The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(14)

Shahrzad held her smile, refusing to fall prey to his attempt to bait her with the weapon of her choice.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked.

“Whatever you think is best.”

He nodded. “I think this will work for our purposes.” With a knowing grin, he took the recurve bow from the rack and strode in line with the targets positioned fifty paces away.

As she followed him, Shahrzad grimaced at her thoughtlessness in disclosing an aptitude for archery.

What’s done is done. But in the future, do better.

She reached up and coiled her wavy black hair into a knot on the nape of her neck. Then she shrugged off her cumbersome mantle and handed it to Despina. A faint desert breeze cooled the bare skin at her arms and stomach. Her fitted silver top had a square neckline and tiny, capped sleeves. A silk sash of cobalt blue hung low across her hips, its pearl-embroidered ends trailing against the ground. Silver slippers kicked up tufts of sand with each step she took.

Shahrzad slung the quiver onto her shoulder, and Jalal handed her the recurve bow.

A crowd of curious onlookers had begun to gather off to the side. Despina and the Rajput stood out front, still sporting their respective looks of unease and disgust.

Shahrzad placed her feet close together as she tugged an arrow from the quiver and struggled to position it on the sinewed string.

Jalal was markedly unconvinced.

When Shahrzad nocked the arrow back, the thin strip of wood struck against the handle of the bow as it trembled in her purportedly ignorant grasp.

“Is this right?” she asked Jalal.

“No. It’s not.” He snorted. “But you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to teach me, or not?” she demanded.

He laughed. “Put your left foot forward so that your stance is shoulder-width apart.”

She did as she was told.

“Now relax your grip and lower your elbows. Use the sights positioned on the bow grip to aim.”

Shahrzad almost sneered. She hadn’t needed sights since she was thirteen. Tariq had seen to that.

“Once you’ve settled your sights, pull the arrow back as far as you can and release it.”

When she loosed the arrow, it spun in the general direction of the target before it floated to the ground, twenty paces shy of its destination.

Shahrzad looked over at Jalal. He remained dubious.

“Did your ‘cousin’ explain draw weight to you?”

She shook her head.

He exhaled before stepping closer to her. “I chose this bow because it has a lower draw weight. I suspect this is the reason you chose that particular quiver of arrows. Meaning this bow and this arrow will work in tandem to help you draw back without having to use a great deal of upper body strength. Which is especially beneficial for smaller archers, like you.”

“So draw weight is about size?”

“I think it’s more about speed and accuracy. If you don’t have to expend a lot of energy firing a single arrow, it makes it easier to nock another one into position quickly. You also tend to be more accurate when you’re not straining yourself.”

“It makes sense,” Shahrzad agreed.

“I’m sure it does.” He grinned.

She ignored his meaningful tone as she reached back for another arrow. After she fitted it into position on the sinewed bowstring, her eyes darted to his face.

“You must know the caliph well,” she began.

His amusement faded slightly. “I’ve known Khalid since he was a little boy.”

“Are you good friends?”

“No.”

“I see.” She drew back the arrow farther and released it. This time, it sailed much closer to its target, but still managed to land buried in the sand.

“I’m older than he is, by two years. His brother, Hassan, and I grew up together; we were very close. When Hassan died, I tried to extend a hand to Khalid, but . . .” He shrugged. “He never took it.”

Shahrzad turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“It isn’t easy to lose your best friend. At least, I can’t imagine it would be.”

“Thank you for saying so. But Khalid lost his older brother. His father died the following year. And because of that terrible incident with his mother . . . he was only fourteen when he took the throne. Fourteen and alone. I’m sure you have an idea of what came after.”

I don’t care. There is no excuse for the monster he’s become. He’s had four years to grow accustomed to being king. And as for what came after . . .

When Jalal saw the look on Shahrzad’s face, he took a step in her direction.

“Please understand; I’m not making . . . excuses.” His voice was very soft.

Shahrzad twisted away from him and snatched another arrow from the quiver at her back. She stopped herself when she realized she had fitted the arrow and nocked it in a seamless motion ill-befitting a novice.

Jalal laughed. “I’m sorry, but I’m now convinced I’ve earned the right to ask for a favor, Shahrzad.”

“And why do you think that?” she said under her breath.

“Because my silence has a price.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”