The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(41)

“Get out of here,” Shahrzad said to the boy and his friends.

The boy nodded and took off, his friends scampering alongside him.

Somehow, the group of men Shahrzad and Khalid had managed to offend numbered seven. Of this seven, three showed signs of obvious injury, while the other four appeared at a loss of pride more than anything else. Not counting money, of course.

And money counted for a lot.

At the sight of Khalid with his sword at the ready, several of them withdrew their own piecemeal weapons.

Without a word, Khalid advanced.

“Gentlemen!” Shahrzad cut him off. “This seems a bit—premature. I believe this whole situation can be attributed to a misunderstanding. Please accept my sincere apologies for our part in the matter. In truth, this is between myself and the . . . gentleman with the questionable manners from earlier.”

“My questionable manners? Why, you shrewish bitch!” The young man stepped forward.

“That’s enough!” Khalid raised his shamshir into the moonlight, its silver edge glistening with menace.

Poised to kill.

“Stop!” Shahrzad’s tone verged on desperation.

“I said, that’s enough, Shazi. I’ve heard enough,” Khalid said with deadly inflection.

“Yes. Let him do as he pleases, Shazi. Seven to one? I like our odds,” the imbecile continued.

You have no idea what you’re saying. The second-best swordsman in Rey will cut you down, one by one. Without hesitation.

Then the imbecile lifted his rusted scimitar from its sheath.

At that, Shahrzad nocked an arrow to the sinew and loosed it, all in one swift motion. It flew in a perfect spiral, despite the bow’s humble origins and the arrow’s mud-stained fletchings.

And it pierced clean through the imbecile’s wrist.

He howled in agony, dropping the scimitar to the ground with a resounding clang.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Shahrzad had fitted and nocked another arrow onto the string. As she pulled it tight, she felt something give in the sinew.

Oh, God.

Nevertheless, she stalked past Khalid, the arrow held in position against the side of her neck.

“This is where all of you were sorely mistaken. It was never seven to one. And I strongly suggest the seven of you take to your heels and return home. Because the next one who draws a weapon—the next one who takes a single step forward—will find an arrow through his eye. And I can assure you my friend is even less forgiving.”

At the sight of movement to her left, Shahrzad swiveled quickly, her grip on the bow tightening. Again, the sinew unraveled by her ear.

“Don’t test me. You mean nothing to me.”

Her knees shook, but her voice was as cool as a stone beneath the water.

“This is not worth it,” one of the gamblers muttered. He sheathed his weapon and left the alley. Soon, others took his lead, until the only ones remaining were the original troublemaker and his trio of miscreants.

“I believe you’ve had enough, sir.” Shahrzad’s fingers were still wrapped around the bow and arrow.

He grasped his arrow-skewered wrist as his friends exited the alley. His face was contorted with fury and the anguish of a man bested in all ways. Tears of pain trickled down his cheeks, and a glimmer of crimson stained his forearm.

Gritting his teeth against the sting, he snarled, “Have a care, grumpy. Before she ruins you, too.” He left, choking on his wounds.

Shahrzad did not lower the bow until the alley was completely clear.

When she turned around, Khalid was standing there with his shamshir at his side— His expression devoid of emotion.

“That day in the courtyard,” he began. “You didn’t miss the target.”

Shahrzad took a deep breath. “No. I didn’t.”

He nodded.

Then he sheathed his sword.

Do it now. He’s unarmed. This is perfect. Even better than your original plan to ply him with wine and eventually poison him.

“Shazi.”

Do it. Get justice for Shiva—justice for all those girls who died as nothing, without cause or explanation.

“Yes?”

Loose the arrow.

He took a step toward her. His gaze swept down her body, searing wherever it touched.

End this. End this and go to Baba. To Irsa.

To Tariq.

Shahrzad tensed her grip on the weapon still nocked at her side. She inhaled, preparing to fire . . . and the frayed sinew came undone at one end.

Such a worthless coward.

“You are—remarkable. Every day, I think I am going to be surprised by how remarkable you are, but I am not. Because this is what it means to be you. It means knowing no bounds. Being limitless in all that you do.”

With each word, he broke past every barrier, every wall. And Shahrzad’s will fought him, screamed a silent scream, while her heart welcomed the intrusion as a songbird welcomes the dawn.

As the dying find grace in an answered prayer.

She closed her eyes, clenching the useless bow and arrow.

Shiva.

When she opened them again, he was standing before her.

“I didn’t like it when you called me your friend,” he said, a light in his amber eyes.

He raised both palms to either side of her face, angling her chin upward.

“Do you prefer ‘my king’ or ‘sayyidi’?” she choked in dry disgust.