The Wrath & the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn, #1)

by Renée Ahdieh

“I wouldn’t.” Despina smirked. “Wouldn’t what?” “Attempt to bait me into complimenting you.” “Excuse me?” Shahrzad sputtered. “I’ve encountered your kind many times before—the effortlessly lovely ones; the green sylphs of the world. They flail about, without concern for their charms, but they suffer the same desire to be liked that we all do. Just because you don’t know how to make the best of your many gifts does not mean they go unnoticed, Shahrzad. But I could teach you, if you like. Although it seems you don’t need my help.” Despina winked. “Obviously, the caliph appreciates your charms as they are.” “Well, he’s not a very particular man. How many wives has he had in the past three months alone? Sixty? Seventy-five?” Shahrzad retorted. Despina quirked her mouth. “But he hasn’t gone to see them at night.” “What?” “Usually, they’re chosen at random, he marries them, and . . . well, you know what happens the next morning.” “Don’t lie to me, Despina.” “I’m not. You were the first bride he sought out after the wedding.” I don’t believe her. “In case you were wondering, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Despina admitted. “Then why did you?” “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe I just want you to like me.”

“So he wants to boil me to death?” Shahrzad said acerbically.

Why is she lying to me? I thought I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without the Rajput. Where is she really taking me? “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where my bodyguard is.” “By Zeus, you are a nuisance, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” Despina cried. “It’s good you know that. It will save you time. Now, answer my question.” “No.” “Answer me, you wretched Theban!” “No, you horse’s ass!”

“I never lose, nor am I afraid to spill blood.”

“Is he fighting in the tournament?” “Of course.” Then there is no way you’re going to stop me. “He won’t do anything to me,” Shahrzad announced, though her voice was laced with uncertainty. “I can’t say the same for myself,” Despina retorted. “Fine. Is there a way to watch it so no one knows we’re there?” “Can we please just go to the bathhouse?” Despina pleaded. “Of course. After the tournament.” “Holy Hera. I’m going to die as your handmaiden.”

“You can blame me,” Shahrzad breathed back. “Oh, I will. Make no mistake.”

“Ever the smart Theban.” “If I push you over, you’ll look decidedly unqueenlike.”

“My God,” Shahrzad said. “He could crush my skull with his bare hands.”

Let’s see what it means to be the best swordsman in Rey.

He whirled it over his head, slicing the screaming dragon of a weapon downward.

“I—I . . .” Shahrzad attempted. “I know,” Despina finished. Lost in their wordless conversation, it took both girls some time to recognize the next figure striding onto the sand. When Shahrzad looked down, she was dismayed by the instant tightening sensation in her chest. She knitted her brow and pressed her lips into a line. The caliph’s shoulders were tan and lean; each of the muscles in his trim torso shone, defined and well articulated in the afternoon sun. Despina sighed. “Despite everything, I have to admit I’ve always found him quite handsome. Such a shame.” Again, Shahrzad felt the strange reaction spike within her core. “Yes. It is a shame,” she spat. “There’s no need to be angry at me for admiring him. Trust that he’s the last man I’d ever have designs on. I don’t enjoy gambling with my own life.” “I wasn’t angry at you!” Shahrzad protested. “I don’t care if you or anyone else admires him!” Despina’s eyes danced with amusement.

Like the Rajput, he slashed and arced so quickly it was almost impossible to discern the location of the blade. But where the Rajput’s superior strength granted him the ability to radiate menace without shifting a muscle, the caliph’s far more agile form underscored the subtle grace—the cunning instincts—behind every motion. Halfway through the drill, he placed both hands on the hilt of his shamshir and twisted the handle apart. The sword split in two, and he began swinging one in either hand. The blades tore through the air like a dust devil in the desert, whistling about his head as he made his way across the sand.

The twin shamshirs rained a shower of sparks as he struck them against each other and brought the drill to an end with a sword positioned in each hand at his sides. Again, a riotous cheer rang through the throng of soldiers standing witness to the spectacle. Whatever one’s personal feelings about the caliph, it could not be denied he was a masterful swordsman. Nor was he a king solely reliant on the protection of others. He would not be an easy man to kill. And this presents a serious challenge. “Well, does that satisfy your curiosity?” Despina asked.

“I’m afraid we can’t allow you to behave thus, my lady. You see, it is my job to protect the king and this kingdom. And you—you conflict with my job. I’m sorry. I can’t let you continue to do this.” Does he—does he know? “I thank you, General al-Khoury.” “Excuse me, my lady?” “It’s never been a question of who is going to let me behave a certain way; it’s always been a question of who is going to stop me. I thank you for answering it.”

“I am sorry, my lady. Sorrier than you will ever know. But threats against the caliph . . . must be eliminated.” “I am not a threat, General al-Khoury.” “And I intend to make sure it stays that way.” Oh, God. How does he know?

THE SHAHRBAN OF REY SUSPECTS I MIGHT HARM the king.

But her mind refused to allow her a moment’s respite. What if he says something to the caliph? How much does he know? How did he find out?

“Do you—do you know if . . .” she tried. She gritted her teeth. “Is he coming?” she asked. The Rajput merely stared down at her, a lethal statue of muscle and menace. “Can you tell me where he is?” she demanded, the tenor of her voice clearly trying to compensate for her waning courage. At this, Shahrzad saw the tiniest flicker of a response in his dark-as-night gaze. Pity? He . . . pities me? She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her chest starting to heave. No. She stifled a sob. Enough. That’s enough.

“He’ll come,” she said into the darkness. I know it. As she clung to this last thread of hope, two words kept resonating in her mind, taunting her . . . plaguing her with a meaning she should not see. These two words from a boy who was less than nothing. These two words that gave her the will to fight off the demons: My queen.

The servants they passed averted their gazes. They all knew. Just as the soldiers knew. There was nothing to see. It was then Shahrzad realized the inescapable truth. She was nothing. She meant nothing. To the soldiers. To the servants.

Baba and Irsa. Shiva . . . and Tariq. She meant something to them. And she would not disgrace their memory of her by making a scene. Her failure was disgrace enough. As the soldiers pushed open the doors into the dawn and Shahrzad saw her death before her, it was this last thought that thrust its final weight upon her, breaking the dam. Shiva. Silent tears streamed down her face, unchecked.

I hope it will be quick.

Her chest was falling in on itself. Silver stars ringed the edges of her vision. The pain in her chest grew. The silver stars were rimmed in black now. And her neck was on fire. Shiva. The tears and the pain all but blinding her, she forced open her eyes one more time, to a curtain of dark hair; to a waterfall of black ink spilling across the last page of her life. No. I’m not nothing. I was loved. Then, from the distant reaches of her mind, she heard a commotion . . . And the cord was released. She fell to the ground, her body striking the granite, hard. Sheer will to live forced air down her throat, despite the burning agony of each breath. And someone grasped her by the shoulders and took her into his arms. As her vision struggled to clear, the only things she saw were the amber eyes of her enemy, close to her own. Then, with the last dram of strength she possessed— She struck him across the face.

“Stop it, Khalid!” he yelled. “It’s done. We have to get her inside.” “Khalid?” Shahrzad murmured. Jalal smiled ruefully. “Don’t hate him too much, delam . . .” Shahrzad buried her face in Jalal’s shirt as he lifted her from the ground. “After all, every story has a story.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know . . . they were coming for you. You have every right not to trust me, but please talk to me.” “There’s nothing to say.” “Obviously, there is. You might feel better if you talked about it.” “I won’t.” “You don’t know that.” Yes, I do. Shahrzad did not want to talk to Despina. She wanted her sister’s soothing voice and her father’s volume of poetry. She wanted Shiva’s bright smile and infectious laugh. She wanted her own bed and a night when she could sleep without the fear of dawn. And she wanted Tariq. She wanted to fall into his arms and feel the laughter rumble in his chest when she said something very wrong that sounded exactly right. Perhaps it was weakness, but she needed someone to take the weight off her shoulders for a moment. To ease the burden, as Tariq had done the day her mother died, when he’d found her sitting alone in the rose garden behind her house, crying. That day, he’d held both her hands in his and said nothing. Just drawn her pain away, with the simple strength of his touch. Tariq could do that again. He would gladly do that. For her. Despina was a stranger. A stranger she couldn’t trust in a world that just tried to kill her. “I don’t want to talk about it, Despina.”

What can they do to me now? When she looked past the threshold, her heart crashed into her stomach. The Caliph of Khorasan shadowed her doorway.

“How is your arm?” His voice was even and characteristically low. “It hurts.” “A great deal?” “I’m sure it won’t kill me.” It was a pointed jab, and Shahrzad saw it strike a chord, his careful composure falling for an instant.

“Shahrzad—” “What do you want?” He paused. “To make amends for what I’ve done.” Shahrzad expelled a caustic breath and looked him in the eye. “You will never be able to make amends for what you’ve done.” He studied her. “That may be the first truly honest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She laughed bitterly. “I told you, you aren’t that gifted at reading people. I may have lied once or twice in my day, but I have never lied to you.” It was the truth. His chest rose and fell in steady consideration. Then he reached up and brushed aside her hair. With great care, he touched the slender column of her throat. Unnerved by the obvious concern on his face, Shahrzad drew back. “That hurts, too.” She pushed his hands away. Flustered, she snatched the comb from her lap so she could finish untangling her hair— And grimaced with pain. Her arm. “Do you need help?” he asked. “No. I do not.” He sighed. “I—” “If I need help, I’ll wait for Despina. In any case, I do not need your help.” When she moved to stand, he caught her waist and pulled her back against him. “Please, Shahrzad.” He spoke into her still-damp hair. “Let me make amends.” The hammering in her chest grew as he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close. Don’t. “There are no excuses for what happened this morning. I want you to—” “Where were you?” Shahrzad tried to control the tremor in her voice. “Not where I should have been.” “This morning and last night.” His breath fanned on her skin as he bent toward her ear. “...

“I meant what I said to General al-Khoury the day I introduced you.” The day he called me his queen. “You have a strange way of showing it.” He paused. “It won’t happen again.” “See that it doesn’t.” “My queen.” He bowed again before he left, his fingertips to his brow. Shahrzad closed her eyes tight, falling against the bed as soon as the doors shut behind him. Shiva, what do I do now?

Something is rare and desirable when it is made to seem so.”

“I will make you what they want to see. You need only be what you already are—strong young men and gifted warriors.” Tariq’s forehead creased, his gaze uncertain. “But that still doesn’t explain how we intend to persuade others to follow a leaderless cause.” “It will not be leaderless. You will be its leader, Tariq-jan. You will give this cause a voice. The lack of a voice is the reason the riots in the city streets are quelled time and again. Your voice must be one that resonates, that demands we see what truly lies at the heart of our kingdom: a boy-king who does not deserve to rule Khorasan. A boy-king who must be destroyed, at all cost.”

“So we mean to organize a force and storm the city? That is my greatest hope, but is such a feat even possible?” Tariq asked. Reza took a sip of wine. “It will work if we build on our beliefs and make them a reality. Your hope will be our tinder, and my righteousness, our blaze.”

“He does not murder his brides unless he’s in Rey, presumably to witness the spectacle. She will be safe for at least a week.”

Something to fight for. And something to use.

“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 ...

“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.” “I despise him, too. With the fire of a thousand suns, I despise him. But it is always a good idea to know your enemy, Tariq.” “Don’t mistake my vehemence for foolishness. I intend to learn everything I can about him. But that will never happen locked in the walls of my family’s fortress. With that in mind, I’m going into the desert to seek out the Badawi.” Tariq’s face was set with determination. “Alone.”

“I thank you, Rahim-jan. As I always should, yet seldom do.” “You’re welcome, you selfish bastard. In any case, I can look forward to one good thing coming from all this secret plotting.” “And that would be?” “A full night of sleep . . . without being shot at for it.”

Honey catches more flies than vinegar.

“I’m sorry,” Despina mumbled. “You’re permitted to make mistakes, on occasion.” Shahrzad smiled impishly. “All evidence to the contrary,” she shot back under her breath. “When did I ever make such outrageous demands?”

“I’m glad you’re talking to me again.” “Staying silent isn’t a good option for someone like me.” “A wise decision. For someone like you.” “I just said that.” “I know.”

And now a young servant girl accompanied every tray of food brought to Shahrzad’s room. A girl whose sole purpose in life was to taste the queen’s food and drink one last time before it entered her mouth. A young girl who must mean something to someone. It disgusted Shahrzad. As did the knowledge that her time feeling safe—those fleeting moments without the weight of her impending doom hovering about her like a dark specter—had been taken away from her before she’d had a true chance to enjoy it. But the worst part was that she knew now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she could not trust her handmaiden. After all, Despina was the last person who had handled her tray of food. The one who had prepared that fatal cup of tea. For some reason, this fact disheartened Shahrzad more than anything else. She had not trusted Despina before, but some part of her had wanted to. Had hoped that, one day, she could be a real friend, despite everything. That hope was shattered. And it made Shahrzad angry. Three nights of mostly uninterrupted sleep had not dulled the anger.

“If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can help,” Despina offered. “No. You can’t.” “My, but you’re in a mood.” “You really can’t help me. There’s an art to a perfect rose. The scent. The color. The arrangement of the petals. My father even argues that one too many petals can ruin the entire flower . . . can disturb the way it grows.” “And I would argue the prettiest flowers are the ones that seem a little imperfect.” “See? You can’t help me,” Shahrzad groused.

“Thank the stars for you, my lovely child. What light you must bring to my poor Khalid.” Light may not be the appropriate word.

“As I feared, this is not a harmonious marriage,” Musa said gently. “Is there any hope for one?” “In truth, it is too soon to tell. We have only been married a few days. And marriage to the caliph is—somewhat difficult.” “So I’ve heard.” His voice was knowing and sad. “And do you wish for a harmonious marriage with him?” Shahrzad shifted uncomfortably in her seat. For some reason, lying to this strangely garbed man with the rich laugh and the probing eyes seemed . . . wrong. “I long for a marriage based on love and mutual respect, Musa-effendi. Whether it is possible with the caliph remains to be seen.” “Ah, so honest. Khalid values such honesty above all else. He craves it. Even as a small child, he sought the truth with a kind of fervor I’ve rarely encountered in any individual. Do you know this about him?” “I know very little about his past.” He nodded. “Tell me, beyond the rumors, what kind of man has Leila’s son become?” Shahrzad paused and studied the kind face of the stranger across from her. If I answer his questions, will he answer mine? “A quiet one. A smart one.” “These things I could find out on the streets of Rey. I want to know the things you know. The things a clever young girl has deduced, even in such a short time.” Shahrzad chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “A joyless one. A calculating one. A bitter one . . .” she whispered. She thought of his raw fist and the punishing fury. “An angry one.” “It was not always thus.” Musa sighed. “He was such a kind ...

“After Khalid was born, I hoped everything would change. I had never seen a more devoted mother. Leila kissed his feet and sang to him as an infant. When he was older, she told him stories every night before he went to sleep. And Khalid loved her more than anything.” Musa closed his eyes for a moment, and Shahrzad took a careful breath. His mother told him stories at night.

In the atrium, he called for Khalid. Leila kept telling Khalid everything would be fine. That she loved him. That he was her world.” Shahrzad’s hands curled into fists. “And there, in front of her six-year-old son, Khalid’s father slit Leila’s throat. When Khalid started to cry, his father yelled at him. I will never forget what he said. ‘A woman is faithful, or she is dead. There is no in-between.’ After that, I was thrown out of the palace, with nothing but the clothes on my back. I should have fought harder. For Leila’s sake. For Khalid’s sake. But I was weak. Afraid. Later, I heard what had become of Leila’s son. And I always regretted it. From the bottom of my soul, I regretted it.” Something had risen in Shahrzad’s chest, forming a barrier that prevented her from speaking. She swallowed hard. Not knowing what else to do, she reached across the table and took Musa’s hand. He wrapped her small hands in both of his, and they sat in this manner for a time. And then, with careful respect, Shahrzad attempted to break the silence. “Musa-effendi . . . I feel certain you should not hold yourself responsible for anything that transpired, not that night or any of the nights after. I am young, and, therefore, I know my words only carry a certain weight with the world, but I do know enough to realize you cannot control the actions of others. You can only control what you do with yourself afterward.” His grip on her hand tightened. “Such wise words. Does Khalid know what a treasur...

“Tell me,” he pressed. “How long have you possessed the gift?” Taken aback, Shahrzad merely stared at him, her hazel eyes blank. Musa returned her gaze, his warm eyes searching. “Then you are unaware. It lies dormant in your blood,” he said to himself. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “Perhaps a parent?” he continued. “Does your mother or father possess any . . . unique abilities?” Realization dawned on Shahrzad. “My father. He can do certain things. Very small things. But he’s never been adept at controlling it.” Musa nodded. “If ever you wish to learn about these abilities, send word to me. I would be happy to share my knowledge with you. I am not extremely proficient, but I’ve learned to . . . control it.” He grinned slowly. As he spoke, Shahrzad saw the flame dancing in the nearby lamp flicker out and spark back to life, unbidden. “And I could learn to do this?” she whispered. “In truth, I do not know. It is impossible to gauge an individual’s abilities. I only know what I knew the moment I first held your hands in my grasp: that you and I share a common bond. And now that bond extends beyond this mere twist of fate. I beseech you, my star . . . please see past the darkness. There is potential for boundless good in the boy I knew. Trust that the man you see now is a shadow of what lies beneath. If you would, give him the love that will enable him to see it for himself. To a lost soul, such a treasure is worth its weight in gold. Worth its weight in dreams.”

“Will you not stay for a meal?” Shahrzad asked again. He shook his head. “I must be on my way. But I promise to visit again very soon. I shall not let so many years pass by this time. And I will cling to the hope that, when I see you next, it will be with Khalid at your side. At your side and the better for it.” A strange twinge of guilt knifed through Shahrzad’s stomach.

“A gift for you, dearest Shahrzad.” “Thank you, Musa-effendi.” What an odd gift. “Keep it with you always. It is a very special carpet. When you are lost, it will help you find your way,” he said, with a knowing glint in his eyes. Shahrzad took the parcel and held it against her chest. Musa reached over and placed his warm palm on her cheek. “Let it take you where your heart longs to be.”

“Forgive the misunderstanding,” Omar continued. Tariq snorted in disbelief. “There was no misunderstanding. I saw precisely what you wanted me to see.” Omar laughed loudly. “Or perhaps you saw exactly what you wanted to see.”