The Wrath and the Dawn(92)

Khalid froze in time. Then Shahrzad watched his face shatter. The eyes of molten amber faded to dull memory. Faded to ruin. His raw anguish seared her soul and robbed her of breath. The bloodstained shamshir fell to his side.

“I will kill you for that,” Shahrzad choked over her shoulder.

His laughter was a vicious rumble against her back.

“What do you want?” Khalid asked quietly.

“Drop your weapon.”

The shamshir struck the marble with a sharp clang. Without the slightest hesitation.

Her captor sneered in triumph. “Tell them to drop their weapons.”

“Stop it!” Shahrzad cried.

Look at me, Khalid. Please! Do not listen to this animal.

Her captor withdrew his hand from the back of her head and seized Shahrzad’s chin, angling her jaw higher. Pressing his dagger closer.

“Jalal. Vikram. Do as he says.” Khalid’s voice was heavy. Mired in acceptance.

“Khalid!” Shahrzad despaired. “Don’t do this. Jalal, don’t listen to him. You can’t—”

“Say one more word, and I’ll make certain it’s your last.” He shifted his hand from her chin to her mouth.

Shahrzad bit down on his flesh as hard as she could. The taste of salt and sweat rushed onto her tongue. Her captor bellowed, slackening his hold. She rammed her elbow into his midsection, and his dagger slid back across her throat, leaving behind a white-hot trail. Then a pair of strong arms yanked her aside, pulling her into a bloodstained chest.

Khalid’s heart thudded around her, loud and fast. It raced against her cheek, each beat an unspoken promise.

And, for a breath of time, it was enough.

The Rajput slammed her captor to the floor. Jalal shoved a knee into his torso and smashed a jeweled hilt across his jaw.

“In what world did you think you could get away with this?” Jalal seethed. “To my cousin? To my family?” His gleaming hilt continued its punishing onslaught.

“Enough!” Khalid pronounced the word with such force, such unmitigated fury, that it stilled all sound within the chamber. He reached down for his shamshir, and the blade dragged across the marble in a threatening skirr.

Without further prompting, Jalal stepped back from the man and strode to Shahrzad’s side. The Rajput melted into the shadows nearby, his huge hands wrapped around his talwar, and his bearded features coldly feral in the moonlight.

Khalid walked forward.

The man was lying on the floor, blood coursing from his mouth and his nose. When he saw Khalid looming above him, he began to laugh in a broken rasp.

Khalid positioned the end of the blade to the man’s throat. “She was right. You are a dead man. But I’m willing to discuss degrees of pain.”

The man’s wheezing laughter grew louder.

“Who sent you?” Khalid continued in a savage whisper.

“Someone who wants to see you suffer.”

“Tell me, and I will spare you a measure of the pain you greatly deserve.”

The man coughed, and streaks of crimson spurted from his swollen mouth. “Do you think I fear you, boy?”

“I will ask one last time. Then the answer will be torn from your lips.”

“You think to thwart the hands of fate? No matter how long you try to fight it, you will pay the price, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid.” The man’s eyes shot to Shahrzad with irrefutable significance.

“We are now past words.” Khalid eased his sword into the man’s neck, drawing a thin stream of blood. “In this, I am definitely my father’s son.”

The man’s laughter turned maniacal. “You wish to know who sent me, mighty King of Kings? I’ll tell you,” he gasped, starting to choke. “Someone who knows.”

With that, he dragged his own throat across the edge of the blade.

Jalal grabbed Shahrzad and tucked her face into his shoulder. Her hands shook against him, and he pressed his palm to her cheek in an effort to soothe her.

The Rajput crouched beside her captor’s body. He ran his depthless black eyes across the man’s motionless form. Then he pulled back the dark sleeve covering the man’s right forearm. In the pale light of the moon spilling from the terrace, Shahrzad saw a faint mark seared into his skin: the outline of a scarab.

“A Fida’i dog,” the Rajput grumbled like distant thunder.

Khalid regarded the brand in silence before turning away. With a low curse, he heaved his shamshir across the room.