The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn, #2)

by Renée Ahdieh

The rose’s rarest essence lives in the thorns.

A trickle of blood slid down his arm. He felt nothing. He only saw it. Because nothing hurt like missing her. He suspected nothing ever would.

“Where is your heart, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran?” His voice was coarse in its insistence. In an alley by the souk. In a night of oblivion. In the promise of tomorrow.

Khalid would break every bone in your body for what you’ve done.

If you cannot say what it is you desire in your own dream, then where can you dare to say it?”

“Cut the strings, Shazi. Fly.”

“He . . . would listen.” Then do exactly as he pleased.

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

“Despite all, I find I . . . miss the little troublemaker. And how she made you smile.”

He saw a boy. Who loved a girl. More than anything in the world.

She sensed rather than saw him. As always. As ever. As a rose to the sun.

It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.

The beat of his heart rang loud and true against her cheek. The only measure of time that mattered.

“If I intend to think, then no. One could argue it’s not far enough.”

“I trust you implicitly. But it would be irresponsible of me to trust Musa Zaragoza or his so-called students with my life,” Khalid said cuttingly. “And I doubly do not trust them with yours.”

He glanced down at her— Then everything stilled with an awful precipitousness. His jaw flexed. His knuckles turned white. He was furious. Beyond furious. His face was a lesson in rage. The quiet, all-consuming sort. It was at its worst when he was this quiet. As Khalid stared down at her body, she realized why. The bruises. The burn. “Khalid—” “Who did this to you?” His voice was soft. Deathly soft.

“And do you know you make my life a thousand times worth living?”

“I love you,” Shahrzad breathed. “You are all that I am.” “And you are all that I will be.”

“From the stars, to the stars.”

When Khalid still did not lower his sword, Artan turned to look him in the eye. “I promise no harm will come to Shahrzad while we’re here.” Solemnity hardened his expression. “On my father’s grave, I swear it.”

Khalid’s sword had been hurled across the room. It was embedded in a far wall at an odd angle, its jeweled hilt still shuddering from impact. Isuke’s ominous mirror was in pieces around them.

She saw her sister leap toward the Caliph of Khorasan, trying to push him aside. In the same instant, the caliph grabbed her, wanting to shield her with his body. Two stubborn lovers, protecting each other from the very same threat. Fighting the very same losing battle. He grabbed her as she pushed him. And all was lost.

“Because if she’s dead, I don’t care what happens to me!” “Then we agree on at least two things.”

With everyone else, he was chipped ice on a mountain. With her sister, he was a summer breeze across the sea.

“Jealousy is a childish, petty emotion.” The caliph switched the single shamshir to his left hand in a single, fluid motion. “I don’t feel jealousy. I feel rage.”

“There was a time I did. But the fact that you waited until Shahrzad slept to touch her shows me you know she would not approve. You will not disrespect her in such a manner again. Nor will you disrespect me.”

Today you fired upon me . . . and in turn struck that which matters more than life itself. The next time you attempt such a thing in her presence, I will flay you alive and leave the rest for the dogs.”

“And I wish you had not jumped before an arrow last night. But wishes are for genies and the fools who believe in such things.”

“Are you a genie or a fool?” “A fool. As I’ve always been when it comes to you.”