The Wrath and the Dawn(81)

Or someone else.

It was driving him mad.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Captain al-Khoury.”

Standing next to him was the arrogant boy with the curly hair and the omnipresent smirk.

Tariq returned a polite smile. “Tariq Imran al-Ziyad.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Does my reputation precede me?”

“I should hope not, if I were you.” The boy grinned in jest. “You brought your own falcon, correct? Rather fortuitous, considering today’s event.”

“Are you this well informed in all matters?”

“It’s a hazard of my occupation. Speaking of such things, I was surprised to learn that you arrived with your father’s invitation in hand; I was looking forward to meeting him.”

Tariq crossed his arms to conceal his sudden discomfort. “He was ill and asked me to come to Rey in his stead.”

“A pity. Please convey my wishes for a speedy recovery.” Captain al-Khoury’s gaze roved to an archway in the corner, and his features leveled, retaining a semblance of their former amusement.

The boy-king had arrived. This time, Tariq took care to note the sword at the caliph’s left hip. The blade was an unusual one, to be sure—longer and more slender than a scimitar, with a sharply tapered edge.

“It’s called a shamshir,” Captain al-Khoury offered, watching Tariq with unabashed curiosity.

“I’m not familiar with that particular weapon.”

Captain al-Khoury nodded. “It’s unusual. But then, so is Khalid.”

“Khalid?”

“He’s my cousin.”

Tariq’s lips flattened. “I see.”

Captain al-Khoury laughed. “Don’t worry. We have very little in common, beyond blood.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I won’t break every bone in your body for a single misstep.” Though he continued smiling, his tone hovered on the verge of threatening, and Tariq chose to ignore it.

“That sounds unduly harsh.” And appropriately fitting.

Captain al-Khoury grinned again, this time a bit wider. “I told you. Khalid is unusual.”

Tariq swiveled back toward the boy-king, a series of lines creasing his sun-drenched forehead. “He seems very quiet.”

“He is quiet. But a man much wiser than I once said that the smartest men are the silent ones . . .”

Tariq waited, barely managing to conceal his growing contempt.

Captain al-Khoury leaned closer. “Because they hear everything.”

“It’s an interesting notion,” Tariq mused. “Who said it?”

Captain al-Khoury smirked with cool deliberation. “Khalid.” Then he strode to the boy-king’s side.

When the Sultan of Parthia arrived, the group of men began making their way down the corridors toward an open-air gallery ten times the size of the one at Taleqan. On one end of the gallery was a series of arched double doors leading to the beginnings of a lush, tree-lined garden.

As the men traversed this course, they crossed paths with Shahrzad. She was walking through another set of double doors with an attractive young handmaiden and the same menacing brute of a bodyguard from last night.

Tariq’s chest hollowed at the sight of her.

She grew more beautiful with each passing moment, as though life in this palace of cold, polished stone suited her. Today, her garments of silver and rose made her black hair and bronze skin appear even more stunning than usual. He much preferred this to her showy garb of last night, even though she’d dazzled every man in the room with her blue sapphires and black silk.

But then, she dazzled Tariq always.

The assemblage of men paused to greet the calipha, and the bastard from Parthia stepped forward to make his own particular effort.

Tariq fought back the urge to react. To lash out.

Thankfully, Captain al-Khoury moved in Shahrzad’s direction, and Tariq disliked him a little less for it.

Until the boy-king stopped his cousin, with a single motion of his hand.

Infuriated, Tariq’s eyes shot to his target.

A hint of emotion flashed across the boy-king’s face.

Pride?

The Sultan of Parthia glided before Shahrzad, charm oozing from him like a wasting disease. “Good morning, my lady! I trust you had a nice evening.”

Shahrzad bowed. “I did, my lord. And you?”