The Wrath and the Dawn(72)

To the right of the monster was a young man with an arrogant grin, curly brown hair, and a cuirass with the standard of the Royal Guard embossed on its breastplate. To his left was an older man with a golden griffin stitched on his cloak, signifying his status as the Shahrban of Rey.

As the noise in the courtyard died down, the monster began to speak.

“Welcome to Rey.”

His voice was surprisingly unassuming.

“I trust your journeys were safe and uneventful. It is an honor to host you on this occasion, and I thank you for always striving to embody—in all the days past, present, and future—the greatness of Khorasan to those who would take notice.”

A polite cheer rose from the edges of the courtyard.

“Again, I welcome you to my home. I have the fervent hope that when you leave it, you will have come to care for it as much as I do. It is the city of my childhood.” The monster paused. “And the city of my queen.”

At this, the chorus of approval grew, mingled with a clear tenor of curiosity. The arrogant boy to the monster’s right smirked appreciatively, while the shahrban sighed with seeming resignation.

It took all Tariq’s willpower to look away and not draw undue attention. The hate was too palpable. It roiled off him in murderous waves.

Death was too easy for this monster.

He dared to flaunt Shahrzad, as if she were a prize he had won?

Zoraya flapped her wings from her perch on his mankalah, aware of his fury. Tariq raised a hand to soothe her while he observed the monster exiting the courtyard, his gold-clad retinue clamoring in his shadow.

Tariq was not impressed by the show.

Rahim was a far better rider. The Caliph of Khorasan was an above-average horseman, at best. For all his dour black and stern expressions, all the whispered rumors of trick swords and cold brutality, he did not appear worthy of genuine fear. He appeared bored with life. Bored and in need of a nap.

Tariq sneered to himself, his loathing mingled with a newfound distaste.

Monster? Hardly. Merely a boy-king.

And a dead one, at that.





TWO CROSSED SWORDS


ANOTHER MOMENT OF THIS, AND SHAHRZAD would scream.

Sitting here, idling about in her room, while somewhere in the palace, a reckless boy with a falcon and a quick-tempered king with two swords—

“Hold still!” Despina commanded. She clutched Shahrzad’s chin in her left hand. Then she lifted the tiny, three-haired brush to Shahrzad’s eyelid once more.

Shahrzad gritted her teeth.

“You are an utter nightmare,” Despina grumbled. When she was finished, she pulled back and nodded with satisfaction at her work.

“Can I leave now?” Shahrzad blew a lock of glossy black hair out of her face.

“Such a brat. Would you at least do me the courtesy of feigning a dram of appreciation for all my efforts?” Despina grabbed Shahrzad’s wrist and hauled her before the mirror in the far corner of the chamber.

“Despina, I’m going to be late for—”

“Just have a look, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran.”

When Shahrzad glanced into the polished silver, her hazel eyes nearly doubled in size.

Nothing about her appearance seemed normal.

Despina had turned tradition on itself. She had dressed Shahrzad in sirwal trowsers of luminous black silk with a matching fitted top, and chosen to eschew the typical mantle of muted gold or silver. Tonight, Shahrzad’s sleeveless mantle was the same cerulean blue as Despina’s eyes. It matched the glittering sapphires swinging from her earlobes. Instead of placing a band of stones across Shahrzad’s brow, Despina had woven tiny strands of obsidian beads throughout her hair. They caught at wayward beams of light, making each curl flash like shadow incarnate.

For the final touch, Despina had painted a thick line of black kohl above the top portion of Shahrzad’s eyelashes. She had flicked the lines far past each outer corner, giving the illusion of cat’s eyes.

The entire effect was . . . arresting, to say the least.

“No—necklace?” Shahrzad stuttered.

“No. You don’t like them. Or you do a good job of pretending you don’t.”

“My arms are bare.”

“Yes.”

Shahrzad ran her fingers across the shining blue fabric of her mantle. Black diamond bangles clinked together on her left wrist.

“Tonight is a night to turn heads. Make them remember you. Make sure they never forget. You are the Calipha of Khorasan, and you have the ear of a king.” Despina put her hand on Shahrzad’s shoulder and grinned at their shared reflection. “More important, you have his heart.” She bent forward and lowered her voice. “And, most important, you are a fearsome thing to behold in your own right.”