The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(30)

The shadow of her body in flight drew across Tariq’s face, masking his features from the torchlight for an instant.

Reza smiled to himself.

Something to fight for.

And something to use.

? ? ?


The following morning, Rahim was jarred awake by the sound of metal thumping into the wood just outside his open window. He rolled from his bed and lumbered to the sill.

“What the hell are you doing?” he grumbled to Tariq.

“What does it look like?” Tariq lifted the recurve bow and nocked an arrow to the sinew. “We need to leave.”

Rahim glanced up at the sky. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon; it was nothing but a jagged ribbon of light along the eastern rooftops of Rey.

“Did you even sleep?” Rahim yawned.

Tariq let the arrow fly. It thudded into the wood beside Rahim’s head.

Rahim did not flinch. “Was that truly necessary?”

“Get your things. Before my uncle returns and insists we eat with him.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He left while it was still dark outside.” Tariq fitted another arrow to the string and took aim.

“Why are we vanishing like thieves in the night?”

Tariq shot him a look to skewer a stone. “Because I don’t want him to know what we’re doing.”

“Oh? What are we doing?”

“You and your infernal questions!” Tariq loosed the arrow. It coiled in a tight spiral and thunked into the wood, perfectly grouped alongside seven other arrows with matching fletchings.

“All hail Tariq, son of Nasir, Emir of Taleqan. Congratulations. You can shoot an arrow,” Rahim said in a flat tone.

Tariq swore under his breath and started for the window. “I knew I never should have—”

“Calm down.” Rahim scratched at his scalp. “I’ll get my things. But can you tell me the reason for such secrecy?”

Tariq stopped near the open window and took a steadying breath.

“You’re starting to worry me,” Rahim continued. “I know you’re concerned about Shazi, but Reza-effendi said we should wait until—”

“No. I won’t wait. I can’t wait.”

Rahim pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you planning to do?”

“Something. Anything.”

“We still don’t have a plan. And Reza-effendi said to wait. We should wait.”

Tariq leaned a shoulder into the tan stone wall. “I’ve been thinking.”

“I’m listening,” Rahim sighed. “Despite my wiser inclinations.”

“The Badawi tribes along the border of Khorasan and Parthia . . . they’ve notoriously claimed no allegiance to either kingdom. What if we offered them a reason to change their position?”

“What kind of reason?”

“The reason any man fights for a cause. Purpose.”

“Sounds vaguely poetic,” Rahim rejoined. “You’re going to need more than that.”

“Land. The rights to land. The organization they need to demand those rights.”

Rahim shifted his lips to one side in contemplation. “Interesting. But they’re nomadic by nature. Why would they have any interest in land?”

“Some of them may not. But they’ve fought against each other over the centuries, and save an influx of gold, land is the quickest way to gain power and influence. Perhaps one of their leaders might take an interest in fighting alongside us. They may be notoriously ruthless, but they’re also some of the best horsemen I’ve ever encountered. I see nothing but an advantage for both parties.”

Rahim hedged. “It sounds dangerous.”

“It’s worth speaking to them. The worst that can happen is a refusal.”

“Actually, the worst that can happen is that they slit your throat.”

“Yes.” A series of vertical lines formed along the bridge of Tariq’s nose. “There is that. But it was not on my agenda to insult them, in the process.”

“Well, if anyone can talk their way out of a beheading, it’s you.”

“I thank you, Rahim. As always, your abiding confidence in me casts any possibility of doubt astray.”

Rahim countered with a lopsided grin. “Actually, if anyone can talk their way out of a beheading, it’s Shazi. Thankfully, some of that charisma managed to rub off on you.”

“It was never charisma. It was unmatched nerve,” Tariq said in amused remembrance.

“Perhaps you’re right. I could see her daring a cobra to strike, swearing her venom would kill first.”

Tariq smiled. “And she would win.”

“Of that, there is no doubt. In fact, I’m almost certain she terrorized the mighty Caliph of Khorasan until he was nothing but a mewling kitten, cowering in the corner. Who knows—we might be deposing her one day.”

Tariq sombered immediately at the mention of their king. “No. He is not a man to rescind any kind of power with ease.”

“And how would you know this?”

“I just know it,” Tariq snapped. “He murdered my cousin. And now he has Shahrzad. This is a man with nothing but evil in his blood. The only thing to consider when it comes to Khalid Ibn al-Rashid is how many times I wish he could die at my hands. And how unfortunate it is that the answer is only once.”