The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(20)

Shahrzad sat up carefully when she noticed a faint light streaming through the edge of the screens leading to the terrace.

And it begins again.

“For the next few months, the ship sailed the waters in search of the Mountain of Adamant, with Agib managing to keep them safely off course. In that time, he learned a great deal from the emir about his many experiences and, ultimately, about his life. He grew to admire the emir, and the emir soon saw in Agib an intelligent young man with a wide aptitude for knowledge and a courageous heart. Agib became a capable sailor. He realized men could respect him for being more than just a thief—they could respect him for being a man of honor upon whom they could rely. Alas, time did not stand on their side. The aging emir grew sick, and they were forced to turn back to port. Soon, it became clear he was dying. Every day became that much more precious. Agib watched in horror as his mentor, as his friend, began wasting away before his very eyes. He thought about asking the genie if there was a way to save him, but he knew it was beyond the realm of possibility.”

The dawn crept up the screen with a haunting pallor.

“As soon as the boat docked, Agib knew what he had to do. He fled from the boat with nothing but the chalice in hand. Once he cleared the docks, he scrubbed at the chalice’s edge and demanded the genie tell him where he could find the ring. The genie laughed uproariously when he realized Agib was wasting his final wish on such a question, but told Agib the ring was on the pinky finger of one of the most notorious mercenaries in Baghdad. Agib wasted no time seeking him out. The fight that ensued over the ring was bloody and brutal. Agib was forced to turn over his entire trove of spoils in exchange for safe passage through the den of cutthroats. His eyes blackened and his body bruised, he returned to the ship with nothing but the ring in hand.”

Dawn had arrived, in all its white-gold splendor.

And Shahrzad was certain the caliph was aware of it.

She blazed ahead, undeterred. “The emir lay gasping for breath. When he saw Agib, he reached for him. Agib knelt at his bedside and placed the ring on his finger. Through bloodshot eyes, the emir took in Agib’s bruises. ‘My son,’ he rasped, ‘I thank you. From the bottom of my heart.’ Agib began to weep. He started to confess his identity, but the emir stopped him. ‘I knew who you were the moment you came aboard my ship. Promise me that, for the rest of your life, you will not steal from your fellow man. But that you will work alongside him to better the lives of those around you.’ Agib nodded and wept harder. And then, clutching Agib’s hand, the emir died with a peaceful smile on his face. Afterward, Agib discovered the emir had willed his entire estate to him, passing along his title as though Agib were truly his son. Agib soon chose a wife, and the wedding of the new emir was a celebration the like of which Baghdad had not seen in many years.”

Shahrzad stopped, her eyes flitting to the sunlight streaming from the terrace.

“Are you finished?” the caliph asked softly.

She shook her head.

“At the wedding of the new emir was a guest from a faraway land—a magician from Africa in search of a magic lamp. But in truth, he was not really looking for the lamp. He was looking for a young boy. A young boy named Aladdin.”

A muscle rippled along the caliph’s jaw. “This is a new story.”

“No, it’s not. It’s part of the same story.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Shahrzad rose from the bed and grabbed her shamla. With shaking hands, she tied it about her waist.

“Shahrzad—”

“You see, Aladdin was an excellent gambler . . . a trickster of the highest pedigree. His father before him was—”

“Shahrzad.”

“It’s not a different story, sayyidi,” she said in a calm, quiet tone, fisting her hands against the fabric of her robe to hide their treachery.

He unfurled to his feet as another knock struck at the door, this one more insistent than the last.

“Come in,” the caliph instructed.

When four soldiers and the Shahrban of Rey entered her bedchamber, Shahrzad felt the floor beneath her begin to sway. She locked her knees and stood ramrod straight to prevent her body from betraying any sign of weakness.

Why is Jalal’s father here?

“General al-Khoury. Is something wrong?” the caliph asked.

The shahrban bowed before his king, a hand to his brow. “No, sayyidi.” He hesitated. “But . . . it is morning.” His eyes darted in Shahrzad’s direction. He paled, refusing to meet her gaze.

He can’t . . . he . . . does he want to kill me? Why would he want me to die?

When the caliph made no move to stop him, the shahrban motioned to the guards with his head.

They strode to Shahrzad’s side.

And her heart . . . her heart flew into her throat.

No!

A guard reached for her arm. When his hand closed around her wrist, Shahrzad saw the caliph’s features tighten. She yanked her arm from the guard’s grasp, as though it were a flame held too near her flesh.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled.

When another guard seized her shoulder, she slapped his hand out of the way.

“Are you deaf? How dare you touch me? Do you know who I am?” A note of panic entered her voice.

Not knowing what else to do, she locked upon her enemy.

The tiger-eyes were . . . torn.