The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(44)

“No, sayyidi. We are still searching.”

Khalid raked his fingers through his black hair, tousling its smooth surface. “Continue the search. Be tireless in your efforts.”

“Yes, sayyidi.” With a hand to his brow, the shahrban exited the antechamber.

Khalid removed the dark rida’ from his shoulders and placed it in his lap. He knew it was likely Shahrzad had sent her family away or that they had fled voluntarily, leaving behind a store of unanswered questions. And he found the timing too coincidental for it to be unrelated to their marriage.

If he could find her family, perhaps he could obtain the answers he so desired.

But would he want these answers once they were within his grasp?

So many issues already plagued him.

He could ask her.

Ask her where she had sent her family. What she was hiding from him.

Why she insisted on tormenting him.

But the thought that she might lie to him—that those eyes, with their unpredictable onslaught of colors, flashing blue one instant and green the next, only to paint his world gold with the bright sound of her laughter—that those eyes might endeavor to conceal the truth, pained him more than he cared to admit.

Because he had lied to her only once.

He balled an edge of the dusty cloak in his fist and heaved it into the corner. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was starting to blur. Now the longer he gazed at things, the harder it was to focus. The pounding in his forehead was growing worse.

A knock at the door to the antechamber stirred him from his thoughts.

“Come in.”

A ghostly figure, garbed solely in white, cut through the darkness into the lamplight. His long beard trailed down his chest.

“Sayyidi.”

Khalid sighed.

“It is worse?” the faqir asked as he took in Khalid’s haggard mien.

“The same.”

“It appears worse, sayyidi.”

“Then it is good you are here.” Khalid’s eyes flashed in warning.

The faqir exhaled slowly. “I’ve told you. I cannot stave off the effects forever. I can only ensure it will not kill you. Eventually, the madness will ensue, sayyidi. You cannot fight it.”

“I understand.”

“Sayyidi, I must implore you. No matter how repugnant, stay the prior course. This option . . . will not end well.”

“Your counsel is noted. And appreciated,” Khalid said in a low tone.

The faqir nodded.

Khalid bowed his head. The faqir raised both his palms to Khalid’s temples, leaving just enough space for silk to pass, then closed his eyes. The air in the antechamber stilled. The flames in the lamps grew tall and lean. When the faqir’s eyes opened once more, they glowed with the light of a full moon. Between his hands, a warm red-orange fireburst spread up and around the entirety of Khalid’s brow. The circle pulsed yellow, then white, spiraling upward all the while, before it retracted back into the faqir’s clawed hands.

Once the magic had faded back to the realm of its origins, the faqir dropped his hands.

Khalid raised his head. The pounding was less profound, if still present, and his eyelids were not as heavy as before. “Thank you.”

“Soon there will come a time when I will not deserve such words, sayyidi.”

“You will always deserve such words, no matter what happens.”

The faqir’s frustration further marred his features. “Would that all of Khorasan could see the king I see, sayyidi.”

“They would not be much impressed. For I did bring all of this upon myself, did I not? And, as a consequence, they have had to endure the unthinkable.”

The faqir bowed with his fingertips to his brow, then floated to the door.

Before exiting, he turned. “How long should a man pay for his mistakes, sayyidi?”

Khalid did not hesitate.

“Until all debts are forgiven.”





THE HONOR OF BETRAYAL


WHEN SHAHRZAD AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, sunlight streamed through the opened screens leading to the terrace. A fresh arrangement of citrus blossoms lay on a small stool next to the raised platform.

At the sight of the white flowers by her bed, her first thought was of Khalid. She stretched her arms, trying her best to ignore the pang of guilt that ensued.

“Do you like them?” Despina asked. “I thought you might.”

Shahrzad raised her head from the pillow. “What?”

“You have a rather strange preoccupation with flowers, so I asked them to bring some to your room.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Despina snorted. “You don’t sound grateful. You sound disappointed.”

Shahrzad rolled over. She rose from the bed and slipped into her shamla.

I hate that she notices everything. Almost as much as I hate her for being right.

As Shahrzad stepped from the platform, Despina removed the lid from the tureen of soup.

And Shahrzad heard her stifle a gasp in the process.

“What’s wrong?” Shahrzad took a seat on the cushions before the low table.

“Nothing,” Despina squeaked.

Shahrzad gazed at her handmaiden, and her heart lurched.

Despina’s brow was beaded with sweat. Her usually flawless coloring of delicate ivory and blushing coral was decidedly green and sallow. Tension darkened every crease. Her graceful fingers trembled next to her beautifully draped dress of lilac linen.