The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath & the Dawn, #2)(11)

He blew another hot spate of air against Irsa’s neck. “I don’t believe you.” She could feel him trembling behind her.

“You should.” Shahrzad took a step forward. “Because I wasn’t finished. It’s also a promise that, if you don’t let my sister go, you will be the one to hear my grievances. And mine are not of words, but of fists and steel.”

Spider rasped a laugh. “Fitting. As you are the whore of a bloodthirsty monster.”

Shahrzad flinched. And in that tiny flicker of pain, Irsa saw a wellspring.

Outraged, Irsa began struggling against him. He banded his forearms tighter around her waist and neck. She started to choke.

“Irsa!” Shahrzad held up her hands in surrender. “Let her go!”

“Give me your dagger.”

“Let her go, and I’ll give you my dagger.” Shahrzad removed the blade from her waistband.

“Your dagger first!” Spider said, his fingers digging into the tender skin beneath Irsa’s ear.

“Sha—Shahrzad!” Irsa croaked.

A bead of sweat trickled down Shahrzad’s brow. “I’ll give it to you. Just let Irsa go. Your quarrel is with me.”

“Drop it first, and she can leave. But if she goes to get help—if I so much as hear the White Falcon outside this tent—I’ll kill you.”

“She won’t get Tariq.” The dagger plinked by her sister’s feet. “She won’t do anything.”

Irsa felt him relax in the same instant her chest pulled tight from within.

Shahrzad thought her incapable of anything.

Completely and utterly useless.

And, in truth, what had she done to prove otherwise?

Spider loosened his hold on her neck. “Kick it toward me, and I’ll let her go.”

Shahrzad gave Irsa a small smile of reassurance, then toed the dagger in his direction.

He released Irsa and shoved her toward the entrance.

When Irsa looked back at Shahrzad in hesitation, her sister spurred her onward with a warning glance.

Irsa wanted to stay. Wanted to beg Spider to see reason.

But she was afraid. She’d already cost Shahrzad her dagger and didn’t know what assistance she could provide beyond a poignant plea.

So she burst into the desert sun, her heart clamoring in her chest and her pride laid waste at her feet.

Frantic, she began searching for help. The eyes she most needed to find belonged to a tall boy with broad shoulders and the easy smile of a summer afternoon. A boy who had loved her sister since they were children.

A boy who would thrash first and ask questions later.

Tariq would know what to do. Tariq would wring Spider’s scrawny neck.

Irsa stumbled through the sand toward Tariq’s tent, the blood roaring in her ears.

“Irsa?”

She tried to ignore the familiar voice nearby. The voice of the boy she most wanted to find. A boy whose kind face she found herself searching for time and again. No. Irsa did not need Rahim. She needed Tariq—a boy of determination and action.

“Irsa?” Rahim fell into step beside her, his gait unfaltering. “Why are you running through—”

“Where is Tariq?” she gasped.

“On a scouting expedition to a nearby emirate.” He angled into her path, his eyes narrowing. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Irsa shook her head, her fear spiking in a hot flash. “No, I just—I need Tariq!” Her gaze darted every which way, frantic.

“Why?”

A rush of air flew from her lips. “Because I have to do—something.” She pushed past him. “You don’t understand. Shazi—”

He took her by the shoulders, his touch strangely soothing. Strengthening. “Tell me what you need.”

No. Neither of them was a leader. She’d always known Rahim to be a boy who followed. Just as she was a girl who ran. A girl who failed to do anything, save spare her own skin.

She should have grabbed Shahrzad’s dagger. Or done something.

The guilt clawed at her stomach. Irsa began to tremble, even beneath the sweltering sun. She felt Rahim’s grip tighten on her shoulders.

Offering more strength.

Irsa stood straight, clenching her fists.

Shazi would not give up. She would not give in to fear. Nor would she waver in the sand, like a ridiculous ninny. She would take action. Fight to the death. And be smart about it, as only Shahrzad could.

Though Irsa continued to shake, she kept her voice steady as she worked through the beginnings of a plan. “Did Tariq take his falcon with him?”

“No.” A flicker of puzzlement passed across Rahim’s face. “Zoraya scouted the terrain in advance this morning, so he left her behind to rest.”

“Rahim”—Irsa took a breath—“will you do something for me?”

He did not even bother to reply. He simply held out his hand.

And Irsa took it.





AN INDELIBLE LINE


SHAHRZAD REFUSED TO BE COWED BY THE GANGLY boy standing before her.

In another world—in another life—she might have pitied him.

But he’d threatened Irsa. An indelible line had been drawn.

And, despite his best efforts to conceal it, she could see his fingers shaking around her dagger.