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

by Renée Ahdieh

TWO DAYS AFTER THE CALIPH RETURNED FROM Amardha, Shahrzad was ready to put her plan to action. Enough was enough. It did not matter that Musa-effendi had hinted about a tragic past. It did not matter that this world was far from as simple as she might have thought. And it absolutely did not matter that her heart was . . . misbehaving. She had come to the palace with a clear purpose. The Caliph of Khorasan had to die. And she knew just how to do it.

“I haven’t slept well since I returned.” “Would you rather not continue Aladdin’s tale? Perhaps you should sleep,” Shahrzad suggested. “No. That’s not what I want. At all.”

“Why did you go to Amardha?” His eyebrows drew together. “I heard Jalal arranged for you to meet Musa Zaragoza. Undoubtedly, you learned interesting facts about my childhood while he was here. I assume you know about my mother now?” “He told me about her, yes.” “The Sultan of Parthia and I have a tacit agreement. Every six months or so, I go to see him and make veiled threats, posturing like a peacock in a show of force meant to dissuade him from suggesting I am not the rightful heir to the Caliphate of Khorasan.” “Excuse me?” Shahrzad sputtered. The caliph continued. “It’s logical, really. He openly calls my mother a whore. And everyone questions my parentage. Then he’s able to rally support and wage war for the caliphate. Only, he lacks the strength and the numbers to take a stand. And I intend to keep it that way.” “He—would call your mother a whore?” “It shouldn’t shock you. My father said as much to me. Many times.” Shahrzad took a careful breath. “Did your father also question whether or not you were his son?” The caliph raised the cup of wine to his lips and took a long sip. “Again, it shouldn’t shock you.” She almost wished she had misheard his words. What kind of loveless childhood did he have? “And this is normal to you?” He set his cup down on the table. “I suppose I have a skewed understanding of the word.” “Do you want me to pity you, sayyidi?” “Do you want to pity me, Shahrzad?” “No. I do not.” “Then don’t.”

A corner of his lips rose ever so slightly. The wine burned; she cleared her throat and set the goblet before her. “By the way, I’ve decided how you can make amends. If you’re still willing, of course.” He leaned back into the cushions, waiting. She took a deep breath, preparing to spring her trap. “Remember last night, when Aladdin saw the princess in disguise, roaming the city streets?” The caliph nodded. “You told me you envied the freedom the princess experienced in her city, without the mantle of royalty about her shoulders. I want to do that. With you,” she finished. He stilled, his eyes scanning her face. “You want me to go out into Rey without bodyguards?” “Yes.” “With just you?” “Yes.” He paused. “When?” “Tomorrow night.” “Why?” He didn’t refuse outright. “For the adventure,” she goaded him. He cut his gaze. Calculating. “And you are indebted to me,” she pressed. Please. Don’t deny me this chance. “I agree. I am indebted to you. I accept.” Shahrzad beamed. His eyes widened at the brightness of her smile. And, to her great surprise, he offered her one in return. It looked foreign on his usually cold and angular face. Foreign, yet wondrously striking. The tightening in her chest . . . would have to be ignored. At all cost.

“Stay close. It’s very much like a labyrinth. Each year it grows bigger, its corridors snaking about without rhyme or reason.” “And here I had every intention of leaving you behind to explore on my own,” he murmured. “Are you trying to be funny, sayyidi?” His brow furrowed. “You can’t use that word here, Shahrzad.” A fair point. Especially considering the riots against him in the city streets. “You’re right . . . Khalid.” He expelled a quick breath. “And what should I call you?” “Excuse me?” “What do your friends call you?” She hesitated. Why am I trying to protect a silly nickname Rahim gave me when I was ten? “Shazi.” A suggestion of a smile played across his lips. “Shazi. It suits you.”

“Have I seen you before, miss? I would not forget such beauty.” “No, you have not,” Khalid said in a low tone. The young man smirked back at him. “I am not having a conversation with you. I am having a conversation with the most beautiful girl I have seen in a long time.” “No. You are having a conversation with my wife. And you are quite close to having the last conversation of your life.” His voice was as cold as the edge of a dagger. Shahrzad glared at the young man. “And if you want to sell me fabric, being a lecherous bastard is not the way to go about doing it.” She shoved against his chest, hard. “Daughter of a whore,” he muttered. Khalid froze, his knuckles turning a perilous shade of white. Shahrzad grabbed his arm and dragged him away. She could see the muscles ticking along his jaw. “You know, you have quite a temper,” she remarked after they had cleared some distance. He said nothing. “Khalid?” “Is that kind of disrespect . . . normal?” Shahrzad lifted a shoulder. “It’s not normal. But it’s not unexpected. It’s the curse of being a woman,” she joked in a morose manner. “It’s obscene. He deserves to be flogged.” Says the king who murders a bride every morning. They continued strolling through the souk, and Shahrzad was surprised to note that Khalid now walked firmly in her shadow, with his hand grazing her lower back. His eyes, which were usually vigilant, appeared even more watchful than before. She sighed to herself. He notices everything. This will be even mor...

He crossed his arms. Shahrzad grinned knowingly. “You don’t trust me?”

“So,” she interjected in a conversational tone. “Why are you having difficulty sleeping?” Her question seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at her over the rim of his cup. “Do you have nightmares?” she probed. He inhaled carefully. “No.” “What was your last dream?” “I don’t remember.” “How come you don’t remember?” “Do you remember your last dream?” Shahrzad canted her lips to the side in thought. “Yes.” “Tell me what it was about.” “It’s a bit a strange.” “Most dreams are.” “I was in a grassy field with . . . my best friend. We were twirling. I was holding her hands. We were spinning slowly, at first. And then faster and faster. So fast it felt like we were flying. But it didn’t seem dangerous at all. It’s strange now that it didn’t seem dangerous, but I guess that’s the way of dreams. I remember hearing her laughter. She has the most beautiful laugh. Like a lark on a crisp morning.” Shahrzad smiled to herself in memory. Khalid stayed silent for a moment. “You have a beautiful laugh. Like the promise of tomorrow.” He said it gently, with the poise of an afterthought. And Shahrzad’s heart hurtled about in response, roaring for attention. Shiva, I swear to you, I will ignore the fickle little beast. She refused to look at him as she drank from her cup and remained proud of herself for this display of fortitude, until she felt his entire body go rigid across from her.

“He seems entirely too grumpy for a girl like you. I think you’re much better suited for a man with charm. Such as myself.” At this, Khalid made a motion to stand. Shahrzad placed her palm against his chest, her flashing eyes never wavering from the young man’s glazed stare. “You seem to have forgotten—in a rather short time, I might add—that you called my mother a whore. In what world do you think I would prefer you to any man, grumpy or not?”

Again, Shahrzad felt the fury beneath her palm as she pressed against Khalid, keeping him in his seat with nothing more than the force of her will. She nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. As for me? I believe I’ll leave this set of goods on the rack, as well. I have no interest in . . . tiny cucumbers.” At this, Khalid’s head twisted to hers, his eyes registering shock. And the edge of his lips twitching. The silence around them was deafening for a painful beat.

Khalid grabbed the man by the front of his qamis and hurled him into his passel of friends. “Khalid!” Shahrzad shouted. Once the young man managed to scramble to his feet, Khalid reared back and struck him in the jaw so hard he staggered into a table of dangerous-looking men, heavily engrossed in their dice match, with the betting at an all-time high.

All eyes turned on Khalid. “Holy Hera,” Shahrzad moaned. With grim resignation, he reached for his shamshir. “No, you idiot!” Shahrzad gasped. “Run!” She grabbed his hand and spun in the opposite direction, the blood pummeling through her body.

When he yanked her down a small side alleyway, she pulled him back. “Do you even know where you’re going?” she demanded. “For once in your life, stop talking and listen.” “How dare—” He wrapped his right arm around her and pressed their bodies together in between a shadowed alcove. Then he shoved his index finger onto her lips. Shahrzad listened as their pursuers ran past the alleyway, still shouting and carrying on in a drunken haze. When the sounds faded away, he removed his finger from her lips. But it was too late. Because Shahrzad could feel his heart beating faster. Just like hers. “You were saying?” He was so close, his words were more breath than sound. “How—how dare you say that to me?” she whispered. His eyes glittered with something akin to amusement. “How dare I imply you caused this mess?” “Me? This is not my fault! This is your fault!” “Mine?” “You and your temper, Khalid!” “No. You and your mouth, Shazi.” “Wrong, you wretched lout!” “See? That mouth.” He reached up and grazed his thumb across her lips. “That—magnificent mouth.” Her traitor heart thudded against his, and when she peered up at him through her eyelashes, his hand at the small of her back pulled her impossibly closer. Don’t kiss me, Khalid. Please . . . don’t. “They’re here! I’ve found them!” Khalid grasped her hand in his, and they took off down the alleyway once again. “We can’t keep running,” he said over his shoulder. “We might have to stand and fight, eventually.” “I know,” she huffed back....

Khalid observed this exchange, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn. “Do you know them, miss?” The boy glanced behind Shahrzad. Khalid whirled around, unsheathing his shamshir in a single metallic rasp and knocking the black rida’ from his brow.

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.

“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.”

“Don’t test me. You mean nothing to me.” Her knees shook, but her voice was as cool as a stone beneath the water.

“Have a care, grumpy. Before she ruins you, too.”

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 ...

SHE WANTED TO LET GO OF HIS HAND. BUT SHE didn’t. His touch burned her skin. The shame. The betrayal. The desire. How could I waste such a perfect opportunity? Why did I hesitate? She knew she was not to blame for the useless bow. Nonetheless, the self-recriminations could not be silenced. The moment they stepped into the palace courtyard, Shahrzad tried to pull away. Khalid merely tightened his grip.

The Shahrban of Rey stared down at their interlaced fingers and turned his brown eyes to Shahrzad in pained accusation. She returned nothing but defiance.

“My king’s whereabouts remained uncertain. As such, I cannot stand about idly, waiting for the dawn.” Shahrzad almost laughed. “Your vigilance is appreciated,” Khalid replied. He grunted in response as his gaze shifted again to Shahrzad. “I’m sure it has been a taxing evening, sayyidi. I would be happy to escort the queen to her chamber.” “That is not necessary. I will take her there myself. Then I would like to speak to you in the antechamber.”

Here, in the palace’s coolly foreboding passages of marble and stone, she witnessed his features retreat to a place far in the distance. A place no one was permitted to follow. The only inkling she had—the only hint she was still part of his reality—was her hand wound in his. And she did not care for it at all. It should not matter. He should not matter. Again, she slackened her grasp. Once more, he simply reinforced his.

As soon as they shut behind them, Khalid released her hand. Shahrzad turned to him, uncertain. “Why does General al-Khoury dislike me?” she asked, point-blank. Khalid’s gaze leveled to hers. “He sees a threat.” “Why does he see a threat?” “Because he doesn’t understand you.” “Does he need to understand me? Because I don’t understand him.” Khalid inhaled through his nose. “So are you ready to answer my questions, then?” Very well. I, too, have questions. “What questions?” “I’ll answer your questions when you’re ready to answer mine.” “Khalid—” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Sleep well, Shazi.” His hand skimmed to her waist, as if seeking permission. Shahrzad drew a quick breath. This is madness. He makes me weak. He makes me forget. I should push him away. Yet she wanted so much to curve against him. To lose herself in honey and sunlight, and forget everything but the way it felt to be held in such a tantalizing trap of her own making. “Thank you—for the adventure,” he said. “You’re welcome.” He toyed with a smile. An invitation. But the yoke of betrayal hung about her, weighing on her every action. Shaming her for even considering a moment in his arms, and insisting she not succumb once more to the wishes of a fickle heart. How can I desire him? After he killed Shiva? After he killed so many young girls, without explanation? What’s wrong with me? As she stared up at him in obvious deliberation, he took away the choice, as quickly as he had offered it. “...

He stood outside her doors. Torn. It was a familiar stance for him of late. He despised it. Khalid ignored the Rajput’s knowing grin as he began his trek toward his chamber. As usual, the bodyguard’s sense of humor was ill-timed and ill-bred. Each step Khalid took echoed down the corridors of shadow and stone. The callous granite and blue-veined agate of his palace had provided little but a refuge for the screams of ghosts. A haven for nightmares . . . Until Shahrzad. A true plague of a girl. And yet a queen in every sense of the word. His queen.

“I apologize for the hour, but I have an important matter to discuss with you. As such, I’ll dispense with the formalities.” “Of course, sayyidi.” “The standing order regarding the queen—was I not clear before I left last week?” The shahrban’s harried features grew even more agitated. “Sayyidi—” “There will be no further attempts on her life.” “But, sayyidi—” “No. No more underhanded schemes. No more poisoned sugar. Furthermore, I will treat any effort to subvert this order as a direct attempt on my own life. Do you understand, General?” “Sayyidi!” “I asked you a question, General al-Khoury.” The shahrban bristled for an instant. “And I cannot answer it.” “Uncle Aref!” Khalid’s uncharacteristic outburst hung about the space, lingering with the tension of many unspoken things. “She will be your undoing.” “That is my decision.” “And so you would undermine all that has been done? No matter how unconscionable our actions have been, we are nearly at an end now. Please. I implore you. Reconsider this. She is just one girl. What is she to you? We cannot trust her, Khalid-jan. Has she told you why she volunteered? Has she confessed her motivations? Who is this child? I beg of you. You cannot withstand this. Do not allow this brazen young girl to become a source of ruination.” Khalid gazed across the table at his uncle. “I’ve made my decision.” The shahrban’s face faltered. “Please. If you—do you love her? Tell me you do not love this child, Khalid-jan.” “It is not about love.” “Th...

“And, if I could ask one last thing . . .” “Of course.” “Have you made any progress in determining the whereabouts of the queen’s family?” “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.

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.