The Wrath and the Dawn Read online

  Don’t kiss me, Khalid. Please . . . don’t.

  “They’re here! I’ve found them!”

  Khalid grasped her hand in his, and they took off down the alleyway once again.

  “We can’t keep running,” he said over his shoulder. “We might have to stand and fight, eventually.”

  “I know,” she huffed back.

  I need a weapon. I need a bow.

  She began scanning everyone in sight for a quiver or a possible bow left strewn against the side of a building, but all she saw was the occasional shimmer of a sword. In the distance, she noticed a burly man with a huge, straightbacked bow across his body, but she knew there was little chance of getting it from him quickly. And it was even less likely that she could draw an arrow on such a large bow.

  It seemed a futile exercise.

  Until she finally saw a young boy playing with his friends in a back alley.

  With a makeshift bow and a quiver of exactly three arrows lashed to his shoulder.

  Shahrzad tugged on Khalid’s arm, yanking him farther into the alleyway. She crouched before the boy, lifting the hood of her cloak.

  “Can you give me your bow and arrows?” she asked breathlessly.

  “What?” he replied in surprise.

  “Here.” Shahrzad offered him the five gold dinars in her cloak. A veritable fortune in the eyes of the boy.

  “Are you crazy, lady?” the boy said, his mouth agape.

  “Will you give them to me?” Shahrzad pleaded.

  He passed the weapons to her without a word. She placed the money in his dirty hands and threw the quiver over her shoulder.

  Khalid observed this exchange, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn.

  “Do you know them, miss?” The boy glanced behind Shahrzad.

  Khalid whirled around, unsheathing his shamshir in a single metallic rasp and knocking the black rida’ from his brow.

  “Get out of here,” Shahrzad said to the boy and his friends.

  The boy nodded and took off, his friends scampering alongside him.

  Somehow, the group of men Shahrzad and Khalid had managed to offend numbered seven. Of this seven, three showed signs of obvious injury, while the other four appeared at a loss of pride more than anything else. Not counting money, of course.

  And money counted for a lot.

  At the sight of Khalid with his sword at the ready, several of them withdrew their own piecemeal weapons.

  Without a word, Khalid advanced.

  “Gentlemen!” Shahrzad cut him off. “This seems a bit—premature. I believe this whole situation can be attributed to a misunderstanding. Please accept my sincere apologies for our part in the matter. In truth, this is between myself and the . . . gentleman with the questionable manners from earlier.”

  “My questionable manners? Why, you shrewish bitch!” The young man stepped forward.

  “That’s enough!” Khalid raised his shamshir into the moonlight, its silver edge glistening with menace.

  Poised to kill.

  “Stop!” Shahrzad’s tone verged on desperation.

  “I said, that’s enough, Shazi. I’ve heard enough,” Khalid said with deadly inflection.

  “Yes. Let him do as he pleases, Shazi. Seven to one? I like our odds,” the imbecile continued.

  You have no idea what you’re saying. The second-best swordsman in Rey will cut you down, one by one. Without hesitation.

  Then the imbecile lifted his rusted scimitar from its sheath.

  At that, Shahrzad nocked an arrow to the sinew and loosed it, all in one swift motion. It flew in a perfect spiral, despite the bow’s humble origins and the arrow’s mud-stained fletchings.

  And it pierced clean through the imbecile’s wrist.

  He howled in agony, dropping the scimitar to the ground with a resounding clang.

  Before anyone had a chance to react, Shahrzad had fitted and nocked another arrow onto the string. As she pulled it tight, she felt something give in the sinew.

  Oh, God.

  Nevertheless, she stalked past Khalid, the arrow held in position against the side of her neck.

  “This is where all of you were sorely mistaken. It was never seven to one. And I strongly suggest the seven of you take to your heels and return home. Because the next one who draws a weapon—the next one who takes a single step forward—will find an arrow through his eye. And I can assure you my friend is even less forgiving.”

  At the sight of movement to her left, Shahrzad swiveled quickly, her grip on the bow tightening. Again, the sinew unraveled by her ear.

  “Don’t test me. You mean nothing to me.”

  Her knees shook, but her voice was as cool as a stone beneath the water.

  “This is not worth it,” one of the gamblers muttered. He sheathed his weapon and left the alley. Soon, others took his lead, until the only ones remaining were the original troublemaker and his trio of miscreants.

  “I believe you’ve had enough, sir.” Shahrzad’s fingers were still wrapped around the bow and arrow.

  He grasped his arrow-skewered wrist as his friends exited the alley. His face was contorted with fury and the anguish of a man bested in all ways. Tears of pain trickled down his cheeks, and a glimmer of crimson stained his forearm.

  Gritting his teeth against the sting, he snarled, “Have a care, grumpy. Before she ruins you, too.” He left, choking on his wounds.

  Shahrzad did not lower the bow until the alley was completely clear.

  When she turned around, Khalid was standing there with his shamshir at his side—

  His expression devoid of emotion.

  “That day in the courtyard,” he began. “You didn’t miss the target.”

  Shahrzad took a deep breath. “No. I didn’t.”

  He nodded.

  Then he sheathed his sword.

  Do it now. He’s unarmed. This is perfect. Even better than your original plan to ply him with wine and eventually poison him.

  “Shazi.”

  Do it. Get justice for Shiva—justice for all those girls who died as nothing, without cause or explanation.

  “Yes?”

  Loose the arrow.

  He took a step toward her. His gaze swept down her body, searing wherever it touched.

  End this. End this and go to Baba. To Irsa.

  To Tariq.

  Shahrzad tensed her grip on the weapon still nocked at her side. She inhaled, preparing to fire . . . and the frayed sinew came undone at one end.

  Such a worthless coward.

  “You are—remarkable. Every day, I think I am going to be surprised by how remarkable you are, but I am not. Because this is what it means to be you. It means knowing no bounds. Being limitless in all that you do.”

  With each word, he broke past every barrier, every wall. And Shahrzad’s will fought him, screamed a silent scream, while her heart welcomed the intrusion as a songbird welcomes the dawn.

  As the dying find grace in an answered prayer.

  She closed her eyes, clenching the useless bow and arrow.

  Shiva.

  When she opened them again, he was standing before her.

  “I didn’t like it when you called me your friend,” he said, a light in his amber eyes.

  He raised both palms to either side of her face, angling her chin upward.

  “Do you prefer ‘my king’ or ‘sayyidi’?” she choked in dry disgust.

  He leaned forward, his brow almost brushing against hers.

  “I prefer Khalid.”

  Shahrzad swallowed.

  “What are you doing to me, you plague of a girl?” he whispered.

  “If I’m a plague, then you should keep your distance, unless you plan on being destroyed.” The weapons still in her grasp, she shoved against his chest.

  “No.” His hands dropped to her waist. “Destroy me.”

  The bow and arrow clattered to the ground as he brought his mouth to hers.

  And there was no turning back.

 
She was drowning in sandalwood and sunlight. Time ceased to be more than a notion. Her lips were hers one moment. And then they were his. The taste of him on her tongue was like sun-warmed honey. Like cool water sliding down her parched throat. Like the promise of all her tomorrows in a single sigh. When she wound her fingers in his hair to draw her body against his, he stilled for breath, and she knew, as he knew, that they were lost. Lost forever.

  In this kiss.

  This kiss that would change everything.

  MISBEGOTTEN OATHS

  SHE WANTED TO LET GO OF HIS HAND. BUT SHE didn’t.

  His touch burned her skin.

  The shame. The betrayal.

  The desire.

  How could I waste such a perfect opportunity? Why did I hesitate?

  She knew she was not to blame for the useless bow. Nonetheless, the self-recriminations could not be silenced.

  The moment they stepped into the palace courtyard, Shahrzad tried to pull away.

  Khalid merely tightened his grip.

  A contingent of guards stood at the ready, prepared to receive the caliph upon his arrival. The Shahrban of Rey stared down at their interlaced fingers and turned his brown eyes to Shahrzad in pained accusation.

  She returned nothing but defiance.

  “Sayyidi.” He gave Khalid a mincing bow.

  “General al-Khoury. It is late. I did not expect to see you until morning.”

  The shahrban frowned. “My king’s whereabouts remained uncertain. As such, I cannot stand about idly, waiting for the dawn.”

  Shahrzad almost laughed.

  “Your vigilance is appreciated,” Khalid replied.

  He grunted in response as his gaze shifted again to Shahrzad. “I’m sure it has been a taxing evening, sayyidi. I would be happy to escort the queen to her chamber.”

  “That is not necessary. I will take her there myself. Then I would like to speak to you in the antechamber.”

  The shahrban nodded. “I will await your arrival, sayyidi.”

  Khalid continued down the darkened hallways with Shahrzad at his side, surrounded by their retinue of bodyguards. Here, in the palace’s coolly foreboding passages of marble and stone, she witnessed his features retreat to a place far in the distance. A place no one was permitted to follow.

  The only inkling she had—the only hint she was still part of his reality—was her hand wound in his.

  And she did not care for it at all.

  It should not matter. He should not matter.

  Again, she slackened her grasp. Once more, he simply reinforced his.

  The Rajput was waiting outside her chamber. He nodded to Khalid with the brusqueness of a friend as one of the guards held open the doors.

  As soon as they shut behind them, Khalid released her hand.

  Shahrzad turned to him, uncertain. “Why does General al-Khoury dislike me?” she asked, point-blank.

  Khalid’s gaze leveled to hers. “He sees a threat.”

  “Why does he see a threat?”

  “Because he doesn’t understand you.”

  “Does he need to understand me? Because I don’t understand him.”

  Khalid inhaled through his nose. “So are you ready to answer my questions, then?”

  Very well. I, too, have questions.

  “What questions?”

  “I’ll answer your questions when you’re ready to answer mine.”

  “Khalid—”

  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Sleep well, Shazi.” His hand skimmed to her waist, as if seeking permission.

  Shahrzad drew a quick breath.

  This is madness. He makes me weak. He makes me forget.

  I should push him away.

  Yet she wanted so much to curve against him. To lose herself in honey and sunlight, and forget everything but the way it felt to be held in such a tantalizing trap of her own making.

  “Thank you—for the adventure,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He toyed with a smile. An invitation.

  But the yoke of betrayal hung about her, weighing on her every action. Shaming her for even considering a moment in his arms, and insisting she not succumb once more to the wishes of a fickle heart.

  How can I desire him? After he killed Shiva? After he killed so many young girls, without explanation?

  What’s wrong with me?

  As she stared up at him in obvious deliberation, he took away the choice, as quickly as he had offered it.

  “Good night, Shahrzad.”

  She exhaled, with the worst kind of relief.

  “Good night, Khalid.”

  Shahrzad watched the doors as they shut behind him.

  If given another chance, would I take the shot? Can I do what needs to be done?

  Her fists curled at her sides.

  I may not be able to kill him outright, but I must do what needs to be done.

  I will learn why he killed all his brides.

  And I will punish him for it.

  • • •

  He stood outside her doors.

  Torn.

  It was a familiar stance for him of late.

  He despised it.

  Khalid ignored the Rajput’s knowing grin as he began his trek toward his chamber. As usual, the bodyguard’s sense of humor was ill-timed and ill-bred.

  Each step Khalid took echoed down the corridors of shadow and stone. The callous granite and blue-veined agate of his palace had provided little but a refuge for the screams of ghosts.

  A haven for nightmares . . .

  Until Shahrzad.

  A true plague of a girl. And yet a queen in every sense of the word.

  His queen.

  He left the soldiers outside the antechamber leading into his private rooms.

  General al-Khoury was waiting for him, sitting before an ebony table with two bronze lamps casting halos of gold and a silver pot of tea glistening atop a low-burning flame.

  The shahrban rose to his feet as Khalid entered the antechamber. “Sayyidi.”

  “Please sit.” Khalid took position on the cushions directly opposite. “I apologize for the hour, but I have an important matter to discuss with you. As such, I’ll dispense with the formalities.”

  “Of course, sayyidi.”

  “The standing order regarding the queen—was I not clear before I left last week?”

  The shahrban’s harried features grew even more agitated. “Sayyidi—”

  “There will be no further attempts on her life.”

  “But, sayyidi—”

  “No. No more underhanded schemes. No more poisoned sugar. Furthermore, I will treat any effort to subvert this order as a direct attempt on my own life. Do you understand, General?”

  “Sayyidi!”

  “I asked you a question, General al-Khoury.”

  The shahrban bristled for an instant. “And I cannot answer it.”

  “Uncle Aref!”

  Khalid’s uncharacteristic outburst hung about the space, lingering with the tension of many unspoken things.

  “She will be your undoing.”

  “That is my decision.”

  “And so you would undermine all that has been done? No matter how unconscionable our actions have been, we are nearly at an end now. Please. I implore you. Reconsider this. She is just one girl. What is she to you? We cannot trust her, Khalid-jan. Has she told you why she volunteered? Has she confessed her motivations? Who is this child? I beg of you. You cannot withstand this. Do not allow this brazen young girl to become a source of ruination.”

  Khalid gazed across the table at his uncle. “I’ve made my decision.”

  The shahrban’s face faltered. “Please. If you—do you love her? Tell me you do not love this child, Khalid-jan.”

  “It is not about love.”

  “Then why? You do not have to take part in the matter. Merely step aside. Cease all contact with her, as you did that night, and I will handle the sunrise.”

 
“No. I tried, Uncle Aref. That morning . . .” Khalid winced in remembrance.

  The shahrban’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you do not love her?”

  “You’re aware of my thoughts on the matter.”

  “Then what do you want from this insolent young girl, Khalid-jan?”

  “Something more.”

  “And what if the rains cease again?”

  Khalid paused. “I will do what is right for the people of Rey.”

  The shahrban heaved a world-weary sigh. “You will not be able to withstand it. Even now, I can see the toll it is taking on you.”

  “Again. My decision.”

  “And your enemies will celebrate as it destroys you from within, as well as from without.”

  Khalid leaned forward and braced his forehead on his palms. “Then I trust you will see to it they never find out.” He spoke to the floor, his faith in his uncle implicit.

  The shahrban nodded before placing his hands on the marble and pushing to his feet. As he looked back at the exhausted figure of his king, the shahrban’s features saddened once more.

  “Sayyidi? Please forgive this last question. But I must know—is she worth this risk?”

  Khalid raised his head, his eyes reflecting a fiery orange in the flickering lamplight. “In truth? I don’t know . . .”

  The shahrban’s shoulders sagged.

  “But I do know I can’t remember the last time I wanted something so much,” he finished in a quiet voice.

  It was the careful smile Khalid offered his uncle that finally convinced the shahrban—the first real smile he had seen on his nephew’s face in years.

  “Khalid-jan. I will protect your queen. For as long as I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sayyidi.” The shahrban started to bow.

  “General al-Khoury?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please send in the faqir after you leave.”

  “Yes, sayyidi.”

  “And, if I could ask one last thing . . .”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you made any progress in determining the whereabouts of the queen’s family?”

  “No, sayyidi. We are still searching.”

  Khalid raked his fingers through his black hair, tousling its smooth surface. “Continue the search. Be tireless in your efforts.”

  “Yes, sayyidi.” With a hand to his brow, the shahrban exited the antechamber.

  Khalid removed the dark rida’ from his shoulders and placed it in his lap. He knew it was likely Shahrzad had sent her family away or that they had fled voluntarily, leaving behind a store of unanswered questions. And he found the timing too coincidental for it to be unrelated to their marriage.