The Wrath and the Dawn(71)

Despina shook her head as she stood next to Shahrzad. “You really shouldn’t be out here.”

“Why not?” Shahrzad waved a flippant hand. “It’s perfectly safe. All weapons are surrendered at the palace gate.”

“I wish I could make you understand. You’re not a girl on a lark, watching an amusing display. You’re their queen.”

“They came here because of that wretched sultan from Parthia, not because of me.” Shahrzad leaned farther over the railing. “Despina, did you see that imbecile on the camel? The one with the brass bells and the finger in his nose?”

Despina’s eyes clouded over.

And Shahrzad ignored the lines creasing her handmaiden’s forehead.

Ignored them because she needed a lighthearted moment. Needed it enough to appear foolish, just for an instant, so she would not have to deal with the reality of her life in a palace of polished marble, with flashing gems at her throat and a shimmering pool of water at her feet.

In a marriage rife with growing tension . . .

With a husband who would not touch her. Nor venture near her, much less share his secrets.

Shahrzad clenched her teeth.

Ever since that night two weeks ago, when she’d told the tale of Tala and Mehrdad, Khalid had come to have dinner with her each evening and hear a new story. He would listen at a distance, engage her in stilted conversation, and share pithy observations he’d made throughout the day.

Then he would depart, and she would not see him until the following night.

“Your husband is not a forgiving man.”

Shahrzad gripped the stone railing in both hands, the blood leaching from her fingertips. “Who are all these fools, anyway?” She tried to smile at Despina.

Despina’s lips puckered into a moue. “Most of them are the caliph’s bannermen. A general invitation was issued to every emir of Khorasan.”

A bubble of air caught at the top of Shahrzad’s throat. She twisted away from the railing to look at her handmaiden.

“What?” she whispered.

Despina canted her head to one side. “I told you. You never listen. This gathering is not just for the Sultan of Parthia. The caliph wants to introduce you as his queen. He invited every nobleman in the kingdom to share in the spectacle. To meet you.”

A knot of panic started to gather in the pit of Shahrzad’s stomach.

Tariq wouldn’t. He may be a nobleman, but he’s not an emir. Not yet.

He wouldn’t dare.

Despina’s ongoing lecture dissolved into a muted din in Shahrzad’s ears.

Until a familiar, screaming cry echoed from above.

Shahrzad balled her hands into fists and spun back to the railing, pleading to the heavens that— No.

Clattering across the granite pavestones on a dark bay al-Khamsa was her first love.

Tariq Imran al-Ziyad.

“My, my, my,” Despina breathed.

Had Tariq not reined in his stallion at that moment and whistled to the skies, he still would have drawn attention. Even dust-worn and bedraggled, he cut an imposing figure. Broad-shouldered, with skin of the desert and eyes of silver and ash, he was the kind of boy who turned heads and never noticed. The faint shadow of hair that darkened his jaw served only to accentuate features hewn from stone by the hand of a master sculptor.

When Zoraya came plummeting from the clouds to land on his outstretched mankalah, Tariq glanced up.

And saw Shahrzad.

His look was a touch.

Shahrzad’s heart began to pound, the fear rising. Taking hold.

But it was nothing compared to the panic that gripped her, that screamed a soundless scream at the scene unfolding before her . . .

When Khalid rode into the courtyard atop a black Arabian— A stone’s throw from her first love.

? ? ?


Shahrzad had disappeared from the balcony.

It was just as well.

For, as much as Tariq wanted to drink in the sight of her, now was not the time for distraction, even one as welcome as she.

His target had arrived.

Khalid Ibn al-Rashid.

Murderer of Shiva. Husband of Shahrzad.

Tariq gripped the reins in his free hand.

The monster rode past Tariq on a magnificent black Arabian. His dark rida’ billowed in his wake. A visceral hatred coiled in Tariq’s chest. When the monster stopped in the middle of the courtyard and pulled back the hood of his cloak, Tariq’s wrath flowed to his fists.

And he envisioned them smashing against the monster’s chilly regalness until nothing remained but blood and bits of bone.