The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,51

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