The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,75

without a second thought.

But Tariq had not counted on the boy-king acting in kind. He’d not counted on him putting his life before hers. Without a moment’s hesitation.

Yet Tariq had watched him move to shield her with his own body.

Just as Tariq would have done.

Tariq knew then—as he’d known when he’d read the letter Shahrzad kept tucked in her cloak—that this was not an ordinary love born of a passing fancy.

In truth, Tariq had known even then that he could not win. That this was not a battle to be won.

Only a fool would have continued to think otherwise.

Yet Tariq had chosen to be a fool.

And he knew it now, with a cold, unwavering kind of certainty. The same kind of certainty he’d felt beneath the Grand Portico when he’d first realized Shahrzad loved the boy-king. He’d ignored the truth that fateful afternoon. But now, despite all Tariq’s rash dreaming, all his desperate thoughts that, one day, if Shahrzad and the boy-king were parted from each other long enough . . . Tariq knew his wishes would never come to pass.

Shahrzad would never return to Taleqan with him.

For she no longer belonged there.

She belonged in a palace of marble and stone. A queen, in her own right. With a boy-king who loved her, as she loved him. The boy-king she’d turned to tonight, at all times. First when the arrow had struck her, then when she’d been in immeasurable pain, and even when the question of a hot blade against her skin had been suggested in hushed tones—

Shahrzad had sought the solace of only one person.

It ached. It tore at every selfish part of Tariq’s soul. It ripped in two every memory of the years they’d shared together. Every day he’d waited for her to return. To see that they were meant for each other.

To realize the boy-king meant nothing.

Shahrzad and the Caliph of Khorasan had been together for only a few months. Apart for less than that. Yet each was willing to die for the other.

While Tariq had been willing to kill the boy-king, at nothing more than a glance.

How had their lives descended to this?

Love for hate, in the mere blink of an eye.

Again, the memory of Shahrzad crumpling beneath his arrow flew to the forefront of his mind. Tariq shuddered to a stop. In that moment, he’d made a thousand careless promises to a thousand faceless gods.

Among these promises, he recalled one that burned with a sudden, shining fervency: If you let her live, I’ll do anything you ask.

A heedless promise made as Tariq had hurled his bow aside and raced toward Shahrzad, unconcerned with anything beyond the girl lying before him.

Unconcerned with all—even the lasting memory of his own hatred.

Tariq paused before his tent. He had to speak with the boy-king—the caliph. He had to understand what it was Shahrzad understood. To know what she saw in Khalid Ibn al-Rashid. For a monster could not love as the Caliph of Khorasan loved. Could never care for Shahrzad with the tenderness Tariq had witnessed tonight.

Of that, he was certain.

His resolve hardening, Tariq ducked within his tent.

Irsa was inside, sitting next to Shahrzad’s motionless figure, a single taper casting a golden glow through the yawning darkness.

The caliph was nowhere to be found.

“Tariq.” Irsa glanced about nervously.

“Where is he?”

“He went to wash not long ago.” Irsa unfurled to her feet. “I just gave Shahrzad some tea to help her sleep.” She continued to look about with obvious unease while rubbing her shoulder. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to remain here. Khal—the caliph will likely return soon . . .” She trailed off, her meaning as clear as the intention behind it.

Though Tariq knew she meant well in warning him, he ignored it. “She’s asleep, then?”

Irsa nodded.

Stifling a weary sigh, Tariq crouched beside his raised bed pallet—the bed pallet Shahrzad now occupied, her chin tucked into his pillow, her wound covered in poultices. Irsa knelt across from him, her eyes fraught with a mixture of pity and frustration.

After a time, Tariq met her gaze. “I’m so sorry this happened, Cricket. Please believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to occur.”

“I know you didn’t. But I am not the one who deserves to hear your apology,” Irsa said quietly.

“I know.”

“If you know, I think it would be wise for you to take the knowledge and act upon it in the future.” With that, Irsa reached for the packets of herbs she’d used to brew