The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(21)

Wary.

And then?

Calm.

“General al-Khoury?”

“Yes, sayyidi.”

“I’d like to introduce you to the Mountain of Adamant.”

The shahrban stared back and forth between the caliph and Shahrzad.

“But, sayyidi . . . I don’t understand. You cannot—”

The caliph swiveled to face the shahrban. “You’re right, General. You do not understand. And you may never understand. Regardless, I’d like to introduce you to the Mountain of Adamant . . .”

The caliph glanced back at Shahrzad, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

“My queen.”





THE BEGINNING IS THE END


TARIQ’S RIDA’ WAS COVERED IN A THICK LAYER OF dust. Sand clung to every exposed part of his skin. His dark bay stallion was sleek with sweat, and white foam was beginning to collect around the iron bit at its mouth.

Rahim’s grumblings grew louder with each passing hour.

But Tariq could see the city gates of Rey looming on the horizon.

And he refused to stop.

“By all that is holy, can we ease our pace for a spell?” Rahim yelled for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Go ahead. Ease your pace. And then tumble from your saddle. You should be quite a feast for the crows,” Tariq shot back.

“We’ve been riding with fire at our backs for two days straight!”

“And, as a result, we’re nearly there.”

Rahim slowed his horse to a canter, rubbing the sweat from his brow. “Don’t misunderstand me; I’m just as concerned about Shazi as you are. But what use will you be to anyone, half starved and near dead?”

“We can sleep under a cloud of perfume once we reach Uncle Reza’s house,” Tariq replied. “We just have to get to Rey. I have to—” He spurred his horse faster.

“It will do you no good to worry so. If anyone can beat the odds, it’s Shazi.”

Tariq reined in his Arabian to match pace with Rahim. “She never should have had to try.”

“This is not your fault.”

“Do you think this is about guilt?” Tariq exploded.

“I don’t know. All I know is that you feel a responsibility to fix it. And I feel a responsibility to you. And to Shazi.”

“I’m sorry,” Tariq said. “I have no right to yell at you. But I would have done anything to prevent this. The thought of her—”

“Stop. Don’t punish yourself.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes.

“I do feel guilty,” Tariq admitted.

“I know.”

“I felt guilty when Shiva died, too.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t know what to say to Shazi after the death of her best friend. After the death of my cousin. I didn’t know what to say to anyone. My mother was a complete disaster. My aunt—well, I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done to prevent her death, in the end. And Shahrzad . . . was just so quiet.”

“That alone unnerved me,” Rahim recalled in a rueful tone.

“I should have known then. I should have seen.”

“Would that you were a seer of the future, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad,” Rahim sighed. “Would that we all were. Instead of being a useless third son, I’d be a rich man in the arms of a beautiful wife . . . with curves for days and legs for leagues.”

“I’m not joking, Rahim. I should have realized she would do something like this.”

“I’m not joking, either.” Rahim frowned. “You can’t foresee the future. And there’s nothing you can do about the past.”

“You’re wrong. I can learn from it . . .” Tariq dug his heels into his stallion’s flanks, and the horse shot forward, painting a dark smudge across the sand. “And I can make sure it never happens again!”

? ? ?


It was midmorning when Tariq and Rahim dismounted from their horses in the middle of Reza bin-Latief’s elegant compound, deep in the heart of Rey. A gleaming oval fountain of mazarine-glazed tile graced the center of the courtyard, and terra-cotta stones cut in an elaborate hexagonal fashion lined the surroundings. Green vines crept up each of the columned arches. At the base of every arch were small flowerbeds filled with violets, hyacinths, daffodils, and lilies. Torches of smelted bronze and iron adorned the walls, awaiting nightfall for the chance to showcase their faceted grandeur.

And yet, for all the home’s beauty, there was an aura of sadness to the space.

A sense of tremendous loss no amount of splendor could ever fill.

Tariq placed Zoraya on her makeshift mews in the far corner of the courtyard. She squawked with discomfort at her new surroundings and the unfamiliar perch, but quieted as soon as Tariq began to feed her.

Rahim crossed his arms, and a cloud of dust puffed out around him. “The damned bird is fed before I am? Where is the justice in this?”

“Ah, Rahim-jan . . . I can see little has changed over the past few years.”

Tariq turned at the sound of this familiar voice.

Standing beneath the curtain of vines in a nearby archway was his uncle.

Both young men stepped forward and lowered their heads, pressing their fingertips to their brows in a sign of respect.