The Wrath and the Dawn Read Online

  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

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Copyright © 2015 by Renée Ahdieh.

Map illustration copyright © 2015 past Russell R. Charpentier.

Cover photos: Michelle Monique Photography, Rauluminate/iStock

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Information

Ahdieh, Renée.

The wrath and the dawn / Renée Ahdieh.

pages cm

Summary: In this reimagining of The Arabian Nights, Shahrzad plans to avenge the death of her dearest friend by volunteering to marry the murderous male child-rex of Khorasan but discovers non all is every bit information technology seems within the palace.

[one. Fairy tales. two. Dearest—Fiction. three. Murder—Fiction.] I. Championship.

PZ8.A263Wr 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014046249

ISBN 978-0-698-18589-0.

Version_1

For Victor,

the story at the heart of mine.

And for Jessica,

the outset star in my night sky.

I in one case had a m desires,

But in my 1 want to know you,

all else melted away.

Jalal al-Din Rumi

Contents

Title PAGE

MAP

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

EPIGRAPH

PROLOGUE

MEDITATIONS ON GOSSAMER AND GOLD

ONLY ONE

THE VEIL Betwixt

THE MOUNTAIN OF Adamant

DESPINA AND THE RAJPUT

Depict WEIGHT

BY THE Low-cal OF A SINGLE CANDLE

ALADDIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP

THE BEGINNING IS THE END

THE SHAMSHIR

A SILK Cord AND A SUNRISE

A RIGHTEOUS BLAZE AND A RESTLESS SPIRIT

WHERE YOUR HEART LONGS TO BE

THE OLD MAN AND THE WELL

THE Promise OF TOMORROW

MISBEGOTTEN OATHS

THE HONOR OF Betrayal

TO INFLICT A Nighttime WOUND

A BRUTAL TRUTH

LILACS AND A RAGING SANDSTORM

MEHRDAD THE BLUEBEARDED

THE Dice IS CAST

THE FALCON AND THE TIGER

TWO CROSSED SWORDS

A DANCE ON A Balcony

REALIZATIONS UPON EXPLANATIONS

A FLOATING CARPET AND A RISING TIDE

SOMEONE WHO KNOWS

A SHADE OF WHAT I Experience

AVA

OBLIVION

1 ELEMENT OF A Storm

Burning EMBERS

GLOSSARY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

SPECIAL Excerpt FROM THE ROSE AND THE DAGGER

PROLOGUE

IT WOULD Not BE A WELCOME DAWN.

Already the sky told this story, with its sad halo of silver beckoning from beyond the horizon.

A young man stood alongside his male parent on the rooftop terrace of the marble palace. They watched the pale light of the early on morn sunday push button back the darkness with ho-hum, careful deliberation.

"Where is he?" the boyfriend asked.

His male parent did not look his way. "He has not left his chamber since he gave the society."

The boyfriend ran a hand through his wavy hair, exhaling all the while. "There will be riots in the city streets for this."

"And you will put them to rout, in brusque lodge." It was a terse response, all the same made to a somber stretch of calorie-free.

"In short order? Do you non recall a mother and father, regardless of birth or rank, will fight to avenge their child?"

Finally, the male parent faced his son. His optics were drawn and sunken, as though a weight tugged at them from within. "They will fight. They should fight. And you lot will ensure it amounts to nothing. You will do your duty to your king. Do yous understand?"

The fellow paused. "I empathise."

"General al-Khoury?"

His father turned toward the soldier standing behind them. "Yes?"

"It is done."

His father nodded, and the soldier left.

Again, the ii men stared up at the sky.

Waiting.

A drop of rain struck the barren surface below their anxiety, disappearing into the tan stone. Another plinked against the fe railing earlier it slid its manner into nothingness.

Presently, pelting was falling around them at a steady pace.

"There is your proof," the full general said, his voice laden with quiet anguish.

The beau did not respond right abroad.

"He cannot withstand this, Father."

"He tin can. He is stiff."

"Y'all have never understood Khalid. Information technology is not nigh strength. It is about substance. What follows will destroy all that remains of his, leaving backside a husk—a shadow of what he once was."

The general winced. "Do you recall I wanted this for him? I would drown in my own claret to prevent this. But we accept no selection."

The boyfriend shook his caput and wiped the rain from beneath his chin.

"I refuse to believe that."

"Jalal—"

"There must be another style." With that, the young man turned from the railing and vanished down the staircase.

Throughout the city, long-dry out wells began to fill up. Croaky, sunbaked cisterns shimmered with pools of hope, and the people of Rey awoke to a new joy. They raced into the streets, angling their smile faces to the sky.

Not knowing the price.

And, deep within the palace of marble and stone, a boy of eighteen sat lone before a table of polished ebony . . .

Listening to the rain.

The but lite in the room reflected back in his bister optics.

A light beset by the dark.

He braced his elbows on his knees and made a crown of his hands about his brow. Then he shuttered his gaze, and the words echoed effectually him, filling his ears with the promise of a life rooted in the by.

Of a life atoning for his sins.

One hundred lives for the one you lot took. Ane life to one dawn. Should you neglect simply a single morning, I shall accept from you your dreams. I shall take from y'all your metropolis.

And I shall take from yous these lives, a thousandfold.

MEDITATIONS ON GOSSAMER AND Aureate

THEY WERE NOT GENTLE. AND WHY SHOULD THEY BE?

After all, they did non look her to live past the next morning.

The easily that tugged ivory combs through Shahrzad's waist-length hair and scrubbed sandalwood paste on her bronze artillery did so with a vicious kind of detachment.

Shahrzad watched one immature retainer girl grit her blank shoulders with flakes of gilt that caught the lite from the setting dominicus.

A breeze gusted along the gossamer curtains lining the walls of the sleeping room. The sweet scent of citrus blossoms wafted through the carved wooden screens leading to the terrace, whispering of a freedom now across attain.

This was my choice. Call up Shiva.

"I don't vesture necklaces," Shahrzad said when another girl began to spike a jewel-encrusted behemoth around her throat.

&nbs

p; "Information technology is a gift from the caliph. Yous must wear it, my lady."

Shahrzad stared down at the slight daughter in amused atheism. "And if I don't? Will he kill me?"

"Please, my lady, I—"

Shahrzad sighed. "I suppose at present is not the time to brand this point."

"Yeah, my lady."

"My name is Shahrzad."

"I know, my lady." The daughter glanced away in discomfort earlier turning to help with Shahrzad'southward gilded mantle. As the two young women eased the weighty garment onto her glittering shoulders, Shahrzad studied the finished product in the mirror earlier her.

Her midnight tresses gleamed like polished obsidian, and her hazel optics were edged in alternate strokes of black kohl and liquid gold. At the center of her brow hung a teardrop red the size of her thumb; its mate dangled from a thin chain effectually her bare waist, grazing the silk sash of her trowsers. The drapery itself was pale damask and threaded with silvery and gold in an intricate pattern that grew always chaotic as it flared by her anxiety.

I look like a gilded peacock.

"Exercise they all expect this ridiculous?" Shahrzad asked.

Over again, the two young women averted their gazes with unease.

I'm sure Shiva didn't await this ridiculous . . .

Shahrzad's expression hardened.

Shiva would have looked cute. Beautiful and potent.

Her fingernails dug into her palms; tiny crescents of steely resolve.

At the sound of a quiet knock at the door, 3 heads turned—their collective breaths bated.

In spite of her newfound mettle, Shahrzad'due south centre began to pound.

"May I come in?" The soft vox of her father broke through the silence, pleading and laced in tacit apology.

Shahrzad exhaled slowly . . . carefully.

"Baba, what are you doing hither?" Her words were patient, notwithstanding wary.

Jahandar al-Khayzuran shuffled into the chamber. His beard and temples were streaked with greyness, and the myriad colors in his hazel optics shimmered and shifted similar the sea in the midst of a tempest.

In his hand was a unmarried budding rose, its center leached of colour, and the tips of its petals tinged a beautiful, blushing mauve.

"Where is Irsa?" Shahrzad asked, alert seeping into her tone.

Her father smiled sadly. "She is at home. I did non allow her to come up with me, though she fought and raged until the concluding possible moment."

At to the lowest degree in this he has non ignored my wishes.

"You should be with her. She needs you tonight. Please do this for me, Baba? Do as nosotros discussed?" She reached out and took his free hand, squeezing tightly, beseeching him in her grip to follow the plans she had laid out in the days before.

"I—I can't, my child." Jahandar lowered his head, a sob rising in his chest, his thin shoulders trembling with grief. "Shahrzad—"

"Be strong. For Irsa. I promise you, everything will be fine." Shahrzad raised her palm to his weathered face up and brushed abroad the smattering of tears from his cheek.

"I cannot. The thought that this may be your last sunset—"

"Information technology will not exist the last. I will see tomorrow'south dusk. This I swear to you."

Jahandar nodded, his misery nowhere close to mollified. He held out the rose in his hand. "The last from my garden; it has non yet bloomed fully, but I wanted to give y'all i remembrance of home."

She smiled as she reached for it, the love between them far by mere gratitude, but he stopped her. When she realized the reason, she began to protestation.

"No. At least in this, I might do something for you," he muttered, virtually to himself. He stared at the rose, his forehead furrowed and his rima oris drawn. One servant girl coughed in her fist while the other looked to the floor.

Shahrzad waited patiently. Knowingly.

The rose started to unfurl. Its petals twisted open, prodded to life by an invisible hand. Every bit information technology expanded, a delicious perfume filled the infinite betwixt them, sugariness and perfect for an instant . . . but soon, it became overpowering. Cloying. The edges of the flower inverse from a brilliant, deep pink to a shadowy rust in the blink of an eye.

And then the flower began to wither and die.

Dismayed, Jahandar watched its stale petals wilt to the white marble at their feet.

"I—I'm lamentable, Shahrzad," he cried.

"It doesn't matter. I will never forget how beautiful it was for that moment, Baba." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Past his ear, in a voice so low only he could hear, she said, "Become to Tariq, equally you promised. Have Irsa and go."

He nodded, his eyes shimmering over again. "I honey you, my child."

"And I dear you. I volition keep my promises. All of them."

Overcome, Jahandar blinked downwards at his elder daughter in silence.

This time, the knock at the door demanded attending rather than requested it.

Shahrzad's forehead whipped back in its direction, the bloodred ruby swinging in tandem. She squared her shoulders and lifted her pointed chin.

Jahandar stood to the side, roofing his face with his hands, every bit his daughter marched forward.

"I'one thousand pitiful—so very sorry," she whispered to him before striding across the threshold to follow the contingent of guards leading the processional. Jahandar slid to his knees and sobbed equally Shahrzad turned the corner and disappeared.

With her father's grief resounding through the halls, Shahrzad's feet refused to carry her but a few steps down the clangorous corridors of the palace. She halted, her knees shaking beneath the thin silk of her voluminous sirwal trowsers.

"My lady?" i of the guards prompted in a bored tone.

"He tin can wait," Shahrzad gasped.

The guards exchanged glances.

Her ain tears threatening to bonfire a telltale trail down her cheeks, Shahrzad pressed a paw to her chest. Unwittingly, her fingertips brushed the edge of the thick aureate necklace clasped around her pharynx, festooned with gems of outlandish size and untold variety. It felt heavy . . . stifling. Similar a bejeweled fetter. She allowed her fingers to wrap effectually the offending musical instrument, thinking for a moment to rip information technology from her body.

The rage was comforting. A friendly reminder.

Shiva.

Her dearest friend. Her closest confidante.

She curled her toes within their sandals of braided bullion and threw dorsum her shoulders once more. Without a word, she resumed her march.

Again, the guards looked to i another for an instant.

When they reached the massive double doors leading into the throne room, Shahrzad realized her centre was racing at twice its normal speed. The doors swung open with a distended groan, and she focused on her target, ignoring all else around her.

At the very finish of the immense space stood Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, the Caliph of Khorasan.

The Male monarch of Kings.

The monster from my nightmares.

With every step she took, Shahrzad felt the hate rise in her claret, along with the clarity of purpose. She stared at him, her optics never wavering. His proud carriage stood out amongst the men in his retinue, and details began to emerge the closer she drew to his side.

He was tall and trim, with the build of a young man good in warfare. His dark hair was direct and styled in a manner suggesting a desire for order in all things.

Equally she strode onto the dais, she looked up at him, refusing to balk, even in the face of her king.

His thick eyebrows raised a fraction. They framed optics so pale a shade of brown they appeared amber in certain flashes of light, like those of a tiger. His contour was an artist's report in angles, and he remained motionless every bit he returned her watchful scrutiny.

A confront that cut; a gaze that pierced.

He reached a paw out to her.

Just as she extended her palm to grasp information technology, she remembered to bow.

The wrath seethed beneath the surface, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

When she met

his eyes again, he blinked once.

"Wife." He nodded.

"My king."

I will live to see tomorrow's sunset. Make no mistake. I swear I will live to see equally many sunsets as information technology takes.

And I will kill you.

With my own easily.

ONLY ONE

THE FALCON DRIFTED THROUGH THE BLEARING MID-afternoon heaven, its wings held aloft on a passing sigh of wind and its eyes scanning the underbrush below.

At fleeting signs of movement, the raptor tucked its wings against its body and hurtled toward the dirt in a blur of blue-grey feathers and flashing talons.

The mass of fur, screeching and scurrying through the underbrush, had no chance of escape. Soon, the sound of clattering hooves drew most, a swirl of sand curling in its wake.

The two riders paused a respectful altitude from the falcon and her impale.

With the lord's day at his back, the first rider, sitting astride a gleaming, dark bay al-Khamsa stallion, extended his left arm and whistled, low and soft.

The falcon twisted his style, her xanthous-rimmed eyes narrowing. Then she took to the air once again and landed with her talons firmly embedded in the leather mankalah cuff bound from the passenger's wrist to his elbow.

"Curse you, Zoraya. I lost another bet," the 2d rider groaned to the bird.

The falconer grinned at Rahim, his friend since babyhood. "Stop complaining. It'southward not her fault you're incapable of learning a single lesson."

"Yous're lucky I'm such a fool. Who else would stomach your visitor for so long, Tariq?"

Tariq laughed under his breath. "In that case, perhaps I should stop lying to your female parent nigh how smart you've become."

"Of course. Have I e'er lied to yours?"

"Ingrate. Get down and collect her kill."

"I'g non your servant. Y'all practise it."

"Fine. Concur this." Tariq stretched out his forearm, with Zoraya still waiting patiently on her perch. When the falcon realized she was being passed along to Rahim, she ruffled her feathers and screeched in protestation.

Rahim reared back with alarm. "That godforsaken bird hates me."

"Considering she'south a good gauge of graphic symbol." Tariq smiled.

"With a temper for the ages," Rahim grumbled. "Honestly, she's worse than Shazi."

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