The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath & the Dawn, #2)(13)

With vicious precision, Teymur seized her tight, taking her feet out from under her and slamming Shahrzad to the ground. All the air was knocked from her chest. She gasped once, the pain in her side searing as she struggled to catch her breath.

For the first time, a cold wave of fear coursed down her back.

This skinny weasel of a boy was stronger than she. He was tall and wily. And she could not fight him off forever. Nor could she reason with him.

But perhaps there was another way. A way of diversion and lies.

A surge of fury chased after the fear. Shahrzad gripped the wrist at her throat, digging her nails into his skin.

Whatever lingering pity she might have had for him melted in her rage.

The indelible line had deepened to a chasm.

He was preying upon the basest of fears. A fear Shahrzad had long held in the darkest recesses of her mind.

“What are you doing, Teymur?” She fought to keep her voice steady.

The two sides of the man-child battled for control as he glared down at her. He was so very afraid, blustering and shuddering through this hard-won triumph.

She would not lie here in silence as he warred with his convictions.

“Are you going to rape me,” Shahrzad demanded, “or are you merely trying to frighten me with the thought? And what do you hope to achieve by such uninspired villainy?”

Teymur winced at her boldness. Her nerve at bringing his shameful intentions to light.

Shahrzad knew her taunts were foolish. Knew they might further provoke him. But she could not—would not—comply in the face of such cowardice.

Not while there was still breath left in her body.

For a moment, Teymur seemed to waver. Then he clenched his jaw, bracing himself above her. With surprising deftness, he unsheathed the dagger and positioned the blade beside her face again. “You must matter to him, or he wouldn’t have let you live.”

The feel of the cold steel against her skin did not frighten her. She clung to rage instead. “Khalid Ibn al-Rashid values precious little in life. I amused him for a time. Do not seek reason beyond that. You said it yourself: he is a monster.” She spoke in clear tones, her barely leashed fury underscoring each syllable.

“You’re still lying to me. Do you mean to tell me the Caliph of Khorasan would not care if harm were to befall you?”

“As I said before, I cannot speak to his feelings.”

Teymur sneered down at her. “You expect me to believe the mighty King of Kings wouldn’t be angry for what has transpired today?”

No.

Khalid would break every bone in your body for what you’ve done.

Shahrzad stared up at him coolly. “If you think Roya would condone your actions in this moment, nothing I can do or say will matter.” She choked back the rising bile. “But I can’t imagine any girl with real love in her heart would ever approve of such a thing.”

His hold on her neck flagged as his face fell to despair. Each of his features wilted into the next. In that instant, Shahrzad saw how much Teymur had loved Roya.

How much he’d lost of himself when he’d lost her.

But it was no excuse. There would never be an excuse for this.

Successful in achieving a distraction, Shahrzad now sought to disarm him.

Ever so cautiously, she shifted one hand from around his wrist. While Teymur contended with his inner demons, Shahrzad let her hand drop to search the ground for a potential weapon. A rock, a tumbler, a bowl, a stick, anything . . .

As her fingers scrabbled for purchase, they fell upon—

A piece of dried meat?

Teymur remained lost in thought, his fingers loose at her throat, so Shahrzad let her gaze drift sidelong in one quick pass of the tent.

Even in the dim light, she could see that several strips of dried meat had been slid under the bottom of the tent in her direction.

They were the type of dried meat Tariq usually fed to Zoraya.

Tariq can’t want me to bait his falcon . . .

This did not seem at all like something Tariq would have devised. If Tariq knew what was transpiring within the tent’s walls, he would have ripped it from the ground and used its ropes to hang Teymur in the wind. Tariq—brash at every turn—would have been loath to drum up a stealth attack of any sort. And definitely not one involving Zoraya.

If not Tariq, then who devised such a harebrained scheme?

Shahrzad’s eyes combed the walls of the tent.

And where is that accursed falcon?

One thing was for certain: if this plan was intended to provide a distraction, it would prove to be an interesting one.

Shahrzad curled her fingers around the strip of dried meat.

Like a mongoose to a cobra, her hand shot up to the collar of Teymur’s qamis. She lodged the strip in the hollow behind his neck. Momentarily stunned, he released the dagger and slapped both his hands to his nape as though he were trying to quash a marauding insect.

In a flurry of feathers and flashing talons, Zoraya came screeching through the entrance of the tent, straight for Teymur’s collar. He screamed and toppled sideways off Shahrzad. The falcon continued attacking him, her wings spread wide. Shahrzad seized another piece of dried meat while Teymur tried in vain to fend off Zoraya’s onslaught.

Before Shahrzad had a chance to form a coherent thought, Rahim al-Din Walad burst into the tent with Irsa on his heels. Strips of dried meat were clasped in Irsa’s fists. Rahim grabbed Shahrzad by the arm and hauled her to her feet.