The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,41
such a situation, perhaps even begging was not beyond her.
“No, Queen of a Land I Care Nothing About.” Artan laughed at his own joke. “I won’t.”
“Artan, son of Tolu . . .” Musa Zaragoza’s sonorous voice rang out from along the shore.
It was not loud, nor was it demanding.
Nevertheless, Artan rubbed his nose with the back of one hand, frowning with frustration. He groaned, the sound much louder than the situation warranted.
It was only a series of names. Yet it seemed to signify so much.
“Please,” Shahrzad said, shrugging away her confusion. She took a step toward the boy. “I need your help.”
Artan pressed a palm into his forehead, exasperated. “I shouldn’t help you. And I have no desire to take a snipe like you anywhere.”
She gnawed at her lip. “Please—”
“At least not until you learn to defend yourself. You’re like a newborn colt; I can see everything you’re capable of doing, which is a great deal of nothing, save run your mouth.” He snorted. “Come back tomorrow night. Once you learn to control basic magic, I’ll take you to see my aunt. She won’t help anyone she doesn’t respect. And she’ll laugh you out of the room. Before burning you out of existence.” Artan scowled once more at the shoreline, then kicked at the water, sending a salty mist high into the air.
Still at a loss, Shahrzad watched as the boy continued to exert his irritation on the hapless sea.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “After my less-than-gracious behavior earlier, I know I don’t deserve—”
“Oh, I intend to exact revenge upon you for this, make no mistake.” Artan eyed her askance. “And I always get what I want.”
Something about the way he looked at her made Shahrzad regret the decision to ask him for help. That same sense of danger intensified about him. Like the feeling right before falling. “Why—what exactly made you change your mind?”
“Because Musa-abagha asked me. And Musa-abagha asks for very little in return for offering me a safe haven.” He sneered, sharp and biting. “Don’t worry; I have no interest in you. I like nice girls, and you are not nice at all. You’re selfish and spiteful.”
Startled by this pronouncement, Shahrzad began to protest. “I’m not—”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m pleased by it. It means we can be friends one day.”
“Why in God’s name would I want to be your friend?”
Artan fell back into the water with a strangely contented smile. “Because I’m just as selfish and spiteful as you are.”
WHERE THERE IS RUIN
THE FIREBALL HURTLED THROUGH THE DARKNESS, streaking across the sand.
Right toward her face.
Shahrzad tried.
Truly. She did.
But, at the last moment, all she could manage was to throw herself into a patch of glimmering powder at her feet.
“Useless!” A deep voice cracked out at her like a whip. “Just a complete waste of time.”
I . . . hate him.
Gritting her teeth, Shahrzad clenched fistfuls of sand, wanting desperately to fling them into Artan Temujin’s smug face.
“Are you angry, little snipe?” Artan continued. “Good. So am I. This makes the second—no, wait—third night in a row you’ve arrived at the temple and ruined my evening with the moon.”
She unfurled to her feet, dusting off her palms. “Pardon me for ruining what would have been an otherwise productive evening.”
“I’m pleased you agree with me. For the moon would surely have offered me more entertainment than your pitiful attempts at magic.” He snorted. “Such gifts . . . wasted on such tripe.”
Bastard!
A rush of blood heated her cheeks. “If I had a fireball, I’d send it straight between your legs. But I worry there would be little to burn.”
Artan laughed, loud and without a care. “At least your sense of humor offers something to recommend you. Though I’ve never been one for skinny, angry girls.” He cast her a questioning glance. “Does the Caliph of Khorasan like the way you look?”
“Of course he does!”
“Wretched dolt.” He leaned back on his heels. “Beauty fades. But a pain in the ass is forever.”
“Ha! I suppose you would know.”
Another fireball blazed to life in his palm. “That I would.” Artan grinned, waggling his brows. “And I would take heed, if I were you.”
When she broke into a run again, Artan groaned behind her. “The old adage is true, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran: we only run from things that truly scare us!”
“Then I am truly afraid of fire, Artan Temujin!”
Another loud groan. “Cease with being afraid. And begin doing something about it!”
Despite her distress, Shahrzad tried to conjure the feeling of warmth that flared to