The Wrath and the Dawn(27)

“Yes.”

“You can’t do this alone, Tariq-jan.”

Tariq held Reza’s gaze in silence.

“Are you prepared to start a war for her? Regardless of whether or not she . . . continues to survive?” Reza asked in a gentle tone.

Tariq grimaced. “He deserves to die for what he’s done to our family. I won’t permit him to take anything else from me . . . or from anyone else, for that matter. It’s time for us to take something from him. And if it means seizing his kingdom in order to do it—” Tariq took a deep breath. “Will you help me, Uncle?”

Reza bin-Latief looked around at his beautiful courtyard. Ghosts tormented him in every corner. His daughter’s laughter lilted into the sky. His wife’s touch slipped through his fingers like a handful of sand.

He could never let them go. Their memories, no matter how faded and broken, were the only things he had left. The only things worth fighting for.

Reza glanced back at the Emir Nasir al-Ziyad’s son—the successor to the fourth-largest stronghold in Khorasan. With a lineage of royalty.

Tariq Imran al-Ziyad—a chance to right a wrong . . .

And make his memories whole again.

“Come with me.”





THE SHAMSHIR

GET UP.”

Shahrzad moaned and drew the pillow over her face in response.

“Get up. Now.”

“Go away,” Shahrzad grumbled.

At that, the pillow was unceremoniously snatched from her grasp and slammed against her cheek with a force that shocked her.

She sat upright, sheer outrage eclipsing her exhaustion.

“Are you deranged?” she shouted.

“I told you to get up,” Despina replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Not knowing what else to do, she pelted the pillow back at Despina’s head.

Despina caught it with a laugh. “Get up, Shahrzad, Brat Calipha of Khorasan, Queen of Queens. I’ve been waiting all morning for you, and we have someplace to go.”

When Shahrzad finally rose from the bed, she saw yet again that Despina was flawlessly garbed in another draped garment and polished until every facet of her pale skin was artfully rendered in the light flowing from the terrace.

“Where did you learn—that?” Shahrzad asked with begrudging admiration.

Despina positioned her hands on her hips and peaked an eyebrow.

“The clothes, the hair, the—that.” Shahrzad raked her fingers through her tangled mane as she clarified.

“At home in the city of Thebes. My mother taught me. She was one of the most famous beauties in all of Cadmeia. Perhaps in all of the Greek Isles.”

“Oh.” Shahrzad studied Despina’s glossy curls and then proceeded to toss back the snarled mess in her hands.

“I wouldn’t.” Despina smirked.

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Attempt to bait me into complimenting you.”

“Excuse me?” Shahrzad sputtered.

“I’ve encountered your kind many times before—the effortlessly lovely ones; the green sylphs of the world. They flail about, without concern for their charms, but they suffer the same desire to be liked that we all do. Just because you don’t know how to make the best of your many gifts does not mean they go unnoticed, Shahrzad. But I could teach you, if you like. Although it seems you don’t need my help.” Despina winked. “Obviously, the caliph appreciates your charms as they are.”

“Well, he’s not a very particular man. How many wives has he had in the past three months alone? Sixty? Seventy-five?” Shahrzad retorted.

Despina quirked her mouth. “But he hasn’t gone to see them at night.”

“What?”

“Usually, they’re chosen at random, he marries them, and . . . well, you know what happens the next morning.”

“Don’t lie to me, Despina.”

“I’m not. You were the first bride he sought out after the wedding.”

I don’t believe her.

“In case you were wondering, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Despina admitted.

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe I just want you to like me.”

Shahrzad gave her a long, hard look. “If you want me to like you, help me figure out what to wear. Also, where’s the food? I’m starving.”