The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) (24 page)

His touch was silk over steel. It made her hot and cold all at
once. His kisses were the perfect mix of hard and soft. Practiced and unrestrained.

When she tried to tug him closer, Khalid was careful. Too careful.

As always, Shahrzad wanted more. She wound her fingers in the front of his borrowed
qamis
, wordlessly telling him so. He stilled her, capturing her face between his palms.

Shahrzad sighed, silently cursing her injuries. “I hate that I’m not going with you.”

“And I hate that I’m leaving you behind. Leaving you amongst all this—chaos.” Khalid’s features tightened at the edges.

The reminder brought back another equally pressing matter she’d nearly lost sight of.

Her eyes drifted about the room. “Where is it, Khalid?”

Her father’s book. The reason for so much death and chaos.

Khalid reached beneath the bed pallet, then lifted the small bundle her sister had been clutching by the well. “Irsa left it with me last night,” he said quietly. “I kept it within arm’s reach, along with my sword and your dagger.”

“Irsa?” Shahrzad almost smiled at the familiarity. “She gave you permission to call her that?”

“In a fashion,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind an ear.

“You once said you had no intention of being beloved by your people, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid. Yet you’ve managed to win over several of your harshest critics in a single evening.” Shahrzad grinned without reserve.

“Irsa was one of my harshest critics?” He arched a brow.

“She’s my sister. Of course she was.”

The hint of a smile touched his lips. Shahrzad’s heart warmed at the sight.

From beyond the tent, the loud bleating of a goat brought them back to the present.

“I should go.” Khalid pushed aside the bloodied bandages on the floor to reach beneath the bed pallet a second time. He collected his sword and her dagger, placing them with her father’s book, still wrapped in a length of coarse brown linen.

“And the key?” Shahrzad whispered.

Khalid tugged the silver chain from around his neck. The black key hung over his heart, alongside the jade talisman. The very sight of both sent a shiver down Shahrzad’s spine.

She brought her hand to Khalid’s chest to cover the cold metal. “Destroy it as soon as you can. Tonight, if possible. Waste no time.”

He nodded once. “I’ll ride through the day and destroy it as soon as the sun sets.” Khalid rested his forehead against hers. “I’ll return for you as soon as I can.”

“No. I’ll come to
you
.”

Khalid smiled before pressing another heart-stopping kiss to her throat. Then he tucked the dagger into his
tikka
sash and disappeared beneath the tent flap.

An unexpected chill fell over the tent.

And Shahrzad realized how very dark it still was.

It was the cold that woke Jahandar.

He could not recall the last time he’d felt so cold.

His mind was battered and waterlogged, as though he’d been
tossed about at sea. His throat felt as though it had been stuffed with silk thread. Dry-mouthed and disoriented, Jahandar reached for the book atop his chest, seeking its reassuring warmth.

But it was not there.

In a sudden panic, his eyes flew open.

He sat up in his bedroll, his useless blankets peeling away like an onion’s skin. His tent was still shaded in the cloak of night. Dawn had barely broken through the tent seams, trickling down in fractured beams of light.

Jahandar passed his palms across the bedroll. Then across the floor beside him. Then farther into the darkness.

Still he could not find the book.

His panic mounting, he reached for the key around his neck.

It, too, was gone.

Realization came crashing down on him in a flash of light.

Someone had stolen the book and key from him. His sluggish head and his swollen tongue were proof positive that someone had drugged him with a mind to pilfer his most prized possessions.

Someone had fooled him and fleeced him.

In a fit of rage, Jahandar bolted to his feet, kicking aside the brass lamp positioned next to his bedroll. The oil dripped from its innards in a slow dribble, filling the air with its pungent aroma.

Reminding him of the power lying dormant in the most innocuous of things.

Indeed, with a mere snap of his fingers, Jahandar possessed the power to set fire to the whole of this camp.

Or, rather,
had
possessed the power.

For he did not yet know the toll the storm had taken on his abilities. Nor did Jahandar know the full price he’d been forced to pay to wield such awesome ability.

He needed the book to restore himself back to his former graces.

Needed
it to assist Reza with his efforts.

Jahandar paced from one end of his tiny tent to the other, his mind a constant flicker of thoughts, the thoughts piling one on top of another, turning tinder to flame.

There were only three people in the camp who knew of the book.

One of them had prepared his tea last night—the tea that had likely brought about his unusually restful slumber.

Another had been asking about the book for the past three days. Had asked to see the book, and learn of its contents. The book that had, until then, been of little import to anyone, save Jahandar.

Jahandar stopped pacing.

Had he been deceived by his own flesh and blood? Had his own children fleeced him? And then taken from him his one true chance to be a man of power and influence?

A man worthy of consideration.

Jahandar’s hands clenched tightly into fists. He reached for his cloak, the rage building. Passing into his arms and chest.

Swirling through his mind in a storm of hot fury.

The last of these individuals would help Jahandar get the book back.

For this man had just as much to lose by its disappearance.

Just as much to gain by its use.

Jahandar may not be sure of much anymore, but of that he was certain.

Just as he knew he would do anything to get the book back.

Even beg, barter, or steal.

Even murder.

Shahrzad knew she should leave Tariq’s tent.

She’d been inside almost all afternoon.

Though her shoulder was still sore and her body still weak from the past night’s ordeal, it was time to return to her own tent. To proceed as though all were well. For if she spent another night in Tariq’s tent, someone was bound to take notice.

And such a thing would not bode well for either of them, in the long run. Despite their feigned relationship.

She rose to her feet and winced at the sudden flare of pain that shot down one side of her body.

Her mouth and throat were parched. With a frown, Shahrzad reached for the tumbler of tonic by her bedside and nearly toppled over in the process. Cursing under her breath, she righted herself before taking a long swallow of the bitter liquid.

If she never again drank anything steeped in barley or willow bark, it would be too soon.

I cannot remain so weak. Especially since I will need to journey to Rey shortly.

Fighting to stand straight, she squared her
qamis
and wrapped her
shahmina
to conceal the thick wrappings banded about her shoulder. For a moment, she thought to wait until Irsa returned to help. Her sister had, strangely, disappeared after bringing the
tonic to her bedside over an hour ago, and Shahrzad had no intention of continuing to lounge about in idle solitude.

“Shahrzad-
jan
?”

She almost dropped the tumbler. Trying to maintain her composure, Shahrzad tugged the
shahmina
even tighter about her. “Uncle Reza.” She set down the tumbler, balling her hands into fists to conceal their sudden quaking.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiled with undisguised warmth, his brown eyes almost liquid in the afternoon sun shining from beneath the tent flap.

“I wasn’t startled.” Shahrzad swallowed. “Are you looking for Tariq?”

“No.” Reza eyed the rumpled bed pallet. “I was looking for you. May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Actually, I was on my way back to my tent to meet Irsa. Is it a matter of import?”

“Somewhat.” He stepped to one side. “I can walk with you, if you don’t mind. My tent is on the way.”

Though she felt discomfited by his persistence, Shahrzad could think of no reason to demur. “Of course.”

Reza held open the tent flap for her. A guard stood outside, only to trail behind them at a distance. Shahrzad tried to mask her unease at both the guard’s nearness and the lasting pain from her ordeal.

How odd that Uncle Reza needs a guard with him at all times. Especially in his own camp.

As though he cannot trust those around him.

“What can I help you with?” she began, striving to sound
lighthearted. Striving to tamp down how unnerved she felt. For it was clear Reza bin-Latief had known she was not in her own tent last night.

Does he know anything more?

Her heart hammered in her chest.

Reza smiled patiently. “I’ve noticed you’re spending more time with Tariq.”

“Yes.”

“Is everything going well?”

“Yes.” She glanced at him sidelong, unsure what he meant.

“Then you are no longer ill?”

Again, Shahrzad swallowed. “No.”

“I’ve been worried about you of late. Word has reached me that you’ve been unusually tired during the day . . .” He trailed off, watching her all too circumspectly.

Shahrzad grinned, then bit her lip, affecting a sheepish expression. “I think the past few months have simply taken a toll on me, Uncle Reza. It’s been a bit of an—adjustment here. But I’m much better now.”

A single brow rose. “Truly? Your coloring leaves a great deal to be desired. Have you spoken with Aisha about your health?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t wish to trouble Aisha with such things. In any case, Irsa has already made me a tonic that has helped a great deal.”

“Irsa?” He paused in consideration. “So Irsa knows how to brew tonics, then?”

“Somewhat. I suppose you should try one first and then decide.” Shahrzad widened her smile.

“I see.” He stopped near his tent, his expression still dubious. Reza then reached for her arm, his touch light, but nevertheless not to be ignored. “Shahrzad? I do so wish to trust you, but I noticed something rather troubling . . . and I can no longer remain silent on the matter.”

Shahrzad pulled back. “I’m sorry?” Her heart began to trip about in her chest.

“I saw the bloodied linen beside the bed pallet, Shahrzad-
jan
.” He placed a gentle palm on her forearm, as though he meant to comfort her. “You are clearly injured. I’d like to send for Aisha to take a look at it.” Reza turned to direct the guard behind them with a motion of his free hand.

“Uncle Reza . . . truly I’m not.” She tried to pull away again, panic seizing her.

“I insist.” He smiled, his grip tightening on her arm. If it were anyone else, Shahrzad would have felt beyond threatened. But this was her best friend’s father. A man Shahrzad had known for much of her life. A man she had long considered a second father of sorts. “I could not in good conscience let you leave without first knowing whether or not you are well,” Reza continued. “Please allow Aisha to care for your injury. If you don’t mind, I shall wait with you inside until she arrives.”

“Uncle Reza—”

“Shahrzad-
jan
”—his expression softened—“I’ve neglected you for far too long, and I was unjust when you first arrived. Though it was from a place of pain, there is still no excuse. Please allow me to make amends. Your condition is truly causing me a great deal of concern, and I cannot continue to go about ignoring
it. Allow me this small indulgence. Please.” He motioned with a nod of his head for her to proceed into his tent.

Reluctantly, Shahrzad made her way inside. For she could not see how best to extricate herself without drawing even further attention.

The tent was dark. Dark enough that it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the layers of shadow. Then, from the edges of her vision, Shahrzad caught sight of a hulking figure looming by the entrance.