The Wrath and the Dawn(69)
Shahrzad swallowed, her throat parched. Khalid watched her closely, every muscle strained with heightened awareness.
“Your husband is not a forgiving man.”
Her pulse thundered, but Shahrzad forged ahead. Unwavering.
You will not treat me like this. You will not dash my heart against a shore.
And walk away.
“The tumblers clicked with a sound that made Tala jump in her skin . . . and she stepped forward into utter darkness. The first thing she noticed was the smell—iron and old metal, like a rusted sword. The cellar was warm and humid. Then her foot slid in something, and a rush of rot and decay sailed back at her.”
“Shahrzad,” Khalid warned in a low tone.
Shahrzad barreled forward, heedless. “When Tala’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and she looked down, she saw her foot was caked in blood. Hanging around her . . . were bodies. The bodies of young women. They were Mehrdad’s—”
“Shahrzad!”
Shahrzad’s heartbeat resounded in her ears as Khalid shot to his feet, his face a mask of anguished fury. He towered over her, his chest heaving. Then he turned to the door.
No!
Shahrzad raced behind Khalid, struggling to keep up with his powerful gait. As he reached for the handle, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Please!” she cried.
He did not respond.
She pressed her face into his back and the tears began to flow, embarrassing and unbidden. “Give me the key,” she gasped. “Let me see behind the door. You are not Mehrdad. Show me.”
When he put his hands on her wrists to free himself, she merely clasped tighter, refusing to let go.
“Give me the key, Khalid-jan.” Her voice broke.
She felt his body tense at the term of endearment. Then, after an endless moment of racked silence, Khalid exhaled and his shoulders sagged in defeat.
Shahrzad laced her fingers to his chest.
“You hurt me last night, Shahrzad,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“A great deal.”
She nodded against the linen of his qamis.
“Yet you have said nothing about it,” he continued.
“I wanted to. I meant to. But then you were so hateful.”
“There is a vast difference between meaning to do something and actually doing it.”
She nodded again.
He sighed and swiveled in her arms to look at her.
“You’re right. I was hateful to you.”
He raised his palms to her face and wiped away her tears.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Shahrzad said, her eyes luminous.
Khalid slid a hand behind her neck and rested his chin atop her head.
“As am I, joonam,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”
THE DIE IS CAST
JAHANDAR STOOD BENEATH THE SHADE OF THE marbled vestibule at Taleqan with his thumbs looped through his wrinkled tikka sash. He watched Rahim al-Din Walad dismount from his gleaming Akhal-Teke and nod at several laborers carrying bushels of grain toward the kitchens. The workers returned smiles and exchanged a few pleasantries with the young nobleman before parting ways.
As soon as Rahim turned to walk in his direction, Jahandar scrambled from behind the polished stone pillar and into Rahim’s path.
“Rahim-jan!” Jahandar cleared his throat with a cough and a gasp.
Rahim took a startled step back. “Jahandar-effendi. It’s good to see you.”
“Is it?” Jahandar offered him a mangled attempt at a grin. “Thank you for not saying what you must be thinking about me.”
Rahim forced his mouth into a patient half smile. “This cannot be easy for you.”
“It is not. But I am doing much better now.”
Rahim nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m sure Irsa will be happy as well.”
Jahandar cleared his throat again, looking away.
Rahim’s eyes cast a sudden chill of judgment. “Since you arrived from Rey, Irsa has spent most days in the far corner by the fountain, painting or reading from a book. I believe it’s one you gave her.”
“Of course. The book on tea,” Jahandar remarked absentmindedly.
Rahim bowed his head in a curt gesture. When he began striding down the vestibule once more, Jahandar held up his palms to stall him.
“Why are your hands burned?” Rahim asked with alarm, glancing at Jahandar’s blistered fingers.