The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,55

he was—and would be—the great king their kingdom so desperately needed. The great king Shahrzad saw when she flew over their city.

Until then, she had to stay silent. For it would not help matters if the boy-king everyone so despised was cursed to rule a forsaken kingdom. The army massing against Khalid would only be spurred to action if they knew the tides of fortune had turned against him as well.

But once Shahrzad found a solution, she could tell Tariq the truth.

Perhaps then, his hatred for Khalid would begin to dissipate.

And reconciliation could begin.

For ending this curse was not simply about ending their suffering.

Shahrzad had to put a stop to the war she’d set in motion.

It was not just a matter of love. It was a matter of life.

And she meant to right it, once and for all.

Jahandar permitted one eye to sliver open. Then shut. Then open once more.

He silently cursed himself when he realized his error.

“Are you awake, old friend?” A warm voice rang out in the darkness.

Jahandar tried to remain still, hoping the man at his bedside would leave.

Low laughter rumbled nearby.

“I saw your eye open just now,” the voice continued. “And I know you woke yesterday and earlier today. Come now, Jahandar. I am not here to cast judgment. I only wish to speak with a dear friend.”

Jahandar took a wary breath, vexed with himself for stirring in the first place. He’d felt someone enter the tent a moment ago, and he’d thought it must be Irsa or Shahrzad, so he’d woken from his fallacious slumber, eager to speak with his children again. But he was not ready to speak with anyone else.

Much less Reza bin-Latief.

Nevertheless, he’d already made his blunder. Jahandar supposed he had to own up to it, lest anyone suspect the truth behind his mysterious ailment.

Or, rather, the lie behind it.

Jahandar let both his eyes drift open. His friend of many years sat before him, a lamp of polished brass glowing nearby.

Reza sent a patient smile his way. “You look terrible.”

Jahandar’s shoulders were racked by laughter that ended in a series of coughs. “The years have been kinder to you, without a doubt. But not by much.”

It was true. The last time Jahandar had seen Reza bin-Latief was not long after his wife and daughter had perished within days of each other. A tragedy no man should have to endure. One that had clearly taken its toll.

Reza had lost weight. His hair had thinned on top while greying at the temples. His mustache was fuller, and he’d begun to grow a beard. He no longer had the appearance of a man who found much joy in life. The lines along his face were not lines drawn by delight or satisfaction.

They were lines drawn by thought. Or perhaps calculation?

“What time of day is it?” Jahandar asked, his voice cracked and dry.

Reza handed him some water. “Almost dinnertime.”

Jahandar took an absentminded sip. “My daughters will be by shortly.” As soon as the words fell from his tactless lips, Jahandar wanted to catch them.

How thoughtlessly cruel!

But Reza did not seem to notice. “You are a lucky man. Such devoted children. I’m told Irsa comes to see you quite frequently.”

“Shahrzad has been by twice today.” Jahandar took another sip.

Reza propped a hand beneath his beard. “That’s good to hear. I was told she’s been ill the last few days.”

“Ill?” Jahandar’s brows gathered on his forehead.

“Old friend . . .” Reza paused to smile, then leaned closer. “I’ve not come to waste your time or trouble you unnecessarily. I know you’re still recovering. And there is a pressing matter I need to attend to this evening. But may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve heard—many conflicting rumors of what occurred the night of the storm in Rey.”

Jahandar stiffened. His free hand drew tight over the book. It still felt warm to the touch, though it no longer burned with the same fervor. The cold metal of the key around his neck weighed him down, like an anchor dragging along the seafloor.

Reza observed his reaction in silence. Then he pressed on, without missing a beat.

“Can you not tell me what happened?”

“I—I do not remember.” Jahandar’s broken nails dug into the worn leather of the book.

“Truly?”

Jahandar nodded.

Reza sighed with obvious reluctance. “I am not one of the shiftless masses, Jahandar-jan. We’ve spent many years of friendship together. I was there when Irsa was born. And I was there when . . . Mina died.” His voice grew soft. “I did