The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,77
it, all the same. “Of course.”
“Then here’s your chance.”
“It’s not much of a chance, since you say I will lose.”
“You will.” The caliph wrenched the other shamshir from the sand and brandished both swords. “For you’re a fool if you think I would choose to fight a battle I could not win.”
“Is that why you have yet to meet me on the battlefield, you arrogant bastard?”
The caliph’s mouth slid into a wry smile. “Partly.”
“And what are the other reasons?” Tariq removed an arrow from his quiver.
“Because I do not yet know my enemy, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. And, unlike you, I do not willingly fight the unknown.”
“I know who you are,” Tariq ground out.
“No. You think you know who I am.”
“Perhaps you should endeavor to change my mind.”
“Perhaps I should.” Again, the caliph turned his swords in elegant arcs. “You have three arrows. Aim true.”
Tariq inhaled. He nocked the arrow to the sinew. Then pulled back.
He should aim for the bastard’s heart. For, despite the boy-king’s pompous effrontery, no man could escape three arrows, fired in rapid succession. Perhaps he could dodge one. Knock aside the second with a well-timed swing of a sword.
But not a third. He could not be that gifted a swordsman. No one was. The thought was simply ludicrous. Filled with the sort of bold audacity that routinely caused Shahrzad such trouble.
They were alike in that respect. Shazi and the boy-king.
Arrogant. Audacious.
Yet oddly steadfast in their convictions. Oddly honorable.
Tariq should aim for his heart. And take him down. For Shiva. For his aunt.
For himself.
Anger coursing through his blood, Tariq pulled the arrow even farther back. He heard the sinew tighten beside his ear. The goose feathers between his fingers felt so familiar in their softness; they almost whispered a promise on the wind.
The promise of an end to his suffering.
He could do it. The boy-king’s arrogance made him weak. Made him believe Tariq incapable of such violence. Or unable to espouse the necessary skill.
Tariq stared down the needless sights to the end of the arrow. The obsidian point gleamed back at him, menacingly beautiful in the light of the moon.
The last arrowhead Tariq had seen was the one he’d removed from Shahrzad’s back. Stained crimson with her blood.
Dripping red with the blood of the only girl he’d ever loved.
It seemed only a moment had passed since Tariq had promised he would never hurt Shahrzad again.
A moment and a lifetime.
And this? What Tariq was about to do? This would do far more than hurt her. This would destroy her. Beyond words. Beyond time. As Shahrzad had once said of his own death. On a night not so long ago when she’d worried Tariq might perish at the hands of the Caliph of Khorasan.
There would never be an end to this.
Unless someone chose to end it.
Tariq lowered his weapon. “The wind is not right.”
“The wind should not matter to a master archer such as yourself.”
“It should not,” Tariq replied simply. “Yet it does.”
The caliph dropped his swords to his sides. “Perhaps you are not the archer I thought you to be.”
“Perhaps.” He cut his gaze at the boy-king. “Or perhaps I’m merely waiting for a more favorable wind.”
The boy-king’s expression darkened in response, a muscle working in his jaw. “Never forget, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad—I gave you this chance. Today you fired upon me . . . and in turn struck that which matters more than life itself. The next time you attempt such a thing in her presence, I will flay you alive and leave the rest for the dogs.”
Tariq’s brows shot into his forehead. “And here I was on the cusp of believing you might not be a monster.”
“I’m my father’s son—a monster by blood and by right.” The caliph’s voice remained cool, despite the heat of his words. “I do not make empty threats. You would do well to remember that.”
“Yet you wish for me to trust that you deserve Shahrzad. That you are what is best for her.” Tariq refrained from sneering.
“I would never presume such arrogance. And rest assured; the day I concern myself with your good opinion will be the day the moon rises in place of the sun. But know this: I will fight for what matters to me, until my last breath.”
“She matters to me, too. I will never love anyone or anything as much as I love Shahrzad.”
At that, the caliph’s smile returned, mocking in its bent. “I disagree. You love yourself more.”
Resentment simmered through Tariq’s chest, roiling to a slow