The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,31

and met Tariq’s gaze.

Again, he did not falter.

Nor did he look away.

Shahrzad barely noticed when Rahim dropped beside Irsa, stirring up a cloud of sparks and grousing all the while. Though it took a great deal of effort, Shahrzad managed to curb her desire to pull away when Tariq took his place to her right—too close to be mistaken for a friend—his shoulder pressed against hers and a hand resting in the sand behind her . . .

Positioned with a cocky, proprietorial air.

Her body tensed; her eyes tapered to slits. She wanted to rail against him. And shove him away.

Tariq knew better. He knew how much she loathed this kind of behavior.

But she could not mistake the change around her.

The circling wolves—the eyes of judgment that had been upon her—continued their silent appraisal, but their hostility had diminished.

As though Tariq had willed it so.

While Shahrzad resented the insinuation that Tariq Imran al-Ziyad was her saving grace, she could not deny this change.

They listen to him.

Was Tariq the one behind the attack in Rey? Had he dispatched the Fida’i assassins to her bedchamber that night?

He could not have . . . done such a thing.

No. Even though Tariq despised Khalid, his love for her would bar him from resorting to such violence. From putting her at such risk.

From hiring mercenaries and assassins to achieve his goals.

Wouldn’t it?

A flare of doubt formed in Shahrzad’s chest. She banished it with a breath.

Shahrzad had to believe in the boy she’d known and loved for so long.

Beside her, Irsa’s leg continued its nervous twitching. Just when Shahrzad had decided she had to put an end to it—before it drove her mad—Rahim reached for Irsa’s knee.

“You’re shaking your luck away, Irsa al-Khayzuran.” He squeezed her knee still. “And we might need it soon.” His eyes drifted back toward the still-emptying tent. Back to the site of the recent war council and its unspoken meaning.

Rahim’s hand did not leave Irsa’s knee.

Flickering firelight or no, Shahrzad could see the tinge of pink on her sister’s skin.

And the odd slant of Rahim’s lips as he glanced down into the sand.

Dear God. Irsa and . . . Rahim?

Shahrzad snatched the pitcher from Tariq’s hand.

The heat from the fire had warmed the wine. Had heightened the spiciness of the cloves and cinnamon. The bite of the ginger. The rich sweetness of the honey, and the sharp citrus of the cardamom.

It tasted strong and delicious.

Heady and potent.

She swallowed more of it than she should have.

“Shazi.” It wasn’t an admonition. It was a warning.

When she glanced at Tariq, he was staring at her sidelong, his thick eyebrows set low across his forehead.

“Why are you permitted to drink to your heart’s content, yet I am not?” she countered, clearing her throat of the wine’s sting.

Tariq reached for the pitcher. “Because I have nothing to prove.”

“Ass.” She held it just beyond his grasp. “You are not my keeper, no matter how much you may wish it.” Though she’d meant the words as a rejoinder, she regretted them the instant they passed her lips. For she saw Tariq draw back into himself.

“I thank the stars for that,” he said in a hollow tone.

Shahrzad leaned closer, wanting to apologize but uncertain of how best to do so.

Without warning, Tariq snaked his arm around her. His hand shot forward, his long fingers taking hold of the pitcher.

“Let go of it this instant, or I’ll dump its contents on your head and leave you to wallow in honeyed misery,” he whispered in her ear, his amusement as plain as his threat.

Shahrzad froze, his breath tickling her skin.

“Do it and I’ll bite your hand,” she said. “Until you scream like a little boy.”

He laughed—a rich susurrus of air and sound. “I thought you were tired of bloodshed. Perhaps I’ll toss you over my shoulder. In front of everyone.”

Refusing to comply without a fight, she pinched his forearm until he grimaced.

“This isn’t over.” Nevertheless, Shahrzad relinquished the pitcher.

Tariq grinned. “It never is.” He took a celebratory swallow of wine.

Though she’d ceded this battle, a small part of her felt lightened by the exchange. It was the first time in almost a week—indeed, the first time since they’d left Rey—that they’d spoken to each other without the hint of anguish hanging in the air between them.

Without her betrayal in the forefront of their minds.

It also marked the first occasion Shahrzad believed their friendship might survive all that had transpired.

This newfound hope easing the weight on her heart, Shahrzad looked up at the