The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,72
right. Irsa felt the hatred gather in the space between them as sure as she felt the weariness take hold of her bones. The only thing stopping the caliph from seeing his wishes come to fruition was Rahim.
Rahim pulled Tariq away. Forced him to leave. Then followed him, an apologetic glance thrown over a shoulder.
Tariq had been quick to oblige, disappearing into the darkness, his face a storm of regret. But—thanks to Rahim—at least Tariq was still alive.
Now it was just Irsa and the caliph alone with Shahrzad. Alone in Tariq’s tent.
Irsa, alone . . . with an infamous murderer of young girls.
She finished wringing out the bloodied linen in a bowl of lukewarm water and stood, trying to stave off the settling fatigue. The caliph remained beside Shahrzad, studying the wound in her back and the fresh wrappings draped over it.
“When she wakes, I’ll bring her some barley tea with valerian root. It should help fend off the fever and let her sleep through the worst of the pain.” Irsa bit her lip, briefly lost in thought.
The caliph did not respond, nor did he look her way. Instead he remained focused on Shazi, his expression unreadable.
Irsa could not ignore her compulsion to fill the torturous silence with sound. “Though it seems foolish to say so,” she babbled. “I’m—grateful the arrow struck at such an odd angle, for the wound is not terribly deep. She’ll be sore for a few days, and I’m certain her shoulder will hurt her for a while, but . . . it could have been much worse.”
The caliph finally shifted his gaze from Shahrzad to regard Irsa with a set dispassion. “Yes,” he agreed. “It could have been much worse.” His eyes narrowed. “Had you not been there, many things could have been much worse. I thank you for that, Irsa al-Khayzuran.”
A nervous flush bloomed across her cheeks. After all, it was not every day the Caliph of Khorasan considered her as though she were a question he sought to answer. “Rahim . . . brought you a change of clothes.” Irsa took a calming breath. “There’s clean water in that pitcher there, and—should you need more—there’s a trough not far from here. I’m sure you’d like to wash away all the—blood. I can step outside if you wish . . . sayyidi.”
At that, the caliph waited to respond, as though he were gathering his thoughts. It was impossible for Irsa to tell, for he was impossible to read.
Impossible in every which way.
“There’s no need for you to call me that.”
A flare of surprise shot through Irsa, stilling her hands of their fidgeting. “But—”
“I’d like for you to call me Khalid.” The caliph braced his elbows on his knees. “Since you’ve already scolded me in typical al-Khayzuran fashion, it shouldn’t be too difficult.” An odd trace of humor flickered across his face.
Irsa’s flush spread from throat to hairline. “I—I apologize for that. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“I disagree. I think—of all of us—you were the only one precisely in your right mind.”
The intense way the caliph looked at her—as though he could see past her eyes into her very mind—only deepened Irsa’s feeling of awkwardness. She brushed back the strands of wispy hair that had fallen into her face. “I suppose you were a bit . . . hot-tempered.”
The suggestion of a smile played across his lips. “A fault for which I’m sure to be reprimanded in the near future.” He glanced down at the sleeping figure of Shahrzad. “Deservedly.”
“Yes.” Irsa smothered a grin, despite her unease. “You probably will be—though how Shahrzad can manage to reprimand anyone for possessing a bad temper, I will never understand.”
At that, the caliph truly smiled. The gesture managed to soften all the edges of his profile, rendering him almost . . . boyish. Almost beautiful.
Absolutely less monstrous.
The realization caught Irsa off guard. It was the first time she truly grasped the fact that the Caliph of Khorasan was still only a few years older than she.
Still only a boy in his own right.
And perhaps a boy with a bit more to him than the stories foretold.
Irsa wove her braid between her fingers in careful consideration of this fact.
Once again, they both fell silent.
“I understand your discomfort around me,” the caliph said quietly. “My behavior earlier was reprehensible. And I’d like to apologize for it.”
When Irsa’s face reddened a second time, it was for an entirely different reason.