid studied the stretch of black onyx before him. “Her name was Ava.”

  “Ava?”

  “My first wife. I married her not long after I turned seventeen. It was an arranged marriage. One I arranged to avoid what I considered a far worse fate. How wrong I was.”

  Khalid laced his fingers through hers.

  “I was never meant to rule Khorasan. My brother, Hassan, was raised to take the throne. When he died in battle, it was too late for my father to rectify the years he had spent punishing me for my mother’s perceived transgressions. There was no relationship between us—nothing but memories of blood and dreams of retribution. Upon his death, I was as unprepared to rule as any boy filled with hate would be. As you once said—I was predictable. Predictably angry. Predictably jaded.”

  Shahrzad watched Khalid’s weary eyes fade in recollection.

  “I was a
lso determined to be everything my father despised in a king. Before he died, he had wanted me to marry Yasmine—to unite the kingdoms of Khorasan and Parthia. Following his death, his advisors continued to push for the match. Even Uncle Aref felt it was a wise, albeit unfortunate, decision. I was adamant in my refusal—to the point where I dismissed my father’s remaining advisors and sought my own counsel.”

  Shahrzad’s features tightened. “You despise Yasmine that much?”

  Khalid shook his head. “Yasmine is not without her merits, but I never felt real affection for her. More than that, I could not willingly join my family with that of Salim Ali el-Sharif. When my mother was alive, he treated her like a rich man’s whore, and he never failed to exploit any opportunity to speak ill of her after her death. Even as a boy, I remember longing for the day when I would be strong enough to punish him for the things he said.” A corner of his lips quirked upward in bitter amusement.

  “Revenge isn’t what you expected, is it?” Shahrzad asked quietly.

  “No. It’s not. And it never will be. Revenge won’t replace what I’ve lost.”

  Shahrzad swallowed, looking away. “Salim must have been very angry about your refusal to marry Yasmine.”

  “I never refused. It never went that far. When the pressure to marry Yasmine grew—to embolden the ties between our kingdoms and solidify my weak stance as a young caliph—I decided the best way to avoid the insult of an outright refusal was to marry someone else. Ava was from a good family in Rey, and she was kind and smart. Once we were married, I tried to be attentive, but it was difficult. I still had many things to learn about being a king, and I didn’t know how to be a husband. Like me, Ava was not the type to readily share her thoughts and feelings, and the moments we spent with each other often drifted to silence. She started to grow distant . . . and sad. Yet I still did not invest the time necessary to learn the reasons. After a few months of marriage, she had withdrawn a great deal, and our interaction was rather limited. In truth, the awkwardness made me even less inclined to seek her out. On the rare occasions I tried to speak with her, she always appeared elsewhere—lost in a world I never sought to understand.”