The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,33

was honestly surprised she was able to remain upright at all. Even hours later, he still felt impeded by the effects of the wine, and he’d never known Shahrzad to drink spirits of any kind before.

By all rights, Tariq knew he should fall down laughing at his current predicament. The irony. Shackled to the one person he hoped to avoid. This was not at all how he’d wished to end the night. He’d hoped the wine would dull his frustrations. With Shahrzad and his uncle’s continued evasions. With the soldiers’ veiled taunts as to his irrelevance. It was becoming clearer every day that he was nothing beyond a name. After all, when had his uncle given him anything more than nominal power?

Tariq felt uneasy around these men who were willing to destroy what remained of Rey without question. Willing to shed innocent blood for their cause.

Blood Tariq was not ready to spill.

When Shahrzad pitched to one side again, Tariq shot forward and caught her, though the sudden motion nearly launched him into the sand. Fighting for balance, he reached for a nearby pole, its waning torchlight glowing thinly around them.

“I told you, I don’t need your help!” she slurred, though she gripped at his qamis in an attempt to stand straight.

Her delicate hands were against his chest. She smelled of spiced wine and springtime. Her hair was a tangle of invitation. Everything about her was utterly beguiling. Enchanting in that way only she could be—a girl who wielded her wiles without intent.

A girl who, despite his wiser inclinations, ensnared him still.

When she peered up at Tariq with a question on her perfect lips, it was all he could do not to answer it with a kiss.

“Was it you?” she whispered.

“What?” Tariq said, shaken from his trance.

Shahrzad grasped tightly the linen near his throat. “Did you send the Fida’is?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you? No matter how much you hated him? You wouldn’t do that to me.” She clenched the fabric even tighter, a plaintive note in her voice.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind of the wine’s lasting haze. “Shazi—”

“You have too much honor for that.” She shook her head while looking away, as though she were speaking to herself. “I could never love a boy without honor.”

“Yet you love him.” Tariq’s rancor could not be missed.

Nor could he miss the opportunity to strike out at her.

Shahrzad’s eyes focused on his. For a moment, he saw the heat of anger shine through the muddle of colors. “Khalid has honor, Tariq. If you’d only—”

“I don’t want to hear you make excuses for him.” Tariq shoved off the pole, determined to return Shahrzad to her tent and be done with this night, once and for all.

She stumbled after him. “If you would just listen—”

A group of soldiers rounded the corner, stalking into the light. Judging by their comportment, Tariq guessed they were intoxicated, but they didn’t seem to be glad of it. They seemed to be looking for something, their shoulders caged, their fists at their sides.

The type of drunks on the hunt for a fight.

Tariq pulled Shahrzad back against the pole, concealing her in what appeared to be a lovers’ embrace. He made certain to stand just beyond the weak circle of radiance cast by the torchlight. When Shahrzad raised a halfhearted protest, Tariq muffled her words against his chest.

Better the soldiers not see her.

Better these men on a hunt for a fight not find their match in the young Calipha of Khorasan.

For it was unlikely Shahrzad would be gracious with them, either.

Her body slackened against his as they waited for the soldiers to pass. The desire for battle was slowly leaving her as the wine continued to exert its influence. When she rested against him and he saw her eyes flutter closed, Tariq took a deep breath.

The ache of loss for something not yet gone was sharp. Sharper than anything he’d ever felt before.

“You need to sleep,” he murmured.

“Mmm.”

Tariq exhaled, mentally cursing himself. “I’ll take you to your tent.”

Her head slumped forward in a nod. “Check their arms.”

“What?”

“Look for the scarab,” she said. “Don’t trust the scarab.”

“I won’t.” He rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder to make certain the soldiers were out of sight. Then he lifted Shahrzad from the sand, nearly thrown off-kilter by her weight, slight though it was. The wine did him no favors. Staving off its effects, Tariq staggered toward her tent.

Her arms circled around his neck. “I’m very sorry, you