The Rose & the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn #2) - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,88
she felt nothing but the sense of being controlled. The sense of being imprisoned.
She was in a bower.
True, she was still dressed in the same rumpled qamis and dirty sirwal trowsers she last remembered wearing, but the chamber she’d slept in rivaled the finest rooms of the palace in Rey.
Indeed, it could be argued that it might even surpass them.
The open screens to her right were far more ornate in their carvings. Perhaps even a tad garish. The richly stained wood was inlaid with ivory, flecked by dark green jasper. Beyond the screens, Shahrzad could see a series of trellises shading a marbled balcony. Branches of flowering trees hung over the terrace, threading through the white latticework like drapery, their bright pink blossoms heavy on their boughs.
The walls of her chamber were sandstone. Where she could see the walls, that is. Thick tapestries clung to every exposed surface. In the corner was a table fashioned from many bits of colorful tile. It was as though a crazed artisan had taken a hammer to a rainbow, destroying something beautiful in an effort to create something decidedly less so. The pillows tossed about were bold and fringed with tiny mirrors embroidered by threads of gold and silver. On the gaudy table was a basket of flatbread and a copper tumbler, along with a platter of fresh herbs, rounds of goat cheese, small cucumbers, and an assortment of sweet chutney.
When Shahrzad examined the tray of food more closely, she noticed her host had not provided her with a knife, nor was there a utensil or sharp object of any kind in sight.
Her suspicions as to her whereabouts mounting, Shahrzad rose from the mass of silken cushions and took a turn about the room. She could not see past the intricate screens at the edge of her balcony. Indeed, she could see very little outside this prison of sandstone and ivory. When she attempted to turn both handles of the double doors—which were presumably the chamber’s entrance—they were firmly sealed from without, just as Shahrzad had expected.
Her shoulder still ached, but at least it no longer debilitated her. At least it would not inhibit her from fleeing were the opportunity to present itself.
It’s clear I’ve been “asleep” for quite some time.
Shahrzad’s thoughts turned more grim.
How long has Shiva’s father been planning to take me from the Badawi camp against my will?
For it was now obvious Reza bin-Latief had been in league with the Fida’i assassins for quite some time. Had likely been the one to send the mercenaries to Rey those many weeks ago, in an attempt to either kill Khalid or kidnap Shahrzad with a mind to use her as leverage.
And now Shahrzad had successfully been taken unawares.
To a place she was certain would bring about a predictable turn of events. Especially since Shahrzad had a sinking feeling she knew where she had been taken.
Trying to tamp down her fears, Shahrzad made her way to the tray of food on the garishly colorful table in the corner. She dripped some of the water from the tumbler onto the silver edge of the tray, waiting to see if it would darken the tray’s surface. When it did not change color, Shahrzad trickled some of the liquid onto her skin to see if it would do her any harm. Then she took a tentative sip. Her throat was terribly parched. She did not yet trust the food, but she knew she must at least wet her tongue if she meant to survive for any stretch of time.
When Shahrzad heard the sound of grating metal beyond the double doors, she knocked aside the herbs and smashed the platter against the edge of the mosaic table. Then she grabbed one of the larger shards of porcelain and wrapped a linen napkin around one end to fashion a rudimentary weapon.
At the very least, she would not face down her enemy without a fight.
One of the double doors swung open. Shahrzad concealed her weapon to one side of her sun-worn trowsers.
Only to watch her father breeze across the threshold—
Well-dressed and wearing a smile through the wisps of his neatly trimmed beard.
Baba?
When Jahandar saw Shahrzad—armed and crouched in an almost feral position upon the marble floor—he lifted his scarred hands in a placating gesture.
“Shahrzad-jan! You mustn’t be afraid.” He moved to her with a swift-footedness Shahrzad had not seen from him in quite some time.
“Baba”—she blinked, beyond confused to see him in such a poised and polished state—“where are we?”