The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) (12 page)

S
HAHRZAD PAID DEARLY FOR HER SILLY SHOW OF
bravado with the spiced wine.

She spent the better part of the next morning with her face in a basin, emptying her stomach of its contents. Her insides were a jumble of knots; the dullest stream of light made her wince. There were moments she swore the very roots of her hair howled in protest.

Were it not for Irsa, Shahrzad felt certain these symptoms would have endured all day. When Shahrzad complained of feeling as though she were on a rolling ship in the midst of a storm, Irsa rummaged through her neat little pile of things and unraveled an old scroll. After scanning its contents, Irsa left their tent and returned with a tonic brewed from ground gingerroot and the peel of a dried lemon. Though Shahrzad protested at first—the concoction smelled quite strong and tasted rather bitter—she could not deny it helped in settling her stomach.

At Irsa’s behest, Shahrzad remained in their tent, nursing her wounds and forcing down more of the bitter tonic. Ordinarily, she would have disliked wasting an entire day in bed while Irsa
sat at their low table, transcribing scrolls by the light of an oil lamp. But on this particular day, Shahrzad did not protest.

For on this day, these circumstances suited her just fine. If everyone thought her ill, they would be even more likely to leave her to her own devices.

Even more likely not to notice when she snuck out after dark . . .

With her magic carpet in tow.

It was time to find Musa Zaragoza.

Time to see what she—and the magic carpet—could do.

In stealthy silence, Shahrzad tucked her dagger into her waistband and skirted past her sleeping sister. She secured a
shahmina
about her shoulders before grabbing the magic carpet. Once outside, she stayed to the tent shadows, her heart beating like a caged bird.

If someone found her creeping about at night only days after her arrival, they would suspect her of trying to flee or perpetrating something more insidious. It would not help quell the suspicions those in the camp harbored against her. And it would be even worse if she came across another boy like Teymur.

Her skin crawled at the thought.

With careful steps, Shahrzad moved between patches of darkness, avoiding any stretches of light. Her gaze went to the sentry posts she’d noted the night before. She allowed herself to breathe freely when she cleared the edges of the Badawi camp and strode into the endless sweep of sand beyond.

As luck would have it, she’d chosen a night without wind—a night in which every sound she made would be distinct. If she fell
or yelped or did anything that might attract attention, her secret would be a secret no more; her detractors would have proof their doubts were rooted in fact.

And they might send her away, along with her injured father and her innocent sister.

At the very least, they’d find Shahrzad alone in the desert, with a dagger and a rug. Everyone would suspect her of treachery. They would be unlikely to leave her to her own devices again.

It could not be helped. She had waited long enough.

Though her first instinct was to go to Khalid, Shahrzad knew it would only be more difficult to leave Rey once she returned. And now was not the time to place her wants above the needs of her family.

Especially the needs of her father.

Shahrzad had to find Musa. After Baba, he was the only person she knew with any aptitude for magic. It might be beyond the realm of possibility, but perhaps he would know how to help her father.

Or how to break a terrible curse.

She wandered farther into the desert, trying to find a place where a rise of sand would conceal her from prying eyes.

Soon, Shahrzad came across a large dune that should suit her needs. Still, she felt silly when she unfurled the threadbare carpet onto the silken sand.

She took a step back. Reconsidered the small rectangle of tattered wool.

What am I doing? How . . . ridiculous. This is utterly ridiculous.

Her gaze hardened.

I’m being a goose. Shiva would not approve of such indecision.

Nor would Khalid.

Her eyes fell shut.

“You are boundless. There is nothing you can’t do.”

His words in her ears, Shahrzad removed her sandals and threaded them through her
tikka
sash. Then she secured her braid a final time and sat on the carpet.

There was no time for her to worry further about the ridiculousness of this endeavor.

No time for anything at all, really.

Shahrzad had thought she would need to press her hands to the rug’s surface. But as soon as her bare feet grazed the worn wool, the sensation around her heart flared, warm and bright.

“Oh!” she cried softly as she dropped onto the carpet, her knees to her chest. The feeling flashed through her limbs with a sudden, burning brilliance. The carpet lifted into the air, its corners curving upward. It hovered above the sand, rising like a kite on an errant breeze.

Two emotions battled within Shahrzad.

The first was fear.

The second she would not yet dare name.

As the carpet continued its slow rise, the warmth flooded through Shahrzad’s body, into her arms and legs, through the very tips of her fingers. It tingled in her nose and pulsed along the ridges of her ears.

Power.

Of a kind she’d never known before.

When she looked down again, she was high above the silver sands. As high as the highest turret of Taleqan.

The fear remained, but it was soon surpassed by that other as-yet-unnamed emotion.

Before she even had a chance to consider it, she knew with an innate kind of certainty how to direct the carpet, as a fish born in water knows how to swim.

“Let it take you where your heart longs to be.”

Home. To Khalid.

Shahrzad gripped the carpet tight with determination. “No. Take me to Musa Zaragoza,” she whispered. The prickling warmth around her heart blazed brightly, then seared through the rest of her, tearing another cry from her lips.

Along with an unexpected smile.

The carpet swooped in a lazy arc, rising even higher. To the height of the highest parapet of Rey. As soon as it turned, it took off into a light-studded sky. The world below her disappeared in a rush of flickering fire.

Fear lost its battle.

Exhilaration won.

Shahrzad laughed into the night, a current of air at her feet. She rose onto her knees. Let her arms spread wide in the wind. Let the whistling chill wash over and past her, but not through her. Never through her.

Never for a moment did she think the carpet would let her fall.

She was the water in the tumbler, swirling and dancing to a music she alone could hear.

And up here—higher than she’d ever thought she could be—the wind blew alongside her, while all else vanished in a blur.

Still, there was no fear.

For up here, Shahrzad chased the wind.

The ground did not exist. Nor did the sky.

Here, she was truly boundless.

Fear would never overtake her again.

S
HAHRZAD FLEW OVER THE DESERT, TOWARD A
mountain range.

When she saw the sea sparkling on the horizon, her eyes widened in shock.

She’d traveled an astonishing distance in a rather short amount of time.

The magic carpet began to slow as it neared a low promontory overlooking a pale strip of sand. The moon still hung high in the sky, its shifting light glancing over receding waves. A lace of foam collected along the shore. Shahrzad took a deep breath. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the tang of salt. As the carpet circled above the cliff, a pillared structure with a dome of brindled stone emerged from behind a wall of grey rock. Marble columns capped by tongues of fire stood sentry at the corners. A wide set of stairs descended to a rectangular pool of water near the edge of the promontory.

The magic carpet floated alongside the pool, poised just above a smooth stone rise. Shahrzad eased a bare foot off the woolen surface.

And the carpet landed with a careful
whuff
.

She donned her sandals and made a slow scan of her surroundings.

The pool was enclosed on two sides by rows of cusped arches. Between those arches were marble statues of men and women pouring gilded streams of water or wielding strange contraptions Shahrzad had never seen before. One was an orb filled with what appeared to be swirls of fire—or perhaps it was wind? Another looked to be spinning a vortex made of . . . sand?

Burning incense rose from squat copper pots flanking the pool. Blue-grey smoke seeped into the air above them, the scent of peppery-sweet myrrh strong. Set against the tan stone was a mosaic border of bright blue lapis lazuli.

Shahrzad rolled up the rug with care. She strapped it to her back using her
shahmina
before taking a tentative step forward.

The pillared structure seemed to be a temple. Given the hour, it was no shock to see very few signs of life around her. Still, Shahrzad kept a hand near her dagger as she passed the pool and its copper pots of smoking incense, walking cautiously toward the wide set of stairs ahead.

Her gait did not falter when a familiar figure appeared at the top of the staircase.

He was quite tall and dressed in a cloak that fell to his feet in a chaos of colors. Leather
mankalahs
were wrapped around each wrist. His head was completely shorn of hair, and his deep brown eyes glowed like beacons of warm light.

“I was wondering when you would visit me.” Musa Zaragoza
grinned down at her, his smile bright. He held out his hands to her, signaling her up the stairs. A boy and a girl near her age materialized from behind the fire-capped columns to Musa’s right. The girl raised a trio of tapers in a rosewood holder, the wax dripping in creamy rivulets beside her wrist.

Both the boy and the girl were armed with short, hooked swords at their left hips.

Shahrzad halted near the bottom step. Without a second thought, she reached for her dagger.

Musa smiled broadly, his features smoothing in understanding. “You’re among friends here, my star. I can assure you of precious little in this world, but in this, I can rest my life: here, you are safe.”

“Forgive me, Musa-
effendi
,” she said, though her fingers did not move from her side. “But there are times I forget what being safe feels like.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Shahrzad’s gaze flicked back to his silent sentries. “I hope I have not offended anyone. Or caused any undue trouble by coming here tonight.”

The girl’s head of spiraling curls tilted in Shahrzad’s direction, her eyes wide. Inquisitive. The boy yawned, his stick-straight hair mussed on one side, as though he’d just risen from a nap.

“You have caused no trouble. Parissa and Masrur are on guard duty this evening. As usual, Mas would rather be asleep, but Parissa’s curiosity has won out over all else. She is quite fascinated, as she’s heard a great deal about you.” Musa laughed, and
it crinkled the dark skin around his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at the boy and girl in question.

“I apologize for visiting in the middle of the night.” Shahrzad offered them a wary grin as she started up the steps, her hand finally falling from her dagger. Parissa held her tapers high, illuminating the path for Shahrzad, while Mas remained as drowsy as ever.

“We suspected you were on your way.” Musa’s smile turned knowing. “The stars told Parissa to expect a visitor late this evening, and she relayed the message to me earlier.”

Startled by this news, Shahrzad almost missed a step. “The stars?” Her eyes shot to the doe-eyed girl hovering on her left.

She can read the stars.

Shahrzad had heard of those who could do such a thing. But she’d never had occasion to meet someone with this rare ability.

Parissa was no longer looking at her. She was studying the carpet lashed to Shahrzad’s back, with a troublingly covetous gaze.

One that gave Shahrzad decided pause.

“Why don’t you join us inside for some tea, and I will answer all of your questions,” Musa said, his voice quiet and soothing, like a brook weaving between uneven stones.

Shahrzad tarried a beat, her foot coming to rest on the final step. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for tea. I must return before dawn breaks.”

Before my absence is discovered.

She swallowed, hoping to convey her need for discretion in nothing but a glance.

“I see.” The sharply attuned magus nodded, though his eyes narrowed in question. “Is there something—”

“I need your help, Musa-
effendi
.” She met him atop the staircase, squaring her shoulders without concern for pride or propriety. “For my father . . . and for Khalid.”

Unseemly though it was to begin with demands, Shahrzad knew it could not be helped. She did not have time for anything more than complete candor.

Neither did those she loved.

Thankfully, Musa did not press further. He took her hand without the slightest pause. “What is it you need, my star?”

At Shahrzad’s wordless behest, Musa relieved Parissa and Masrur of their posts and sent them to sleep. Mas gave her a grateful look, though Parissa appeared rather miffed. She eyed the magic carpet a final time before leaving, a trail of wax dribbling in her wake.

Musa listened to Shahrzad’s story while sitting on the stone steps of the Fire Temple, his face stark. Only twice did his expression soften. Once when Shahrzad mentioned her father’s book. Then again when he heard her speak of Khalid. The moment Shahrzad confessed how much she’d come to care for Leila’s son—the son who’d watched his beloved mother die at the hands of a cruel father—Shahrzad suspected she had much more than an ally in the otherworldly magus.

After Shahrzad finished her tale, Musa paused to ruminate on the dancing flames at the top of the marble column nearby.

“Did you know these things would come to pass?” Shahrzad asked when she could stomach the silence no longer. “Did Parissa read the stars and reveal my future?”

He shook his head, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “That is not the way of it. Your future is not set in stone, my dearest star. A coin turns on itself a number of times before it lands.”

Shahrzad exhaled protractedly. “How I wish I believed that were true, Musa-
effendi
. But recent events have proven it is not. Khalid’s future appears to be set in stone. And with it, mine.”

Musa leaned forward, his elbows settling upon his knees. “So you’ve come here in hopes I might break this fearful curse?”

“Is it possible?” she whispered, gripping the fabric of her trowsers tightly.

“Alas”—he gazed at her sadly—“magic in our world can be a mysterious gift. One not so easily controlled, and not without great cost. I have no notion of the magic that was used to enact this evil, and even if I did, there are not many powerful enough to fend off a curse. The most I could do is offer some kind of talisman to ward away Khalid’s sleeplessness for a short time. But I am not powerful enough to counteract a curse, dearest one. The only way I know to break a curse is to fulfill it.”

Shahrzad’s face fell, the bleakness taking hold.

“But I might be able to do more for your father,” Musa continued. “Especially with regard to the book he keeps with him. You said he has many burns on his hands? That this book gives off an unusual amount of heat?”

“Yes, it nearly burned me when I came near it the other day.” Shahrzad’s mouth thinned as she recalled the peculiar wave of
heat she’d felt whenever she’d drawn close to the tome in her father’s arms.

“And he spoke in an unfamiliar language when you found him on the hill outside Rey?”

Shahrzad nodded.

Musa pressed a forefinger to his lips in momentary contemplation. “I know you are averse to involving anyone else in these matters, but I do feel as though we need to consult with another individual.”

“Is there someone you know who might be able to help?” A thread of hope tugged at Shahrzad’s heart.

“Perhaps. There is someone here who may know more than I. If my suspicions are correct, he would, at the very least, be able to answer questions about this book, though it may prove to be an . . . interesting task gathering answers from him.”

Shahrzad shifted uncomfortably, her palms resting against the cool stone beside her. “Can I—can we—trust him? Save you, I have told no one about the curse, and I do not wish to tell anyone else. Such information would be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Trust is an interesting matter when it comes to Artan. He will not give it to those who do not offer it first. In any case, I leave the decision to you.” Bemusement washed across his features for an instant, then vanished in a burst of certitude. “But regardless of your choice, he will not betray you, of that I am sure.” He rose from the steps and reached out a hand to her. “Come with me, my lady.”

Shahrzad trailed after Musa as he made his way down the steps, past the rectangular pool of water. Though she remained
doubtful, she continued following the magus as he walked toward the edge of the promontory.

When he made a sharp turn near the brink of the cliff, another set of stairs emerged before them, descending into utter darkness. Carved straight from rock, they were jagged and precarious. Without a railing. Without any handholds to speak of. She assumed they led to the stretch of sand below, but she could not see exactly where, as the trail vanished in another sharp turn a stone’s throw away.

A staircase that gave new meaning to faith.

One would think they’d have a torch nearby.

Especially at a Fire Temple.

Unperturbed, Musa smiled back at her. “Would you rather use the magic carpet?”

“Or why not a bridge made of moonbeams?” she grumbled.

He laughed heartily and held out his hand for hers. Without a word, she let him lead her down the perilous stone steps into the cavernous void below.

The sound of crashing waves grew louder as they neared the shoreline.

At first, Shahrzad could not fathom why they were crossing a dark beach in the dead of night. The shafts of moonlight dancing off the waves did not indicate the presence of any other besides her and the colorfully robed magus before her.

But as they crossed the ripples of sand, Shahrzad noticed a small outcropping of rocks jutting into the sea.

Stretched across a flat stone in its center was the lone figure of a young man.

A small wave struck the base of the stone, bursting white spray into the air, drudging seawater onto his trowsers. Yet the young man did not stir from his spot.

Musa came to stand near the edge of the lapping water, a few paces from the boy. The magus proceeded to wait, assuming a stance of serene silence.

After a time, Shahrzad grew impatient. The boy on the rocks was being quite rude to Musa-
effendi
. For he had to know they were there. The half-moon behind them cast their shadows onto his face, long and lean and unmistakably present.

She coughed twice.

Still, the boy did not move a muscle, save to blink. And to sigh.

Which, of course, meant he was not dead.

Scapegrace.

Musa took in a great breath of briny air. “Artan?”

The boy propped a foot on one knee and placed a hand beneath his head. Then he yawned loudly. Prodigiously.

“Artan Temujin,” Musa tried again. It was not a forceful entreaty. Clearly, the magus had the patience of twenty men. And the serenity of many enlightened souls.

By contrast, Shahrzad was tempted to shove the boy off the rock. To watch the waves toss him about for a while.

But there was a possibility she would need his help.

What happened next all but caused Shahrzad to fall face-first into the waves herself.

The boy lifted a hand into the air above his chest. He twisted his fingers, and a spinning ball of fire the size of a fist appeared above his open palm. He flicked the rapidly rolling blaze higher,
so as to see Shahrzad in a better light. Then he tossed the fireball into the waves with a flip of his wrist. It fizzled in the sea before disappearing in a whorl of white smoke.