The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,68

recognizable.

Yet Tariq knew—even before the figure pulled back the cowl of his rida’, even before his hand moved to the small of Shahrzad’s back—who it was.

The hate flew to Tariq’s fingers. Coiled through his stomach. His own words echoed in his ears.

“Make no mistake—the next time I see Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, one of us will die.”

Tariq did not pause to reflect. He did not stop to reconsider.

Love would not blind him to the truth.

His fury rising, Tariq shoved away Rahim’s blind attempt to stop him—

And reached for an arrow.

Shahrzad did not like this place.

When she and Khalid had first flown above the settlement surrounding the well, a strange sense of foreboding had washed over her.

As they strode through it now, the feeling only worsened.

All the buildings around them were abandoned. Many of the mud-thatched roofs had collapsed in on themselves, forming craters that lent an even greater sense of menace to the space . . . warning any and all who dared to tread near that time would not look kindly on those who lingered.

Worse, despite all her sister’s earlier reassurances, Shahrzad could tell Irsa was nervous. Her sister paced in a tiny circle by the well, clutching a linen-wrapped bundle to her chest. Shahrzad watched as Irsa wore a smaller and smaller ring into the sand by her feet—

Knowing she felt the same menace in the air about her.

The only thing that gave Shahrzad the sense that all would be righted soon was the reassuring presence of the hand at her back.

The warm, solid presence of the boy at her side.

Khalid sees everything. He never fails to notice the most insignificant detail.

He won’t let anything happen to Irsa.

Shahrzad squared her shoulders. Soon, Khalid would destroy her father’s book. Then they could begin to right the many wrongs around them. And she would never have such cause to worry again.

As they strode toward the well, a sudden breeze cut through the horseshoe of abandoned buildings, slicing through the stone hollow in a frenzy of air and sound.

A familiar noise ricocheted in its wake.

Shahrzad stopped walking.

Was that a . . . horse?

For a moment, she thought she’d heard the clatter of hooves in the distance.

Beside her, Khalid paused as well. Then he moved past her, as though he were trying to puzzle it out. Irsa’s horse stood nearby, tethered to a post.

And no one else knew where they were.

The breeze died down. The whorls of sand fell to her feet.

But all was not right. That much was evident.

Shahrzad felt it on the air.

Just as she saw the distinct shift of shadows near a building on the far right.

And she knew. She knew with the same sort of paralyzing certainty as one who dangles from a precipice.

For she’d trained in the art for years. Now was the perfect moment.

The wind had just fallen. Down and to the left. She could almost feel the feathered fletchings between her fingertips. The twang of the bowstring as it was pulled tight.

The snap as the arrow was loosed.

Without a second thought, Shahrzad shoved Khalid aside.

AN ARROW TO THE HEART

THE ARROW ZINGED THROUGH THE DARKNESS, whistling past Irsa on its deadly trajectory.

The world around her seemed to slow all at once.

She saw her sister leap toward the Caliph of Khorasan, trying to push him aside.

In the same instant, the caliph grabbed her, wanting to shield her with his body. Two stubborn lovers, protecting each other from the very same threat.

Fighting the very same losing battle.

He grabbed her as she pushed him. And all was lost.

The arrow buried itself in Shahrzad’s back.

Then, just as quickly as the world slowed, it sped forward in a sudden rush.

Irsa watched the caliph catch Shahrzad tight against his chest. Though his face was blank, his eyes were a summer storm. A fiery sun besieged by churning thunderclouds.

A belated cry of surprise escaped her sister’s lips.

At the sight of the arrow quivering from Shahrzad’s back, Irsa screamed.

The sound split the night sky in two.

“Shazi!” Irsa rushed to Shahrzad’s side.

Her sister’s fingers were wrapped in the folds of the caliph’s black rida’. Neither of them had yet to utter a word, their eyes fixed upon the other’s. Whatever silent conversation they shared was not one Irsa understood. They sank to the ground, the caliph still holding Shahrzad tight against him. Irsa knelt in the dirt nearby, her heart clamoring in her chest.

“We—we have to do something!” she cried. “We need to—”

A rush of movement behind them spurred the caliph to action. He passed Shahrzad