The Wrath and the Dawn(30)

Halfway through the drill, he placed both hands on the hilt of his shamshir and twisted the handle apart.

The sword split in two, and he began swinging one in either hand. The blades tore through the air like a dust devil in the desert, whistling about his head as he made his way across the sand.

Shahrzad heard Despina catch her breath.

The twin shamshirs rained a shower of sparks as he struck them against each other and brought the drill to an end with a sword positioned in each hand at his sides.

Again, a riotous cheer rang through the throng of soldiers standing witness to the spectacle. Whatever one’s personal feelings about the caliph, it could not be denied he was a masterful swordsman.

Nor was he a king solely reliant on the protection of others.

He would not be an easy man to kill.

And this presents a serious challenge.

“Well, does that satisfy your curiosity?” Despina asked.

“Yes, my lady. Does it?” A gruff voice announced its presence behind them.

Both girls scrambled to their feet, still trying to remain unseen by the soldiers below.

The color drained from Shahrzad’s face.

The Shahrban of Rey was standing across the way, his face a mask of false composure, and his eyes filled with . . . frustration.

“General al-Khoury.” Shahrzad brushed the debris from her hands and her clothes.

He continued studying her, some kind of war raging behind his eyes.

When the battle was over, it was obvious Shahrzad had lost.

“What are you doing here, my lady?”

“I was . . . curious.”

“I see. And may I ask who gave you permission to be here, my lady?”

At this, Shahrzad’s indignation rose. He might be the Shahrban of Rey and a good deal older than she, but she had done nothing to warrant such disrespect. She was his queen, after all—not a child to be scolded for misbehaving.

She strode forward. “I did not seek permission from anyone, General al-Khoury. Nor shall I seek permission from anyone in the future. For anything.”

He inhaled carefully, his brown eyes, so like Jalal’s and yet so dissimilar, narrowing invectively. “I’m afraid we can’t allow you to behave thus, my lady. You see, it is my job to protect the king and this kingdom. And you—you conflict with my job. I’m sorry. I can’t let you continue to do this.”

Does he—does he know?

“I thank you, General al-Khoury.”

“Excuse me, my lady?”

“It’s never been a question of who is going to let me behave a certain way; it’s always been a question of who is going to stop me. I thank you for answering it.”

The older gentleman leaned back onto his heels for a moment, staring down at the impudent girl with the flashing colors in her hazel eyes and the small hands positioned on her hips.

“I am sorry, my lady. Sorrier than you will ever know. But threats against the caliph . . . must be eliminated.”

“I am not a threat, General al-Khoury.”

“And I intend to make sure it stays that way.”

Oh, God. How does he know?





A SILK CORD AND A SUNRISE

THE SHAHRBAN OF REY SUSPECTS I MIGHT HARM the king.

Shahrzad listened to Despina’s incessant chatter as they spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the warm waters of the palace’s newest addition, commenting where it was appropriate and jesting where it was not.

But her mind refused to allow her a moment’s respite.

What if he says something to the caliph?

How much does he know? How did he find out?

Now, many hours later, she sat on her bed in a darkened chamber . . .

Back at the beginning.

Staring at doors and fending away demons.

She was dressed in wide silk trowsers and a fitted top stained a deep violet color, with thick straps that banded over each shoulder. The necklace and thin chain at her waist contained amethysts surrounded by tiny, pale pink diamonds. At her ears and along her brow were large teardrops of purple and gold. Her waist-length hair hung in shining waves down her back.

Shahrzad willed the doors to open with the force of her unflinching stare. Met by the same stoic silence as always, she rose from the bed and began pacing.

He’s usually here by now.

Unwilling and incapable of leaving her fate in the hands of others, she walked to the doors and pulled one open.

The Rajput turned in place, his hand resting on the hilt of his talwar.