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

by Renee Ahdieh

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

  “Your sister?” Despina’s perfect eyebrows gathered at the bridge of her nose.

  “My younger sister, Irsa, was brought to the palace as well.”

  Despina’s confusion intensified. “No. I would have heard as much. No one was brought to Amardha, save for you and your father.”

  Shahrzad paused in thought. Paused to remember how her father would not meet her gaze whenever she asked after her sister. Paused to recall his guilt.

  Is that why no one would tell me anything about Irsa?

  “Are you quite certain of this?” she said.

  “Quite.” Despina nodded. “For she would have been present at dinner. My father would have made sure of it. He enjoys toying with his prey.”

  Shahrzad spent another moment searching Despina’s face for signs of artifice. Though she found none, she could not permit herself to feel at ease with this revelation. Not after so many lies.

  After so many betrayals.

  She looked from Despina to Vikram and back again.

  Khalid had trusted them. And Khalid trusted no one.

  If I intend to escape, I will need to put my faith in someone.

  “If you are lying to me about Irsa’s whereabouts, I will personally bring about your demise,” Shahrzad said in a dangerously quiet voice.

  “I expect nothing less, Brat Calipha.” Despina grinned.

  She let her shoulders relax. “Lead the way, Princess of Parthia.”

  “Call me that again and face my wrath.” Despina hurled a cloak at Shahrzad.

  Once Shahrzad had covered herself with the cloak, the trio moved deeper into the city sewers, Vikram leading the way. He prowled beneath the dripping stone channels with his body hunched forward, hands braced against the walls. Try as she might, it soon became impossible for Shahrzad to ignore the many-legged creatures scuttling through the darkness. A chill ran down her spine as one darted across her fingers.

  They continued down the filthy conduit, skirting the edge of the flowing sludge. Shahrzad stumbled over crooked stones and misaligned pavers. Several times she heard the distinct squeal of rats. The cacophony of dripping water and echoing footfalls—in tandem with the waning of the torch fire in Vikram’s hand—only heightened Shahrzad’s distress.

  When they reached the end of the passageway, they found a rusted metal grate sealed across the entrance. Vikram put out his torch and pushed open the creaking grate, his enormous muscles bulging beneath his stained qamis.

  The trio alighted onto a deserted alleyway in the center of Amardha. Several streets over, the noise of late-night revelry tolled into the heavy summer air. A chorus of drunken merriment, tempered by riotous discord. Despina ignored the celebration and moved through the shadows at a sure-footed pace.

  They passed by several backstreets close to the bazaar. Shahrzad followed Vikram and Despina toward a copse of lemon trees, their citrus scent wafting on the wind.

  As they approached, Despina slowed. Then stopped.

  “What is it?” Shahrzad asked in a whisper.

  “They’re not here,” she replied.

  Vikram halted in his tracks.

  “What?” Shahrzad said.

  “The men. Or the horses.” Despina pulled her close, then swiveled to backtrack, tucking Shahrzad beneath an arm.

  This close, Shahrzad could feel the rapid beat of Despina’s pulse. The stutter of her breath. Though her former handmaiden’s fear was becoming palpable, Shahrzad chose to remain silent, knowing words would not help matters at all.

  Vikram stayed to the shadows, a dagger tucked inside his forearm.

  After pausing midstep, Despina angled toward the revelry within the bazaar.

  At their sudden change in direction, Shahrzad couldn’t help herself. “Despina, why are we walking toward everyone?”

  “The fools are already celebrating tomorrow’s victory,” Despina said under her breath. “If someone discovered our plans and is intending to catch us, it will be easier for us to disappear in a crowd.”

  The cheering before them grew louder as they crossed another dirt thoroughfare. Stragglers entering the main stretch of the bazaar pushed past them, while those who had long since had their fill lurched by. The scent of scorched oil suffused the air, thick and enduring.

  “You! You there!” A drunken voice called to Despina’s right.

  Despina’s hold on Shahrzad tightened. “Keep walking.”

  “You!” A group of bawdy young men stumbled into their path. One smiling boy slung an arm about Despina, knocking back her cowl in the process. “Come, have a drink with us!”

  Shahrzad looked about in a panic. Vikram had vanished.

  If we draw unwanted attention . . .

  The boy’s voice grew louder. “I said—”

  “There you are!” A burst of feminine laughter filled the air behind them. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

  A soft hand brushed past Shahrzad to pull Despina free of the boy’s embrace. Free of his protests. Though the girl was wrapped in a cloak of the finest silk, Shahrzad would recognize that hair anywhere.

  Yasmine.

  UNWANTED ARRIVALS

  YASMINE GESTURED TOWARD THE GROVE OF LEMON trees behind them, her hand firmly wrapped around Despina’s wrist.

  In response, Shahrzad took hold of Yasmine’s arm, her threat clear.

  “Remain calm, my lady,” Yasmine said softly. She let her gaze drift past them.

  To where three armed men stood. Watching.

  “You evil hag.” Despina’s whisper passed through smiling lips.

  Yasmine grinned in return. “Careful. Lest I start to believe your lies.”

  Shahrzad studied the beautiful girl standing a hairsbreadth from her. It would be the work of a moment for Shahrzad to knock her down. Had she a weapon, she would not hesitate to use it. Alas, all Shahrzad had was seething rage.

  A rage that kept her trembling and silent.

  “Come with me.” Yasmine directed again with her chin.

  “Like hell we will,” Shahrzad seethed back.

  “I was wondering when you would show your true face, Brat Calipha,” Yasmine said. “For it’s not like you to be so circumspect.”

  Shahrzad gritted her teeth. That nickname was reserved for Despina’s use.

  “For the last time, follow me, you ridiculous fools,” Yasmine repeated with a silvery peal of laughter.

  At that, Vikram slinked from the inky darkness behind Yasmine el-Sharif, putting his dagger to her throat in a silent threat. She froze for an instant, then began to struggle. The soldiers dashed toward her, drawing their swords.

  “Step any closer, and you will bathe in her blood.” Vikram’s eyes flashed obsidian.

  The soldiers stopped in their tracks.

  “Drop your weapons,” Shahrzad ordered the men.

  When Yasmine nodded their way, the soldiers let their swords fall to the dirt.

  Shahrzad bent to retrieve one of the blades. “And just like that, the tides of fortune turn.” She assumed the fighting stance, as Khalid and Vikram had taught her.

  Despina crossed her arms and simpered. “What do you suppose we should do with Parthia’s favorite princess?”

  “I’m not quite certain.” Shahrzad contemplated the tip of her sword, keeping watch over the soldiers all the while. “What would you do?”

  “I’d say she’s an excellent bargaining chip.”

  Yasmine thrashed against Vikram. “You idiots. That’s exactly why I came here.”

  “Careful.” Shahrzad stepped closer. “Lest we start believing your lies.”

  Yasmine squealed with frustration. “Despina, tell your husband to release me this instant!” She continued struggling against the towering bru
te of a man. “He smells foul!”

  “Vikram Singh is not my husband. He’s under no obligation to me,” Despina replied. “And I’d take care with whom you insult in this moment, little sister.” She drew another, smaller dagger from her sleeve.

  Shahrzad held back a sigh.

  It would have been nice to know about that weapon earlier, Despina.

  Ignoring Shahrzad’s frown, Despina lifted the second blade before her half sister’s beautiful face. “What are you doing here, you meddlesome imp?”

  “I—I came to help,” Yasmine stuttered.

  “With the palace guards in tow?” Shahrzad jeered. “A likely story.”

  “It’s true!” Yasmine elbowed Vikram hard. He grunted but did not move. “And they’re not palace guards. They’re sellswords, hired with my own coin. Do you think palace guards would hesitate to fight for my release? Besides, they’re not even dressed as palace guards. Ask Despina.”

  Shahrzad exchanged glances with her former handmaiden and saw that Yasmine spoke the truth.

  Nevertheless, Despina raised her dagger even higher. “How did you know where we’d be?”

  Yasmine’s perfect face twisted tight with frustration. “I knew you were up to something when you refused to leave the city with me earlier. That show you put on at dinner was simply too good, even for you.”

  “So you had me followed?” Despina pressed.

  “No. I paid your handmaiden for information on your comings and goings. Money is a commodity in this city, as you well know.”

  “Did you tell the sultan?”

  “Of course not.” A wrinkle formed at the bridge of Yasmine’s perfect nose. “Do you think you’d be alive now if Father knew what you’ve done?”

  Shahrzad had stood by and watched this exchange long enough. “Why are you here, Yasmine? Tell the truth, if you value your life.”

  Yasmine’s gaze traveled the length of Shahrzad’s dirty figure. Buying time. “I came because I don’t wish to see our kingdoms go to war.”

  “That’s the reason you’d like to give. What is the truth?”

  The Princess of Parthia inhaled with care. “Because I don’t want to see my father die. Nor do I wish to see Khalid hurt. I love them both, and if we go to war, one of them will perish.”

  Shahrzad’s eyes roved across Yasmine’s face. “So then, what do you think we can do to prevent this?”

  “I want you to take me with you.” The princess did not hesitate in her response.

  “What?” both Shahrzad and Despina said at once.

  Yasmine’s chin jutted forward. “I want to speak with Khalid.”

  “Why?” Shahrzad asked, cutting her eyes.

  “Because I have an idea that might help end this war without shedding any unnecessary blood.”

  It was a bedraggled band of souls that trudged through the sands toward the Caliph of Khorasan’s encampment.

  Three young women—all dressed in torn finery, two of them smelling of sewage—made their way before the guards tasked with keeping watch over the camp’s entrance at night. When a hulking warrior with skin of burnished copper came into view, the soldiers drew their swords. Two came to stand before him.

  The smallest of the three girls spoke first.

  “I’d like to speak to the caliph.” She tucked a poorly shorn wave of hair behind an ear, smudging even more dirt across her face in the process.

  At that, the leader of the night guard began laughing. “And I’d like a harem and a flagon of wine, while we’re at it.”

  The girl’s eyes flashed through a myriad of colors before settling on green. “Don’t be a fool.”

  “Don’t presume to lecture me, you filthy little—”

  The brute of a warrior moved to strike. But was stayed by the smallest girl before he could proceed.

  “Watch your words, soldier,” the plump girl with the disheveled crown of curls said in an imperious tone. “That’s the Calipha of Khorasan.”

  The soldier’s sense of humor began to fade. “And I’m the Shahrban of Rey.”

  “I’m afraid you’re not,” the imperious girl replied. “He’s older. And not nearly as stupid.”

  The other soldiers could not help but laugh at her rejoinder.

  “Enough!” The last girl—the most striking one—finally stepped forward. “My name is Yasmine el-Sharif, and I demand to speak with—”

  “And I demand a moment alone with you.” The soldier in charge grinned before reaching to pull her in for a kiss.

  Before the hulking warrior could stop her, the tiny girl with the badly shorn hair leapt onto him with the fury of a crazed monkey. She began pummeling him in the head and neck with both fists.

  His soldiers laughed uproariously.

  “It was just a kiss!” the soldier protested. When he failed to pull her off immediately, several other soldiers came to his aid.

  In a blur of movement, the barrel-chested man accompanying them disarmed the soldiers. He blew onto one of their swords, setting it aflame. Then he held the burning weapon before their leader’s face.

  “Wait . . .” One of the soldiers staggered back.

  Another tripped onto the sand in his haste to flee. “That—that’s the Rajput!”

  “Get the captain of the guard,” the wielder of fire said. “Now.”

  Over the years, many interesting things had awoken Jalal al-Khoury in the middle of the night.

  Many were to his liking. Some were not.

  Being woken suddenly during a time of war did not strike him as a good thing.

  He made a mental note to replace the fool in charge of the encampment at night. It was clear this idiot was not up to the task, for the wretch’s lip was bleeding, and he’d clearly been in a recent fight.

  Jalal armed himself, then traipsed through the sands after the unintelligible moron. The fool kept mumbling about fire swords and beautiful women smelling of the sewer.

  If he was drunk while on the job, Jalal would be sure to find a way to punish him. A way that would involve spending a night in a thorny briar. Without his trowsers.

  Once they neared the entrance to the camp, Jalal heard the distinct lilt of female voices.

  At least the idiot had not been wrong about that. Though the thought of beautiful women dressed in sewage did not exactly spur Jalal to action.

  A familiar, melodic laugh froze him in his tracks.

  Without thought, Jalal began to run. He didn’t care if he left the fool in the dust behind him. At that moment, he didn’t care if he left all else in the dust behind him.

  It wasn’t possible. His mind was playing tricks on him. As it was apt to do of late.

  Jalal turned the corner. And skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling into the sand.

  Just like that. She was there.

  He saw no one else save her.

  All else could go to the devil save her.

  Despina.

  She smiled. Slowly. Catlike, her claws on her hips.

  “Hello,” she said. “Your family has missed you. Terribly.”

  “Where”—Jalal caught his breath, still incredulous—“have you been?”

  Despina shrugged. “I’m here now. Are you very angry with me?”

  “You”—his voice was choked—“you—have squeezed my heart dry.”

  “I know.” She began to move in his direction. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying to fill it.”

  He walked toward her. Slowly. Catlike, his paws at his sides.

  “Yes,” Jalal whispered, nearing her, his pulse on a silent rampage. “You will.”

  Her smile widened. “Then you’ll have me?”

  Jalal took her chin in his hand. Despina wrapped both hands around his wrist.

  “I will.”

  It was sealed with a kiss.
r />   A rustling noise awoke Khalid from a restless sleep.

  His tent flap had fluttered open. A shadow graced the entrance. Without hesitation, he reached for his sword.

  “I am unarmed, sayyidi. This time.”

  Khalid could sense the smile behind her words. He did not move, certain that dreams had finally settled upon him.

  And this was the dream from which he did not wish to wake.

  Shahrzad moved through the darkness toward his bed pallet. She knelt beside him.

  “Are you not going to ask me how it is I came to be here?” she said. He could hear the hint of recent sadness—the weariness—in her voice.

  “I don’t need to know that.” Khalid reached for her hands. “Not now. Unless you want to tell me.”

  “Wanting and needing are two very different things. I always thought it before, but it’s not the same as knowing it.” Shahrzad leaned in to his chest and breathed deep. “My father’s book?”

  “Destroyed.”

  She nodded once, the tension leaving her limbs. The smell of Nabulsi soap clung to her skin. Soon Khalid felt the warmth of tears soaking through his qamis.

  And he understood.

  “You saw Irsa?” Khalid asked.

  Shahrzad nodded. “Rahim . . .”

  “Will always be remembered,” Khalid finished softly.

  “I haven’t been here for her.” The remorse on her face gutted him. “I haven’t been there for Irsa when she’s needed me. I was too busy wanting things I could not control.” She pressed into Khalid. “I should have known better.”

  “As you said, wanting and needing are different. Now that you know, I trust you will do better.” Khalid lifted his hands to her wet hair. Fury bristled within his chest when he touched the ragged ends. Ends that barely grazed her shoulder.

  Ends that spoke of recent violence. Abuse at the hands of Salim Ali el-Sharif.

  “Are you angry?” Shahrzad whispered.

  Khalid steadied his rage. “Yes.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. “Are you going to make him pay?”

  “Many times over.”

  Shahrzad took a careful breath. “I have an idea.” Her lips quirked to one side. “Well, it’s not just mine. And we’ll need your help.”