The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,86

to achieve.

How much he longed to see Tariq’s love story win out.

Omar had said it to Aisha many times before. Though she’d harrumphed at him quite severely whenever she heard it, he knew it never ceased to make her smile.

“Give me a meaningful love or a beautiful death!”

Alas, Omar was a greedy man.

He’d always hoped to have both.

LIFE AND DEATH IN THE PAGES OF A BOOK

KHALID RODE THROUGH THE DESERT UNTIL THE SUN dipped low on the horizon.

It would take him two more days of hard riding to reach Rey. By that time, his uncle would undoubtedly be at his wit’s end. It would not matter that Khalid was the caliph and therefore entitled to his own freedom. In matters such as this, General Aref al-Khoury only saw an angry boy, alone in the shadows. The same boy he had quietly cared for these many years.

Khalid could only hope the shahrban believed him occupied by one of his many excursions into the city. Or that Jalal had been willing to conceal Khalid’s absence for a short while.

But Khalid doubted his cousin would be willing to do such a thing.

For their exchanges over the past few weeks had been stilted at best.

Downright hostile at worst.

As it was, Khalid did not know how he would ever explain this particular disappearance to his cousin. And Khalid had been unable to find a trace of Despina or the Rajput. Anywhere.

He continued riding at a brisk pace through the umber sands until only a hint of the sun’s warmth lingered across the sky. Then he dismounted from the borrowed steed and removed the pack of provisions from the saddle.

With only a moment to catch his breath, Khalid pulled free the book from its place in the worn leather folds of the pack. The book was still wrapped in a length of coarse brown linen. Tucking it beneath his arm, Khalid strode away from the horse, his hand shifting toward the dagger at his hip.

He did not know what to expect.

Though the strange sorceress in the eastern mountains had warned that the book would scream—would fight back—Khalid still did not know what it might bring about.

Nor did he trust her. Not in the slightest.

Which was why he’d waited to do anything with the book until he was far away from anyone or anything.

No one else would die for this curse.

Not if he could help it.

Khalid removed the jeweled dagger from his sash. Then he placed the book on a rise of sand before him. Once he’d unwrapped it, he studied it for a spell.

It was strangely unremarkable. Ugly, even. Bound in tattered, water-stained leather. Degraded at the edges. Rusted at the bindings. Sealed in its center by a tarnished lock Khalid felt certain even the most unskilled thief could open with a hairpin.

Strange that something so commonplace could signify so much. Could do so much incalculable damage to so many lives. To entire cities. To so many families.

Just a book. Merely scratchings on a page.

Khalid smiled a bitter smile. The power behind words lies with the person. It had always been one of his mother’s favorite teachings. One of the more notable bits of wisdom Musa Zaragoza had ever imparted upon them both.

He narrowed his gaze on the worn volume below.

The words in this particular book would never give power to anyone again.

And, if the sorceress had not lied to them that evening in the mountain fortress, her words would spare Khalid from a life rooted in the past.

From a life spent atoning for his sins.

Khalid removed the black key from around his neck. And unlocked the book.

The pages sprang open. An eerie white light emanated from within. Sickly. The slashing text was indecipherable to him.

When Khalid reached out to touch the pages, a sudden flare of heat shot toward him, burning the tips of his fingers. He swore. With the burn came another flash of light, violent and vivid and bright. Wickedly so.

No more.

Khalid unsheathed the dagger.

The book pulsed in response. Rippled with a vital sort of menace.

He drew the blade across his palm. Dripped his blood onto the metal. It began to glow a fiery red. Then he let his blood trickle onto the pages of the book.

The book began to scream. A high-pitched, keening wail. For a moment, its pages seemed to scorch. The smell took on a presence, heavy and thick in the air. The drops of crimson blackened as they struck the book’s surface. Pale grey swirls rose above them, curling