Free Read Novels Online Home

The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) by Renée Ahdieh (6)

A GATEWAY BETWEEN WORLDS

SHAHRZAD KNEW SHE WAS DREAMING.

Knew it and did not care.

For she was home.

Her bare feet trod upon cool stone as they made their way down the cavernous corridors toward the doors of her chamber. With her heart in her throat, she took hold of one handle and pushed it open.

It was dark. A deep-blue dark. The kind that brought the cold with it, no matter the temperature.

The marble floor was covered in a gently curling fog. It pooled waist-deep, like thick white smoke, from wall to wall. As she took a slow step forward, it parted around her like a ghostly sea, cleaved by the prow of a haunted ship.

A warm light began to glow in the center of the chamber. It hung above her bower—a silent sentinel, surrounded by a veil of diaphanous silk.

In the middle of a platform of cushions sat a lone figure, shrouded in shadow.

“Khalid?”

Shahrzad moved through the fog at a quicker pace, her eyes squinting through the blue darkness and the gossamer veil—

Struggling to catch a glimpse of the face she so longed to see.

The figure shifted. Moved aside a swath of spider-silk.

“No, Shazi-jan. I am not he. But I hope you’ll forgive this intrusion.” The figure smiled at her with the knowing smile of secrets past, present, and future.

And Shahrzad stumbled, barely squelching a cry.

A bubble of laughter burst from the jewel-toned cushions, so familiar and so full of light that it tore at Shahrzad’s heartstrings.

How many times had she wished to hear that sound just once more?

She’d been willing to kill for it.

“Shiva?” Shahrzad whispered in disbelief as she rounded the foot of the bed and reached for the silk curtain.

“Come!” Shiva said, patting the space beside her.

Shahrzad’s hands shook as she pushed aside a pane of gossamer and knelt onto the cushions. As if in a trance, she stared at her best friend, waiting for her to disappear.

Waiting for the crushing emptiness that was sure to follow.

Shiva smiled, impish and full of life. A single dimple marred her left cheek, as perfectly imperfect as always.

The image tore at yet another heartstring. For just as Shahrzad knew this to be a dream, she knew she would have to wake at some point.

And face this for the lie that it was.

The dimple appeared again as Shiva hooked a fall of dark hair behind an ear. “Silly goose. Just because we’re in a dream doesn’t mean this is a lie.”

“So you’re in my head now?” Shahrzad retorted.

“Of course! I’ve always been here.” Shiva rested her chin on one knee. “I’ve just been waiting until you needed me.”

“But”—Shahrzad caught herself, surprised by a sudden wash of anger—“I’ve needed you so many times, Shiva.”

“No, you haven’t. I’ve watched you. You’ve done splendidly on your own.” The edges of Shiva’s eyes crinkled with pride.

“But I haven’t,” Shahrzad continued. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I fell in love with the boy responsible for your death!”

“You did. And that was difficult to watch, at times. Especially the morning you almost died.”

“I betrayed you.”

“No, you goose. You didn’t betray me. I told you; I was here the whole time. And I have a confession to make . . .” Shiva’s eyes drifted sideways, sparkling with sly awareness. Filled with vibrant light. “The moment I saw him running toward you that morning, I knew you were going to save him, just as he saved you.” When Shiva reached a hand toward hers, Shahrzad jumped at its warmth.

It felt so real. So achingly alive.

Again, Shiva smiled, her slender shoulders easing forward with lissome grace. “It feels real because you remember me this way. And it’s lovely to be remembered as warm and perfectly imperfect.” Shiva laced her fingers through Shahrzad’s and held tight.

For a moment, the tension in Shahrzad’s throat made it difficult to speak. “I’m—so sorry for loving him, Shiva-jan. So sorry for not being stronger.”

“What a ridiculous thing to apologize for!” Shiva’s fine-boned features looked doll-like in her outrage. “You should know better. Never apologize for such nonsense again. You of all people should know what happens when you disobey me.” She shook a fist, laughing teasingly as she brought to mind their many childhood squabbles. Shahrzad could not help but join in her laughter, until its chorus filled the space around them.

“I don’t want to wake up.” The laughter died on Shahrzad’s lips, its echo calling back to her from beyond the double doors. From a gateway between worlds.

“And I don’t want you to wake up,” Shiva said. “Yet, when the time comes, you will wake up, all the same.”

“Perhaps we should just stay here.”

“I think not.” Shiva’s mouth crooked into a melancholy smile. “After all, you were not looking for me when you first arrived. You were looking for him.” It was not an accusation. Merely an observation. Shiva had always been like that—incapable of withholding the truth but incapable of cruelty. A rare kind of person. The best kind of friend.

Shahrzad averted her gaze. “I—don’t know that I can ever look for him again. Not with the curse—”

“Then you must break it,” Shiva interrupted. “That is beyond question. What remains is how you intend to go about doing so. Have you made a plan?”

Though Shahrzad had intended to seek Musa Zaragoza soon for this exact purpose, she could not answer Shiva. She wasn’t yet sure how to proceed. Even as a child, she’d gone through much of life on instinct. That and sheer nerve.

It was Shiva who had been the planner. Shiva who had always thought ahead of what was to come.

“See?” Shiva said, her forehead smoothing. “This is why I came to you tonight, my dearest love. You’re lost. And it simply will not do.”

Shahrzad watched as the fog spread toward the ceiling, wrapping its wraithlike arms around the platform and curling about the single taper above. “I don’t know where to begin,” she admitted, her voice fading into the fog.

“Why don’t you start by saying aloud what it is you wish for?”

Could she even dare to say such a thing? After all the death and bloodshed and senseless destruction, it seemed like the worst kind of selfishness.

To build her world upon a bower of bones.

“So tiresome.” Shiva nudged her in jest. “This is your dream, you goose! If you cannot say what it is you desire in your own dream, then where can you dare to say it?”

Shahrzad saw herself reflected in Shiva’s gaze.

It was a shell of the girl she knew. A girl hunched forward, reticent. A girl absent—from life, and of life.

She squared her shoulders. “I want to be with Khalid. I want my father to be well. And . . . I want the curse to be broken.”

“There she is,” Shiva said, amusement leavening her tones.

“But are such things possible?” Shahrzad countered. “For they do not seem so.”

“Then how does one go about making the impossible, possible?”

Shahrzad shrugged, her expression morose. “You’d have better luck asking me how to make a goat fly.”

“Very well, then.” Shiva nodded, an air of solemnity about her. “How does one make a goat fly?”

“Tie it to a very large kite.”

“It wouldn’t get far, as it’s tied to a string.”

“Be serious.”

“I’m very serious!” Shiva laughed, letting the sound carry beyond the encroaching fog and past the silent sentinel above. “What if you were to put the goat on your floating carpet? Perhaps it would fly then?” Her eyes shone with a suspicious light.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It was just a thought.” Shiva waved a hand through a whorl of white smoke. “But, if you ask me, the best way to go about flying is to cut the strings tying you down . . .” Her words began to sound muffled, as though she were underwater, yet her smile continued to burn bright.

“Cut the strings, Shazi. Fly.

Shahrzad woke with a start.

Their tent was awash in black. Her sister’s breaths had long ago lapsed into the rhythm of a deep sleep, and the sound of a lulling desert wind buffeted the stitched walls.

Her throat was dry, but her heart was full.

She waited for the crushing emptiness to follow when she realized her dream had ended with so many things left unsaid.

It never came.

For the first time since she’d fled the city of Rey nearly a week ago, she didn’t feel lost and quite so alone. She had found a means to achieve her purpose. And her purpose had a weight she could bear.

Something she could truly fight for.

“Cut the strings, Shazi. Fly.”

Thank you, Shiva.

Careful not to disturb Irsa, Shahrzad stepped into her sandals to take in some air. She stole her sister’s shahmina and draped the long triangle of cloth over her head to shield herself from a chilly desert night. Then she made her way to the entrance of the tent, securing its flap shut behind her—

Before sprawling across the body lying in wait outside.

“Uff!” Shahrzad rolled into the sand.

Strong hands grabbed her, pinning her down. A vision of a hooded soldier flashed through her mind. An angry soldier with a scarab brand and a weapon meant for war.

She struck out against a wall of muscle. Slapped at a face hewn from stone. Stared back into eyes the silver of sharp knives.

Tariq’s heart pounded over hers.

“Get off me!” she said, dismayed to feel her cheeks flush.

He pushed to his feet, taking her with him in one lithe movement.

“What are you—”

“What the hell—”

She shoved away from him, crossing her arms.

He knocked the sand from his hair with a vicious swipe of a hand.

“You first,” Tariq said in a sullen voice that brought to mind a much younger version of himself. One with a lazy smile and a penchant for pranks.

One Shahrzad much preferred at that moment.

“That’s quite gallant of you. After you’ve ignored me for the better part of a week, like a boy half your age with twice your charm.”

His lips stayed poised between silence and speech for the span of several breaths.

“You—are awful, Shazi. Just awful.” He rubbed a palm across his face, but not before Shahrzad saw the look of aggrievement he failed to mask.

She squeezed her elbows, refusing to reach out and comfort him. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how natural it felt to comfort the boy she’d loved for so long.

“I know I’m awful. So it begs the question: Why are you here?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question, several times . . . especially as I lay in the cold sand, keeping watch over an awful girl. One with little sense of gratitude and no sense of loyalty.”

It was as though he’d doused her with icy water.

Fending off a fresh wave of guilt, she whirled away, her cheeks aflame.

Tariq chased after her, taking hold of her arm.

Shahrzad threw him off. “Don’t touch me, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad! Don’t you dare!” She was horrified to feel the sting of tears behind her eyes. Not once had she cried in the past few days. Not when they’d found her father’s huddled figure on a cloud-darkened slope. Not when she’d turned to take in a final glimpse of her burning city behind her.

Not even when she’d learned Tariq had promised Jalal never to bring her back.

Tariq drew her close without a second thought.

“Stop it.” She splayed both hands against his chest as angry tears began to well. “I don’t need you!”

You deserve someone who will feel you at her side without needing to see you.

And I’ve only felt that way about one boy.

“Stop trying to hurt me, you awful girl,” he said grimly. “It won’t work. At least not in the way you hope it will.”

Hot tears slipped down her face. Yet she refused to lean on him. Refused to succumb to such weakness.

With a weary sigh, Tariq wrapped his arms around her.

They felt solid, certain, safe.

They felt like everything she’d ever loved about being young and free. The scent of sand and salt on his skin; the wild feeling of falling and knowing someone would always be there to catch her or, at the very least, tend to her wounds; the newness of all things . . . and of love, especially.

“Rahim told me what happened.” Tariq’s fingers shifted to the nape of her neck as they had so many times before, so many years past. He lowered his voice; it rumbled, rich and resonant against her, almost decadent. A luxury she no longer needed nor deserved. “I’ll beat that boy bloody for even thinking such things.”

No.

Shahrzad pushed away from him. “It isn’t your place. I’ve already spoken to Teymur. He won’t pursue the matter further.”

Tariq’s eyes flashed. “My place?”

“I’ve handled the matter, Tariq. Do nothing, as it would serve no purpose, save to shed more blood. And I’ve had enough of that.” She shouldered her way past him.

He cut her off, his jaw jutting forward, his fists at his sides. “Would you shackle the boy-king in such a manner?”

“Don’t compare yourself to Khalid. It’s childish and beneath you.”

Tariq winced, but stood his ground. “Answer me, Shazi. Would you tell him it wasn’t his place to rage against this boy for what he did to you?”

She paused. “Yes.”

“And he would listen to you?” His brows gathered in disbelief.

“He . . . would listen.”

Then do exactly as he pleased.

“You’re lying,” Tariq scoffed. “I don’t believe for a moment that butcher you call a husband would let that boy see another dawn after what he did to you.”

“What Khalid would do is none of your concern.” She was dangerously close to shouting. “And I’m finished discussing this incident and my butcher of a husband with you!” Shahrzad sliced a hand through the air with finality.

“So now you think it’s your place to control what happens in this camp?” Tariq said. “Is that why that sniveling boy was returned to his people, like a child to be scolded? Did you honestly think—”

“I honestly thought nothing would be served from shedding more blood. Teymur was taken to the Emir of Karaj’s tent to be dealt with accordingly. And it is my place to decide how to deal with this matter. It is not”—she jabbed a finger into his chest—“your place to dole out justice on my behalf!”

“Do you truly believe the emir will punish him for what he did today? He won’t. And now I have no idea where Teymur is. For I doubt that fiend was sent away to be dealt with, as you’d so like to believe. He’s gone and, with him, all sense of justice!” Tariq threw his arms wide, his face marred by exasperation. “Did you know Teymur was set to marry into the emir’s family? It’s possible the emir even put him up to the task.”

“You will not seek revenge on my behalf, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. I forbid—”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “I will do as I damned well please, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” His voice was raw in its torment. “I denied myself what I wanted once out of principle, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret that decision with every fiber of my being!”

The sound of his anguish spiraled up into a desert night, across a vast spread of tiny stars.

Through Shahrzad’s very skin.

Without a word, Shahrzad took his hand and led him into the desert, far beyond the enclave of tents. When she finally turned to face him, Tariq appeared to have aged a decade in a matter of moments.

They stared at each other across a small sea of glittering sand. Across years of friendship and trust, seemingly lost in an instant.

“Do you ever think about that night?” Tariq could not meet her eyes as he posed the quiet question.

For a time, she was unsure how to respond.

“You did the right thing,” Shahrzad said, studying the infinite grains as they slid around her toes. “I put you in an impossible situation. An inappropriate one.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

She lifted her gaze. “Yes. I’ve thought about it.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, this boy who was never awkward, hurting her heart with his uncommon awkwardness. “May I ask why you came to my room that night?”

Tariq deserved her honesty. For all those stolen kisses in shadowed corners. For all those years of unfailing love.

For starting a war to save her.

She held his gaze, though the ache in her chest made her want to run far and fast.

“Because I wanted to feel.”

“Shahrzad—”

“I wanted—no, needed—to feel something.” There was a gentle resolve to her words. “I thought that, if I lost myself in your arms, I might feel something again. Then I could mourn for Shiva and move on. But you were right to turn me away. I never resented you for it. Please believe me when I say that,” she finished in a soft tone.

Tariq was silent for a long while. She watched the pain in his eyes fade, replaced by bitter resignation. “I believe you. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve resented myself almost every day since.” He took two steps toward her and stopped, hesitant.

Shahrzad sensed his indecision. Her fingers gripped the folds of Irsa’s shahmina.

He’s waiting for me to ask him why.

And he’s afraid of what will happen when I do.

Her toes curled within her sandals, grinding the silt against her skin. “Why have you resented yourself?”

Tariq pressed his lips into a thin line. The muscles in his neck leapt out as he swallowed hard. He appeared to be arranging his words before speaking, again so uncharacteristic of her first love.

Then his eyes found hers and held them, fierce in their conviction. “Because I know that, had I given us both what we wanted that night, you would be my wife now, instead of his.”

Her head snapped back, aghast. “Is—is that what you thought I was doing?” Shahrzad managed to sputter. “That I went to your room as the daughter of a poor librarian, planning to leave as the wife of a future emir?” She glared up at him, propping her arms akimbo. “It was not my intention to force you into marriage, you arrogant ass! Had I shared your bed that night, I would never have expected you to propose marriage the following day!”

“My God, is that what you think I’m saying?”

“What else am I supposed to think when—”

He shot forward, covering her mouth with his hand. Silently pleading for a stay of execution.

After a beat, Shahrzad nodded, though her indignation hummed through the air. Tariq removed his palm and she detected the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. A trace of the boy she’d always known. And greatly missed in the past few days.

With a deepening frown, Shahrzad seized the edges of Irsa’s shahmina and folded them across her chest. “Well, then, what did you mean to say?”

“I meant to say,” he began anew, “that if you’d stayed with me that night, I would have gone to see your father the next morning—”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he resumed his silent entreaty.

Then he stepped closer. “But it would not have been because I felt obligated to go,” Tariq said, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, tentatively at first, then with a decisive weight. “It would have been because I did not want to wait a single day more . . . and it would have been wrong. My cousin had been murdered a fortnight before. My aunt had thrown herself from her balcony three days later. How could I go to your father—to my parents—and ask to marry you?”

His features had softened while he spoke, though his voice had lost none of its intensity. In that moment, Shahrzad was reminded of how all eyes managed to stray toward him in a room, unbidden. Of how he took up too much space and never seemed to notice.

His hands fell loose at his sides as he waited for her to collect her thoughts and speak.

When she did, it was her turn to feel awkward and at a loss. “I—would never have expected you to do such a thing.”

Again, a trace of amusement flashed across his face. “You continue to wound me, you awful girl. Because I know. Had I spent a single night with you, I would never have wished for us to be parted from that day forward.”

Shahrzad wanted to stop him from speaking further. From saying anything he might regret.

What can I do to spare him any more pain?

But Tariq took her by the chin, resolute in his course, tipping her gaze to his.

“Ever since the afternoon I watched you fall from the battlements at Taleqan, you’ve felt inevitable to me. That’s how much I love you.” His words were effortless. Just as always. “But you can no longer say the same about me, can you?”

She could not look him in the eye.

“Please answer me, Shazi,” he said. “It’s time I heard the truth. I . . . deserve to hear it.”

When Shahrzad studied his face, she realized that—over the course of the last few days—he’d been bracing himself for this moment.

Though it would not make it any easier for either of them.

She exhaled slowly.

“I do love you, Tariq.” With great care, Shahrzad settled a palm against his cheek. “But . . . he’s where I live.”

Tariq covered her hand with one of his. Nodded once. The only acknowledgment beyond this was the smallest movement of muscle along his jaw. A staving-off of emotion that betrayed him far more than any onslaught of tears ever would.

“I’m so sorry for hurting you,” Shahrzad whispered, the ache in her chest flooding into her throat. She pressed her free palm to his other cheek, conveying her regret through touch. Silly, she knew, but she could not fathom how else to make amends for such betrayal.

Tariq eased back, his expression oddly distanced. “I knew you were in love with him when I saw you together in Rey. But . . . I’ve been a fool, clinging to misbegotten hope.”

“Please know—” Shahrzad pressed her lower lip between her teeth, certain she would draw blood. “I never meant to cause you pain.”

“My pain was my own fault. Rahim told me what you said to Teymur today—that your heart was with me, as it always would be.”

The taste of copper and salt struck her tongue. “I—”

“You lied to save yourself. I understand,” he said in a flat tone. “But you must know that Teymur will tell the Emir of Karaj, and the rumor will spread.”

She blinked at him, bewildered by this sudden change of tack. Gone was any sign of vulnerability. In its place was a severe brow and a set demeanor.

An abrupt return to the distance of before.

“You’ll be safer in this camp—especially among the butcher-king’s enemies—if we keep up appearances,” he finished.

Though she had little intention of staying at the camp for long, Shahrzad knew she should say something. If not in defense of herself or of Khalid, then at least in defense of Tariq.

She shook her head, gripping the shahmina even tighter. “I can’t ask you to do that. I won’t ask you to do that. It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” Tariq agreed. “But you have yet to ask me to abandon this war.”

Her eyes went wide in surprise. “Would you do that? Is such a thing even possible?”

“Even if it were, I would not.” Tariq did not hesitate in his response. “When I set out to do something, I do not go about it lightly. And shirking my responsibility would not only be a failure to those around me, but a failure to myself.”

“To those around you?” Anger flared within her, sudden and bright. “Do you know what kind of men are around you, Tariq?” She thought of the sentry outside the tent that morning. Of the Fida’i brand seared into his skin. “You’ve surrounded yourself with mercenaries—hired outlaws and assassins from all walks of life—in an attempt to overthrow a king you know nothing about! Khalid is not—”

“Hired outlaws and assassins?” Tariq laughed caustically. “Listen to yourself, Shazi! Do you know who your husband is? Have you not heard the stories about the Caliph of Khorasan? The murdering madman? Did he or did he not kill Shiva—your best friend?” He drew out the last two words, enunciating their meaning.

Articulating her treachery.

She bit back her retort. “The truth is not that simple.”

“Love has blinded you to the truth. But it will not blind me,” Tariq said, though his eyes pooled with feeling. “There is only one remaining truth of import: Is he responsible for my cousin’s death?”

Shahrzad stared at him in injured silence. “Yes.”

For no matter the tale, it was the truth.

“Then it is that simple.”

“Tariq, please.” She reached for him. “You said you love me. I beg you to reconsider—”

He backed away. Trying so hard to conceal his pain. “I do love you. Nothing will change that. Just as nothing will change the fact that he killed my cousin and stole the girl I love from me.” Shahrzad watched in horror as his hand fell to the hilt of his scimitar, gripping it tight.

Though he nearly tripped in his haste to retreat, Tariq’s voice did not waver.

“Make no mistake—the next time I see Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, one of us will die.”