The Wrath and the Dawn(47)

“You know, you have quite a temper,” she remarked after they had cleared some distance.

He said nothing.

“Khalid?”

“Is that kind of disrespect . . . normal?”

Shahrzad lifted a shoulder. “It’s not normal. But it’s not unexpected. It’s the curse of being a woman,” she joked in a morose manner.

“It’s obscene. He deserves to be flogged.”

Says the king who murders a bride every morning.

They continued strolling through the souk, and Shahrzad was surprised to note that Khalid now walked firmly in her shadow, with his hand grazing her lower back. His eyes, which were usually vigilant, appeared even more watchful than before.

She sighed to herself.

He notices everything. This will be even more difficult than I thought.

Shahrzad led him through a maze of small alleyways, past vendors of oil and imported vinegar, rugs and fine lamps, perfumes and other cosmetics, until she came to a thoroughfare filled with purveyors of food and drink. She directed him to a small, crowded establishment with outdoor seating.

“What are we doing here?” Khalid demanded quietly as she pushed him into a chair by an available table near the front.

“I’ll be right back.” She smiled at his irritation as she weaved her way through the crowd.

When she returned a short time later with two cups and a pitcher of wine, the corners of his eyes constricted.

“They are famous for their sweet wine,” Shahrzad explained.

He crossed his arms.

Shahrzad grinned knowingly. “You don’t trust me?” She poured some wine into a cup and drank from it first before handing it to him.

“Where did you get the money?” He took the cup from her.

She rolled her eyes. “I stole it. From the perfidious Sultan of Parthia.” As he raised the cup to his lips, she saw him smile. “Do you like it?”

He tilted his head in consideration. “It’s different.” Then he reached over and filled the other cup for her.

They sat for a time in comfortable silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the souk, drinking wine and enjoying the raucous conversations of those in various states of inebriation around them.

“So,” she interjected in a conversational tone. “Why are you having difficulty sleeping?”

Her question seemed to catch him off guard.

He stared at her over the rim of his cup.

“Do you have nightmares?” she probed.

He inhaled carefully. “No.”

“What was your last dream?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How come you don’t remember?”

“Do you remember your last dream?”

Shahrzad canted her lips to the side in thought. “Yes.”

“Tell me what it was about.”

“It’s a bit a strange.”

“Most dreams are.”

“I was in a grassy field with . . . my best friend. We were twirling. I was holding her hands. We were spinning slowly, at first. And then faster and faster. So fast it felt like we were flying. But it didn’t seem dangerous at all. It’s strange now that it didn’t seem dangerous, but I guess that’s the way of dreams. I remember hearing her laughter. She has the most beautiful laugh. Like a lark on a crisp morning.” Shahrzad smiled to herself in memory.

Khalid stayed silent for a moment.

“You have a beautiful laugh. Like the promise of tomorrow.” He said it gently, with the poise of an afterthought.

And Shahrzad’s heart hurtled about in response, roaring for attention.

Shiva, I swear to you, I will ignore the fickle little beast.

She refused to look at him as she drank from her cup and remained proud of herself for this display of fortitude, until she felt his entire body go rigid across from her.

A sandaled foot came crashing to a stop on the empty seat nearby.

“If it isn’t the beautiful girl with the barbed tongue,” a voice slurred from above.

When she gazed upward, her eyes thinned in disgust.

“Apparently, this is too popular a venue,” Khalid said, the tension banding across his features.

“For lecherous bastards and kings of old alike,” Shahrzad retorted under her breath.

“What?” the young man drawled, the wine clearly impairing his comprehension.

“Never mind. What do you want?” Shahrzad asked with a spark of annoyance.