The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,39

magus proceeded to wait, assuming a stance of serene silence.

After a time, Shahrzad grew impatient. The boy on the rocks was being quite rude to Musa-effendi. For he had to know they were there. The half-moon behind them cast their shadows onto his face, long and lean and unmistakably present.

She coughed twice.

Still, the boy did not move a muscle, save to blink. And to sigh.

Which, of course, meant he was not dead.

Scapegrace.

Musa took in a great breath of briny air. “Artan?”

The boy propped a foot on one knee and placed a hand beneath his head. Then he yawned loudly. Prodigiously.

“Artan Temujin,” Musa tried again. It was not a forceful entreaty. Clearly, the magus had the patience of twenty men. And the serenity of many enlightened souls.

By contrast, Shahrzad was tempted to shove the boy off the rock. To watch the waves toss him about for a while.

But there was a possibility she would need his help.

What happened next all but caused Shahrzad to fall face-first into the waves herself.

The boy lifted a hand into the air above his chest. He twisted his fingers, and a spinning ball of fire the size of a fist appeared above his open palm. He flicked the rapidly rolling blaze higher, so as to see Shahrzad in a better light. Then he tossed the fireball into the waves with a flip of his wrist. It fizzled in the sea before disappearing in a whorl of white smoke.

All the while, Shahrzad could barely suppress a gasp.

I will not be impressed by this scapegrace. No matter how impressive he may be.

When the boy sat up, she noticed him sway to one side. He slid from the rock with a splash into knee-deep waters—

Before tipping over altogether with a wry chortle.

He’s drunk!

Shahrzad folded her arms, curbing her indignation. She glanced at Musa, who did not seem at all disturbed by the boy’s condition. He seemed resigned.

As though he’d expected as much.

When the boy sat back and lifted his face into the starlight, Shahrzad detected many things of note.

Like Musa, the boy’s head was completely bald. The lobes of both ears were pierced with small gold hoops. His skin was a light sable color, and his eyes were sloe-shaped and elegantly hooded, distinctly of the Far East. He was not classically handsome, but he was striking in his own way. For his beauty lay in the sum of his faults—an all-too-prominent jaw, a nose broken and healed in several places, a diagonal scar through his lower lip. From where she stood, the rest of his skin looked as smooth as the surface of a looking glass. He wore no shirt, and slender pants that had been fine many moons ago. Now they appeared tattered and without a care.

Just like the boy who wore them.

Once he found his footing, Shahrzad discovered he was not much taller than she, though his torso was wide—he was barrel-chested and strong.

“She’s pretty,” the boy slurred with a slight accent. His mouth tugged to the side in a cutthroat grin.

Without thinking, Shahrzad returned one in kind.

He let out a wild laugh. “But not pretty enough.”

“How fortunate your talents lie elsewhere. And that you are not a judge of beauty,” she said with another biting smile.

“Ah”—he held up a long forefinger—“but I am. I happen to be the preeminent judge of beauty this side of the Shan K’ou river. There was a time I had to choose which of four enticing virgins was the most—”

“Artan.” Musa tsked, canyons of disapproval forming around his mouth.

The boy laughed again, falling back into the water. He proceeded to float on an idling current, his arms outstretched and his legs spread wide.

“He’s drunk,” Shahrzad murmured through pursed lips. “And a liar.”

“That’s true.” The boy didn’t flinch. “They weren’t virgins.” He winked at her. “Though liar is a bit of a stretch. I merely enjoy embellishing the truth.”

Musa rubbed a hand across his face. “Please sit up for a moment. As a favor to me, act in a manner befitting your heritage.”

At that, the boy let out another overly emphatic round of laughter.

“I’m sorry, Musa-effendi . . . but he is not in a state to provide us with any help. And I do not have time to wait.” Shahrzad turned on a heel, frustrated she’d even hoped to gain assistance from such a lazy, rude boy.

“Shahrzad-jan—

The boy lurched to his feet in a squelch of seawater. “That cheeky snipe is the Calipha of Khorasan?” It was the first sign of