The Rose & the Dagger

by Renee Ahdieh

  “I’m so sorry, Irsa-jan.”

  She did not believe it. Refused to believe it.

  Rahim was not dead. The men had gone to speak under a flag of truce. Aisha had said so herself. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

  This could not be true.

  “Where is he?” Irsa asked, her voice suddenly all too loud.

  Omar’s features folded into a grimace. “I don’t think—”

  “No. I want to see him.”

  “Take her, Omar,” Aisha said in a grim tone. “She is not a child.”

  The Badawi sheikh sighed, then wrapped an arm about Irsa’s shoulders. Irsa concentrated on blinking, on putting one foot before the other as they exited the tent into a beautiful desert sunset. The sky was awash in oranges and pinks. Brilliant colors that should have warmed her. Should have brought a smile to her face.

  She’d always loved dusk. It was as though a hand in the sky had pulled the sun from its berth . . . only to have the sun fight back, resisting, leaving a trace of itself to fade amongst the stars.

  Irsa stared at the desert sky as she walked. The sight before her blurred, and she ran a palm across her eyes.

  No. She would not believe it.

  Only this morning, Irsa had walked with him here. Held his hand here.

  Watched him smile here.

  Guards stood outside Khalid’s tent. When they saw the sheikh, they moved to let Irsa pass.

  Irsa strode inside, and immediately those within took to their feet.

  The captain of the guard stepped before her. “I don’t think it’s wise—”

  “Leave her be,” Khalid said quietly.

  The captain of the guard gazed down at her for a moment. He put a hand on her arm. Squeezed. Then moved aside.

  Irsa stopped at the sight before her. Her heart lurched into her throat.

  Tariq and Khalid stood around a raised bed pallet. Tariq’s silver breastplate was dull, his expression lost. His face was covered with sweat and dirt. Khalid’s hands were stained, his silver-and-gold cuirass marred by dark smears. Both their cloaks were bloody. Red over white. Crimson over black. Colors that could not be ignored.

  Irsa knew then that this was not a lie. For blood did not lie.

  But still she walked toward them as if in a trance, the warmth stealing from her very blood.

  Rahim was lying on the bed pallet. So very still. If Irsa did not look closely, he could have been sleeping.

  She halted an arm’s length away.

  “How—” Irsa cleared her throat. She would not be a mouse. She was no longer a mouse. Because of Rahim. Her chin rose. “How did this happen?”

  “It was my fault,” Tariq replied, his voice awash in misery. In undeniable self-loathing.

  “No,” Khalid said. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was everyone’s fault. And mine most of all.” He moved toward her. “But he saved my life, Irsa-jan. And he thought of you, at the last.”

  Irsa nodded, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Rahim is like that. He always thinks of others first.”

  At that, the captain of the guard tore from the tent, a choked sound emitting from his lips.

  “Do you want us to leave you with him?” Khalid asked, his eyes locked upon her face.

  Irsa peered up at him. Only a few days ago, he had frightened her so when he looked at her that way. As though he could see through to her very soul. Now all Irsa saw was a searching look. A look that simply wished to understand.

  To help.

  “Yes, please,” she whispered.

  Khalid looked to the others. They quickly cleared the tent, save for he and Tariq.

  Tariq came to stand before her, tall and wrapped in white stained with red. He pulled her against him in a gentle embrace.

  “I’m so sorry, Cricket,” Tariq said into her hair.

  He did not seem quite so . . . much now. Before, Irsa had always thought of him as larger than life. So full of vim and vigor. So full of everything Irsa wished she could embody. So incapable of losing to anything or anyone.

  Now he seemed like a boy who’d lost his best friend.

  A boy who could lose.

  Irsa could not reply with words, so instead she merely nodded.

  Once they had left, Irsa sat beside the raised bed pallet. Strangely, she did not feel any pain. Again, it was as though she had moved beyond herself. Rahim still looked as though he might be sleeping. Someone had tried to clean him, but they’d missed a line of blood at his neck. But for that, Irsa could almost believe she might jostle him awake with nothing but her touch.

  Instead she studied the line of blood in silence for a time.

  Then Irsa reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out the white shell with the flower etched on its surface. “I wanted to give you this.”

  She waited. As though she expected a response.

  “Oh.” It was a quiet sob. Something tore behind her heart. Though Irsa wanted to fight back the sudden burn, she let it wash through her. She would not be weak. This was not a time to be weak. And fighting herself—fighting how she felt in this moment—would be weak.

  Would be denying who she truly was.

  “I—” Irsa took a careful breath to steady her words. “I have felt alone for most of my life. Until you.” She placed the shell on his chest. “But I promise I won’t feel alone anymore. I will never forget.” She stood on shaky feet. “I will always remember.”

  “I love you, Rahim al-Din Walad. Thank you for loving me in return.”

  With that, Irsa turned and walked through the entrance of the tent, her head high, though her body had begun to tremble.

  Khalid and the young magus from the Fire Temple were waiting outside, just beyond a pair of torches. The magus eyed her, his face softening. She started to walk by them. Then stopped.

  The magus took a deep breath. He sent a sad smile her way while placing a reassuring hand on Khalid’s shoulder. Then, without a word, he left.

  “Did he . . .” Irsa bit her lip, tears building upon the burn, threatening to converge at any second. “Did Rahim suffer?”

  “Not long.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “As am I.” Khalid studied her face. Studied the twist of emotions passing across her features. “Irsa—”

  “How could you let this happen?” she asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you protect him? Why didn’t you—”

  The Caliph of Khorasan pulled her in to his chest.

  And Irsa cried until every last trace of the sun’s warmth sank beneath the horizon.

  BARTERING, LIES, AND BETRAYAL

  VIKRAM LED SHAHRZAD THROUGH THE UNDERBELLY of the sandstone palace, a single torch held high in his right hand. Though Shahrzad could not make out any sort of path before them, the mammoth bodyguard shifted and spun with a skill that suggested a prior knowledge of the space.

  At the very least, he knew these labyrinthine hallways a bit too well for comfort.

  Suspicion tugged at Shahrzad’s core. “Exactly where were you this entire time?”

  “In a prison cell,” he grunted back. As curt as ever.

  They passed into a winding set of stairs before branching off into another small corridor. With every turn, the halls seemed to constrict on all sides.

  Shahrzad refused to be ignored. “Do you know where my sister is?”

  “No.”

  “Then how is it you know your way around this palace?” she pressed.

  “I told you: now is not the time for such questions.”

  At that, Shahrzad halted in her tracks. She had been betrayed one too many times of late. She would not be betrayed again now. “I disagree. Now is precisely the time for such questions. Especially if you intend for me to follow you a single step more.”

  Vikram pivoted in place. The fl
ame in his hand flared bright as he cast her a look that would send a lesser man scurrying home to his mother.

  Shahrzad tapped a slippered foot with impatience.

  He frowned. Then huffed a sigh. “I was given a map.”

  “By whom?”

  His frown deepened, though a brief flash of amusement wrinkled across his brow. “Who do you think?”

  “By a palace rat,” Shahrzad ground out. “How should I know?”

  “Despina.”

  “Despina!” she sputtered. “You were fool enough to trust that turncoat?”

  Vikram glared down at her, his torch almost close enough to singe what was left of her hair. “Bite your tongue. Despina is the only reason you have a palace rat’s chance of escaping.”

  “A likely story. Since I suspect she’s the reason I’m here at all.”

  He shook his bald head, grumbling unintelligibly. “There was no way to prevent that from happening, for she did not know of the sultan’s plan. She only knew what would likely come to pass. She did everything possible to help you.”

  “Ha!” Shahrzad cut her eyes in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that the girl who smiled as she watched the palace guards drag me away intended to help me? There were a thousand things she could have done!”

  “Such as?”

  She flung an exasperated hand into the air. “She could have told Khalid who she was. What she thought would happen!”

  “And confessed that she had been spying for the Sultan of Parthia all these years? That she was the sultan’s daughter?” Vikram scoffed. “If you think your husband would have believed her following that, you do not know him as well as I think you do. Khalid Ibn al-Rashid is a most distrusting man. Though I cannot fault him for being so.”

  Spoken like a friend.

  Shahrzad rested her hands on her hips. “Vikram, what is Despina trying to accomplish with all this deception?”

  “It is not my place to divulge another’s secrets.” With an unbreachable finality to his voice, Vikram turned and began moving forward again, even deeper beneath the sandstone palace. Shahrzad had to quicken her pace to match his lengthy strides. For a time, she felt like a flea chasing after an elephant.

  The walls around them continued to close in tight, the ceiling becoming rounded, less stone and more earth. As the silence passed, Shahrzad found herself considering Vikram’s words.

  Considering the whole of Despina’s betrayal.

  “She could have told Khalid everything,” Shahrzad repeated, though with decidedly less vehemence. “He would have believed her in time. After all, you believed her.”

  “He would not have believed her in time.” His words boomed through the semidarkness. “And he would never have trusted her. Even I took some . . . convincing.” Vikram glanced over his shoulder. “And I swore if I caught her lying, I would slit her throat.”

  “I still may,” Shahrzad retorted under her breath before nearly slamming into his broad back.

  “Then I offer you that chance.” With that, he threw open the ancient, creaking door before him, leading into a passage of sewers. The warm stench clogged Shahrzad’s nostrils, curling in her throat and causing her to gag.

  As did the sight of Despina waiting in the shadows.

  Again, Shahrzad was possessed by the sudden urge to attack her.

  The former handmaiden—now princess—stood wrapped in a dark cloak, with a crooked smile aimed Shahrzad’s way. “You look awful.” She leaned in close. “And you smell even worse.”

  “And you can go straight to hell.”

  Her smile widened. “As long as you’ll be there, I think I might like it.”

  Shahrzad resisted the urge to scream. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Despina el-Sharif. First you are one thing, then you are another. At this point, my neck hurts from spinning about so fast. Just tell me this: Why have you been lying to me this entire time?”

  Despina shrugged. “I was born to lie, Shahrzad. I ask you, how does one recover from such an inclination?”

  “The same way one chooses to serve such a despicable father,” Shahrzad replied sardonically.

  “I suppose you would want to know about that.” Despina cast her a thin smile. “Would you mind walking as we talk?”

  Shahrzad crossed her arms and remained still.

  I will go nowhere with her. Not until she convinces me otherwise.

  “I can see these few weeks apart have not weathered your obstinance. Pity.” Despina smirked. “Very well, then. I knew this had to happen eventually.” She leaned back on a heel, her hands predictably akimbo. “On her deathbed, my mother confessed my father’s identity. She presented me with a scroll as proof and told me to go to him, for she hoped he might care for me, now that I had no one left.”

  Though Despina spoke flippantly, a flash of pain—a glimmer of truth—rippled across her eyes. Despite the abhorrent smells and the sounds of dripping sludge around them, Shahrzad strove to maintain a posture of unmoved silence.

  Despina continued. “After my mother’s death, I journeyed from Cadmeia to Amardha, begging, bartering, and stealing my way there. When I arrived at the palace gates, the guards tried to toss me into the gutter. I was a skinny, scrawny, eleven-year-old girl. Eventually I found a sympathetic soldier willing to hear my plea. I presented him with the scroll bearing my father’s seal. He disappeared within the palace and returned hours later.”

  “Forgive the slight,” Shahrzad interrupted with a frown, “but I can’t imagine Salim Ali el-Sharif putting a hand of welcome out to you. Especially after having neglected you for much of your life.”

  Vikram cleared his throat with a cough.

  Though it had taken on a thoughtful bent, Despina held fast to her smirk. “You have to understand. When you’ve spent most of your childhood not knowing your father, only to discover him to be a charming, handsome king with wealth beyond your wildest dreams, there is little you would not do to win his affection.” She lingered in a remembrance colored by anger. “He promised he would claim me as his own if I would help him learn the secrets of Rey’s court. First it was to help Yasmine secure a husband. Then it was to usurp Khalid Ibn al-Rashid’s throne. He found a slaver who would buy me and bring me to the palace in Rey, where I first started cleaning the queen’s chambers. After Khalid Ibn al-Rashid became caliph, he freed me and offered me a position as a handmaiden. I rose in the ranks soon after. The rest you can surmise.”

  That Shahrzad certainly could. Despina had done her duty well.

  Had served her father’s purpose well.

  “It’s all a grand story,” Shahrzad said, sidestepping a new trickle of questionable liquid. “But I still don’t trust you.”

  “Fine.” Despina sighed loudly, her frustrations coming to heel. “Then trust in this, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran: I would rather be a handmaiden in Rey than a princess of Parthia. As a handmaiden in Rey, I always knew who I was. I had pride in myself. In Parthia, I was denied my place time and again. Denied and denounced by my own father. In fact, if I had my way, no one would know of my lineage. All I want in life is to raise my child in the city I’ve come to love as my own. With the people I’ve come to love as my own. With the family I’ve come to love as my own.” Her eyes flashed with an undeniable fervency.

  Shahrzad swallowed. Then looked away.

  With an exasperated huff, Despina moved closer. She hesitated only an instant before reaching for Shahrzad’s hand. “The only family I know is the one I have in Rey. The friends I have. The love I have.” Her voice grew soft. “They are without equal.”

  How well Shahrzad knew this. How well she had seen it. The wild look in Jalal’s eyes the night of the storm. The warmth in Despina’s now.

  “Then why did you come back at all?”

  “To preserve our family.” Despina squeezed her hand. “No matter the cost.”

>   Though a part of Shahrzad wanted to throw off Despina’s touch—to deny the touch of a girl tied in any way to Salim Ali el-Sharif—Shahrzad did not.

  For it was the touch of a friend. Beneath it lay the strength of family.

  “You deliberately provoked me at dinner, did you not?” Shahrzad asked quietly.

  Despina tilted her head in rueful fashion. “Well, I did have to get you down into the palace prison somehow.”

  “Somehow.” Shahrzad sniffed.

  “I knew you had a wretched temper and a deeply loyal disposition. The rest was only a matter of time.”

  Shahrzad paused in contemplation. “What you did was dangerous.”

  “Trust that I put the fear of the gods into the soldiers when it came to your husband.” Despina snickered. “It’s true not all of them believed it, but that did not stop me. Oh, the stories I told . . .”

  “I meant for you.”

  Despina blinked. Her features softened. “Of course you did.”

  “What of Salim?” Shahrzad asked in an even quieter tone. “He will know what you have done.”

  “He will not realize it for a few days at least. He sent both Yasmine and me from Amardha earlier this afternoon in anticipation of what might occur.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Despina smiled broadly. “Ah, I nearly forgot! The Caliph of Khorasan has brought quite an army to the city gates.”

  Shahrzad gripped Despina’s hand tight. “Khalid is here?”

  “That’s what I’ve been wanting to tell you from the beginning.” She rolled her eyes. “I planned on taking you to him, Brat Calipha. That is if you’ll permit me. Finally.”

  Another grunt from Vikram. One Shahrzad knew was meant to indicate agreement.

  “Fine.” Shahrzad pushed off Despina’s hand. “What is your plan?”

  “We make our way through the lovely sewers. These particular drains lead to a part of the city near the bazaar. I’ve paid men a great deal of money to wait for us there with horses.”

  Shahrzad nodded. “The only thing left to accomplish is finding my sister.”