The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,106
As though it were traveling rather fast, though the world around her seemed to have ground to a halt.
Shahrzad. Something had happened to her sister.
Irsa struggled to breathe. Struggled to think.
Aisha moved toward Omar, swift and certain.
Still, he said nothing beyond Aisha’s name. Yet she seemed to understand. They’d always been connected in such a way. Omar’s eyes wandered to Irsa, then back to his wife, speaking without words.
“Irsa-jan,” Aisha said quietly, resting her hand upon Omar’s chest to cover his heart. “Will you come with me?”
Irsa stood, her knees wobbling. Her sister. “What—what is it?”
“No.” Omar took a steadying breath. He placed a gnarled palm over Aisha’s hand. “I shall take her.”
Irsa took a step forward. “Has something happened?” Her body did not feel like her own. Her voice sounded as though it were coming from beyond her—a muted echo from across the water.
Omar walked to her side. His eyes fell shut as he inhaled deeply. He clasped both her hands in his.
“Yes, dear one. Something has happened.”
“Is—Shahrzad . . .” Irsa could not even finish the thought.
He shook his head. “No. A fight occurred at the palace.” Again, Omar paused to steel himself. “And Rahim was killed.”
Rahim? The ground beneath Irsa began to sway. “No.” She shook her head, her voice sounding so strange. As though she were truly lost at sea. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m so sorry, Irsa-jan.”
She did not believe it. Refused to believe it.
Rahim was not dead. The men had gone to speak under a flag of truce. Aisha had said so herself. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.
This could not be true.
“Where is he?” Irsa asked, her voice suddenly all too loud.
Omar’s features folded into a grimace. “I don’t think—”
“No. I want to see him.”
“Take her, Omar,” Aisha said in a grim tone. “She is not a child.”
The Badawi sheikh sighed, then wrapped an arm about Irsa’s shoulders. Irsa concentrated on blinking, on putting one foot before the other as they exited the tent into a beautiful desert sunset. The sky was awash in oranges and pinks. Brilliant colors that should have warmed her. Should have brought a smile to her face.
She’d always loved dusk. It was as though a hand in the sky had pulled the sun from its berth . . . only to have the sun fight back, resisting, leaving a trace of itself to fade amongst the stars.
Irsa stared at the desert sky as she walked. The sight before her blurred, and she ran a palm across her eyes.
No. She would not believe it.
Only this morning, Irsa had walked with him here. Held his hand here.
Watched him smile here.
Guards stood outside Khalid’s tent. When they saw the sheikh, they moved to let Irsa pass.
Irsa strode inside, and immediately those within took to their feet.
The captain of the guard stepped before her. “I don’t think it’s wise—”
“Leave her be,” Khalid said quietly.
The captain of the guard gazed down at her for a moment. He put a hand on her arm. Squeezed. Then moved aside.
Irsa stopped at the sight before her. Her heart lurched into her throat.
Tariq and Khalid stood around a raised bed pallet. Tariq’s silver breastplate was dull, his expression lost. His face was covered with sweat and dirt. Khalid’s hands were stained, his silver-and-gold cuirass marred by dark smears. Both their cloaks were bloody. Red over white. Crimson over black. Colors that could not be ignored.
Irsa knew then that this was not a lie. For blood did not lie.
But still she walked toward them as if in a trance, the warmth stealing from her very blood.
Rahim was lying on the bed pallet. So very still. If Irsa did not look closely, he could have been sleeping.
She halted an arm’s length away.
“How—” Irsa cleared her throat. She would not be a mouse. She was no longer a mouse. Because of Rahim. Her chin rose. “How did this happen?”
“It was my fault,” Tariq replied, his voice awash in misery. In undeniable self-loathing.
“No,” Khalid said. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was everyone’s fault. And mine most of all.” He moved toward her. “But he saved my life, Irsa-jan. And he thought of you, at the last.”
Irsa nodded, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Rahim is like that. He always thinks of others first.”
At that, the captain of the guard tore from the tent, a choked sound emitting from his lips.
“Do you want us to leave you with him?” Khalid asked, his eyes locked upon her face.