The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) (15 page)

“How did you feel?”

“As though I’d found peace.” His gaze grew even more intent.

Even more pointed.

“Oh.” Shahrzad looked away, toying with the sleeve of the borrowed
qamis
to conceal the flush in her cheeks.

That night at the souk, Khalid lied because he thought this dream was about me.

“The last time I had this dream was the night before you came to the palace,” he continued. “I remember it well because I woke suddenly, searching for something that . . . wasn’t there.” His eyes drifted to the alabaster wall; he was lost in thought.

Lost in a familiar wasteland. A wasteland Shahrzad hoped never to see again.

She walked toward him, resolve firming her steps.

“That peace you seek is here,” Shahrzad whispered. “Fight for it. I’ll fight for it with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Her hands clenched around her sleeves. “When I was in the desert, I woke each day and carried on with my life, but it wasn’t living; it was merely existing. I want to live.
You
are where I live.”

Khalid stared up at her, his features inscrutable—

His eyes inciting her heart to riot.

“I’ve missed the silence of you listening to me.” Shahrzad attempted a weak smile. “No one listens to me as you do.”

His expression turned quizzical.

“You don’t wait to speak,” she clarified. “You truly listen.”

“Only to you,” Khalid replied gently.

At that, Shahrzad reached a hand toward him. Stopped just before his brow, as if seeking permission. He bent forward, and her fingers sifted through the black silk of his hair. Khalid reached behind her knee, drawing her closer.

“Fight with me,” she said.

At his silence, Shahrzad tugged his hair back, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I want a life with those I love around me, safe and happy. What do you want?”

“To live . . . fiercely.”

“What else?”

“To taste every breath.” Khalid skimmed a hand down her leg. A frisson of heat shot up her spine.

“What else?” Her voice shook.

“To fall asleep each night with you by my side.”

Shahrzad took his face between her palms.

“Then fight for it.”

His careful control shattered. Khalid stood suddenly, catching her to him.

“Will you go with me?” she gasped as his hands moved higher.

He nodded.

Then Khalid pulled her close and crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue edged past her lips, and she breathed his name while he strode toward the bed, pouring their bodies onto the dull silk.

She would never cease to be astounded by this—

The flawless awareness behind every look, every whisper, every sigh.

His words were a spark cast in oil. His touch was a fire against her skin.

Shahrzad tugged the length of linen over her head, and Khalid rose to his knees and removed his
qamis
. 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.

Its brutal assurance sent a shiver down her back.

Never forget: Khalid is not a forgiving man.

To him, violence begets violence. And likely always will.

“Don’t,” Shahrzad said gently. “Don’t ruin our time together with anger. I am not hurt. And these injuries are my own fault. Ones I would gladly take again and again, because they’ve made me stronger. They’ve led me to you.”

“Shahrzad—”

She reached up to trace the mark on his collarbone. The faint bruise along his jaw. Then she shifted her fingers to the newest cuts on his hands. To the gash across his palm that had not yet healed.

“I hate your scars, too,” Shahrzad murmured. “But skin is skin, be it a man’s or a woman’s. And pain is pain. Don’t lament mine more than I do yours. And trust that—if ever there comes a time when an injustice is done to me—you will be the first to know.” She pressed a kiss to his injured palm. “And I will stand by your side as
we
right it.”

Shahrzad took his hand and placed it on the wound on her stomach. “I promise it doesn’t hurt.” She grinned almost teasingly.

He frowned. “Liar.”

At that, Shahrzad pushed him onto his back.

Her hair scarving about her throat, she moved over Khalid. “I may be partial to roses, but I am not a fragile flower.”

“No.” Khalid’s mouth arced upward ever so slightly. “You are not.”

“Do you know why I adore roses?” Shahrzad untied the knot
of his
tikka
sash with deliberate slowness. “I’ve always loved them for their beauty and their scent, but—”

“It’s because of their thorns.” His muscles tensed at her touch. “Because there’s more to them than first meets the eye.”

She smiled down at Khalid, tracing her fingers along the curved hollows at his hips. “Do you know how much I missed you?”

Khalid inhaled sharply. “I do.” He grazed a thumb across her lower lip. “And do you know you make my life a thousand times worth living?”

“Yes.” Her throat went dry. “I do.”

Khalid’s eyes fell upon the stretch of twine hanging from her neck. His fingers shifted to coil around the ring.

“I couldn’t wear it on my hand anymore,” Shahrzad explained. “But I didn’t want to—”

He pulled her toward him by the necklace, kissing her silent.

Their lips soon found a rhythm. And their bodies met, seeking the same.

Seeking a moment of perfect balance.

A moment that held everything.

And in that moment, they lost all consideration for anything beyond themselves. For in that moment, there was no pain. There were no scars. And a curse was a worry of a bygone era.

Here, the only thing that mattered was before each of them. Here and now.

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

“And you are all that I will be.”

For here, they existed beyond time.

Here, they could no longer feel the place where she ended and he began.

“It’s late,” Khalid said. “You should sleep.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop smiling and go to sleep.”

“How do you know I’m smiling? You’re not even looking at me.”

“I can feel you smiling, Shazi.”

The warm sound of her laughter stole through Khalid’s skin, heating the coldest reaches of his soul.

He lay on his stomach with his eyes closed, trying to dispel the torturous ache in his head. That his pain would choose now to trouble him was merely further proof of his endless misfortune.

Or perhaps further proof of fate’s twisted humor.

The cushions rustled around him. Shahrzad eased onto his back, draping her small form over his. He felt the press of her cheek between his shoulder blades. Then, with a featherlight touch, she ran both hands up his arms to the nape of his neck.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked when she realized her attempts to soothe were to no avail.

“No.”

“What
do
you want?” Her tone bordered on playful.

Khalid thought for a moment, trying to banish the images her words brought to mind. “Perhaps a story.” He smiled to himself, despite the thudding in his brow.

“Any story?”

Khalid nodded, his eyes still closed.

She leaned close to whisper by his ear. “A young man was strolling through the wood when he came upon a honey-tongued dove. He paused to listen to the sweet melody of its song and was amazed when the dove stopped singing and began
speaking
to him.”

It was as though she were from a dream. One from which Khalid never wished to wake.

He felt her smile again. “The dove said, ‘Young man, you seem to have good taste! I’d like to share a secret with you. If you take this path here, you will come across a lacquered red door with a wooden handle. Before it, you will find a tribe of Weeping Men. Ask them not why they weep; merely pass through the door, and you will find riches beyond your wildest dreams!’ The young man was so surprised to encounter both a talking dove and the promise of riches beyond his wildest dreams that he eagerly followed the honey-tongued dove’s directions through the wood.”

“The foolishness of youth,” Khalid murmured.

Shahrzad laughed softly, and the sound rolled down his spine. “Just as the dove had said, the young man came into a clearing with a single door of red lacquer, latched shut by a wooden handle. Before it sat a tribe of Weeping Men. The young man ignored the Weeping Men and proceeded straight to the door. He pressed on the wooden handle, then stepped across the threshold. Before him was a hanging garden. But it was not a garden of flowers or fruit; it was a garden of brilliant jewels. Where there should have been an apple orchard, there was instead a copse of emeralds. Where there should have been berries, he found rubies the size of his thumb. Bright yellow jasper gleamed in place of oranges.
Glittering amethysts dripped in place of hyacinths. Diamonds and pearls lay shimmering on branches of jessamine. The young man stuffed his pockets full of jewel-fruits and flower-gems, laughing until his sides hurt.”

She twined her fingers through his. “When he finished walking through the hanging garden, he arrived at a beautiful village, overlooking a crystalline sea. He immediately bought the most magnificent home he could find. After he’d traversed the whole of this village, he came across another lacquered door with another wooden handle. He pressed it open and traipsed into the market of a grand city, filled with the sights and sounds of trade and the smells of delicacies. In no time at all, he had amassed a sizable amount of gold. The quality of the gems he possessed was unparalleled, and his knack for trading knew no bounds. It seemed no matter where he turned, luck was on his side! When he happened upon yet another door with a wooden handle, he pushed through it, only to cross paths with the loveliest young woman he had ever beheld. Hand in hand, they made their way across another stunning vista, filled with verdant valleys and sparkling springs. Never once did the young man look back. Ever forward. Ever toward the next door.

“Then, many years later, when the young man could no longer call himself young, he came across another door with another wooden handle and, without the slightest hesitation, he stepped through it, heedless of where it might lead.”

The only sound in the room was that of their shared breaths.

Shahrzad’s voice took on a melancholy note. “He found himself wandering through a wood. Stepping into a familiar clearing.
Surrounded by a tribe of Weeping Men. The lacquered door before him did not have a handle. In that moment, the not-so-young man understood. So he sat beside his tribe . . . and began weeping.”

The silence stretched thin for a time. “Why did you choose that particular story?” Khalid finally asked.

Another stretch of silence. “Sometimes . . . I worry I want too much,” Shahrzad said.

“It’s not possible. For you deserve everything you want and more.”

She shifted to rest her chin on his shoulder, causing Khalid to wince.

“Does it hurt that much?” Her concern was all too evident.

A part of Khalid knew he should lie to spare Shahrzad worry. But he simply did not see the point. To him, lies rarely served their intended purpose. Except in necessitating more lies.

“Yes,” Khalid admitted. “But I’ll live.”

“I have something that might help.” Shahrzad placed a suggestive kiss in the middle of his back.

Despite the siege in his forehead, Khalid considered her offer. Her dark hair was a shining veil against his shoulder. The smell of rain clung to every curl. Even now, he could picture the way her lips parted when he kissed the hollow at her throat. The way her soft breath washed across his skin. The way her slim hands—

Khalid almost groaned in defeat. “I am more than willing, but I believe we’ve tried that remedy tonight. More than once.”

Another lilting spate of laughter filled the air. She slid off
his back, leaving him cold. Khalid cracked open his eyes to see Shahrzad step to her pile of discarded garments.

When she returned, she held a square of green stone in her palm, strung onto a leather string. “It’s a talisman. Musa-
effendi
said it might help to ward away your sleeplessness.”

“Musa-
effendi
?” Khalid rolled over in protest. The last thing he desired was a gift from the cowardly magus he’d known as a boy. The coward who’d stood by and watched his mother drown in her own blood.

“Enough.” Shahrzad raised a hand to his chest, staying his objections. “Take help when it is offered, Khalid-
jan
. True strength isn’t about sovereignty. It’s about knowing when you need help and having the courage to accept it.”

Though his eyes burned, Khalid studied her as she spoke. As though he were forming an imprint, forever indelible in his mind. Her impudent chin. Her jewel eyes and vagabond hair. No one could deny that Shahrzad was beautiful. But it was not simply her beauty that captivated Khalid beyond compare.