The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) (34 page)

S
HAHRZAD WATCHED WITH BITTER SATISFACTION WHILE
Salim Ali el-Sharif was undone by his daughters. First one, then the other.

As his plans were utterly routed.

Though it did little to fill the hollow left in her chest after Rahim’s death, Shahrzad did feel a shadowed sort of satisfaction to see Salim fall at the hands of women. Especially at the hands of those he’d been so willing to cast aside or use as pawns.

It was time for Salim to learn that his daughters were much more than objects to be used and discarded at his whim.

But the true difficulty had come when Salim had been faced with Yasmine.

It was easy for him to disregard Despina. He’d done so for most of her life. But Yasmine? Yasmine was the daughter Salim had loved. The daughter he’d prized.

She had been his future.

“What would you have me do, Yasmine?” Salim asked once he’d realized the full breadth of her treachery.

Yasmine’s lovely eyes welled with tears. But she did not cry. As
Shahrzad had long suspected, there was an undeniable strength to her, even in the most trying of times. “I would have you stop this, Father. Stop this endless fighting. This endless unrest.”

“I did this for
you
. To ensure your future.”

“No.” Yasmine shook her head. “You did it for many reasons, but if you’d ever paused to hear my thoughts, you would know this was not what I wanted. You do not know what I want.”

Salim’s features hardened. “What do you want?”

“I want to go through life and not regret all that I am.”

“I have never—”

“You have.” She sat tall. “Had you not been who you are, perhaps I would not have repelled those I truly care for. Perhaps then I could have found the happiness I sought.”

Shahrzad saw Yasmine’s eyes flit to Khalid for less than an instant. It was not intentional. And Shahrzad did not resent it, for she understood. Yasmine had known all along that her father’s deplorable actions had been a hindrance to her union with Khalid.

Yasmine took a deep breath. “Perhaps then you would not have had to resort to such base means to achieve your goals.”

Anger lighted Salim’s gaze once more. “And now that we are here, what is to become of us, daughter? For in doing what you have done, you have abased our family. Would you have me surrender? Would you have us lose all for your childish hopes?”

She did not respond.

“You may do as you please, Salim,” Khalid replied instead. “You may turn and walk from this table now, if that is what you wish to do,” he continued. “But the gates of your city will burn until dawn. And once they are gone, there is nothing to stop us
from laying siege to Amardha.” Khalid leaned forward. “But I would rather not. I would rather not kill so many people for my pride and your conceit.”

“Then you would have me surrender?” Salim bit out in a wrathful whisper.

“You surrendered the moment you appeared before my tent.”

A wave of fury passed across the sultan’s face. “And what of the others involved in this? Many of your bannermen have supplied arms and funds to this cause. What of them?” His voice grew louder. “What of Reza bin-Latief?”

It was Tariq who spoke in response to this charge. “Make no mistake: my plotting uncle will be dealt with. As will the others aligned with him. There is much to be discussed.” He exchanged a knowing glance with Shahrzad. A glance she was glad to share. Glad to understand. Finally.

“What is it you want, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid?” Salim demanded. “My death?”

Khalid let his eyes linger on the Sultan of Parthia in pointed consideration. “I should kill you for all you have done. For all the pain and death and destruction you have brought on those dearest to me.”

“You do not have the courage.” Though Salim said the words in sharp retort, Shahrzad could sense a trace of fear beneath them.

“It does not take courage to kill. It takes courage to live.”

“Then what do you want of me?”

“I want you to abdicate your throne,” Khalid replied. “I will give you a home outside Rey in which you will reside, with guards to stand watch at all times. Guards I will appoint.”

Rage contorted Salim’s features once more. “And I suppose you will become ruler of Parthia? Ruler of all my family has held for over five generations?”

“I told you before. I have no interest in taking control of your kingdom.”

“Then who is to rule?”

Khalid looked to Shahrzad. She glanced back at him, relishing how he gave her leave to divulge the best secret of all. The agreement they’d come to last night. Together.

Shahrzad held Khalid’s gaze. “I think Yasmine el-Sharif would make an excellent Sultana of Parthia, my king.”

“As do I, my queen.”

Jahandar sat at his corner of the table in the caliph’s tent and watched his world unravel like a skein of silk.

He had chosen wrong. He had thought Reza bin-Latief would be the one to help him find a way back into the book’s graces. Back into power. Back into influence.

He’d thought the Sultan of Parthia would help him find a way.

Jahandar had been horribly, horribly wrong.

He had not realized how much enmity existed between Shahrzad and Salim Ali el-Sharif. He’d foolishly thought Shahrzad would help to win the sultan over to his cause. After all, his daughter was married to the sultan’s nephew. Though Jahandar knew the sultan intended to dethrone the caliph, Salim had assured him no harm would come to Shahrzad. It was why Jahandar had been so willing to go along with Reza’s plan to steal away Shahrzad to Amardha.

But everything had fallen apart that awful night at dinner.

Jahandar had realized then that the boy-king—the Caliph of Khorasan—had already won this war. Had already grasped the power Jahandar needed to succeed. For the caliph had already taken control of everything Jahandar held dear.

When Jahandar had tried to find Irsa in the desert, he’d been unable to do so. Now he’d learned from the captain of the guard that she was amongst the caliph’s soldiers. Safely ensconced in his camp. Beyond Jahandar’s reach.

When Jahandar had tried to enlist Shahrzad’s help in retrieving his book, it had been clear she’d already agreed to work alongside the caliph to take it from him. The caliph who’d stolen the book from Jahandar while he slept.

The caliph who’d used Jahandar’s own children against him.

Where was his book?

He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his standing in Rey.

Now he’d lost his daughters.

Irsa was nowhere to be found. Shahrzad would not even look at him. She had not gazed his way even once.

His elder daughter had eyes only for the boy-king.

When everyone stood from the table to leave, Jahandar rose to his feet as well. He watched the caliph’s guards follow the sultan and his generals from the tent. Then all who remained began to move about, disregarding Jahandar’s presence.

Just as before. Just as always.

Then, as Shahrzad and the caliph drew near, Jahandar leapt at the chance to speak. Leapt at the chance to act. And be noticed.

“Where,” he began, his voice wavering, “where is the book?”

“Is that truly all you care about, Baba?” Shahrzad asked softly.

“N-no.”

Her face pulled tight. “Why have you not asked after Irsa?”

“Does Irsa have need of me?”

Shahrzad glanced away. But not before Jahandar saw the expression of pain on her face. The caliph stepped closer. He regarded Jahandar through steady, piercing eyes. The look all but shriveled him.

Jahandar resented it. For though this boy was his king, he was still a boy.

A boy who had taken so much from him. Had taken everything from him.

“Your book is no more,” the caliph said in a cold tone.

“What?” Jahandar whispered.

“It is gone. Destroyed.”

The very air around Jahandar stilled. Turned hot. “How?”

“I destroyed it myself.”

Jahandar clasped his hands before him, the blood rising in his neck. “Why?”

The caliph stared at him once more in silent censure.

Then turned away.

Judging him. Dismissing him. As so many had always done.

As all would continue to do. Because of this boy. This boy who had no right to do such a thing. This boy who had taken so much from Jahandar.

His daughter. His book.

His respect.

Anger spewed from Jahandar in a blistering torrent. In a hot
flood of rage. Without thinking, he reached for the dagger at Shahrzad’s waist. Immediately the caliph stepped between them to push her aside, but Jahandar was not trying to hurt his daughter.
Never
his daughter.

Jahandar raised the dagger high.

The caliph lifted his arm to deflect the blow. Shouts of alarm rang out from the guards.

Oblivious to all, Jahandar slashed downward with vicious precision. The blade sliced across the caliph’s face as he tried to shove Jahandar away.

But the dagger found its final mark.

In the heart of the Caliph of Khorasan.

K
HALID HAD OFTEN THOUGHT HOW HE WOULD MEET
his end. He’d often wished he’d been given the choice to die before Ava’s father. To die instead of foisting his curse on his people.

But this?

He had not foreseen this. Not at the hands of Jahandar al-Khayzuran.

For an instant, Khalid’s gaze locked on Shahrzad’s father.

His murderer.

But Khalid did not have time for hatred. Did not have time for retribution.

His eyes met Shahrzad’s.

No. In the end, there is only time for love.

Khalid staggered to the ground, shock rippling through his body in waves of hot and cold.

The room fell silent.

Pain coursed through Khalid’s chest. An ache without end. He knew the wound was mortal. His vision shimmered, then cleared as hot blood trickled beside him. He heard Jalal slam Shazi’s father to the floor and kick the dagger free from Jahandar’s grasp.

The tent went still. Not a sound could be heard.

Khalid gripped Shazi’s hands, his touch strong.

Fading.

“No.” Shahrzad began to scream. She clutched his weakening body lying on the ground before her. Watched the blood flow from his chest.

Watched as Khalid gasped for breath, his mouth filling with blood.

The last thing he saw was her face.

In the end, there was only love.

So much more than he deserved.