The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) Read Online Free PDF Page B

boy?”
    “Ouch!” Irsa jabbed back. “You mean Spider?”
    “What?”
    “Oh, I call him Spider, on account of his gangly limbs and his tendency to lurk. He arrived with the Emir of Karaj. I believe he’s the emir’s distant relative. I think his name is Teymur or Tajvar or something of the sort.” She waved a dismissive hand.
    “He has a . . . disconcerting look about him.”
    Irsa frowned. “He’s a bit odd, but he’s harmless, Shazi.”
    Shahrzad pinched her lips together and said nothing.
    Irsa pulled back the flap, and they ducked inside their father’s tent. In the arid heat of the afternoon, the darkness within had grown even more stifling. They lit an oil lamp and prepared another tumbler of water, fresh mint, and tea herbs. Their father choked down the mixture as he had that morning, still muttering and clutching the ridiculous book in his arms.
    Shahrzad fanned herself with both hands. “He’s drenched in sweat. We should change his wrappings and wash his face and neck.”
    Irsa poured water into an earthen bowl and removed clean strips of linen from her satchel. She bent to swirl the cloth in the cool water. “Are you going to tell Baba about the magic carpet? He would be so excited to learn he’s passed his abilities on to you.” Smiling to herself, Irsa wrung out the cloth.
    “Ba—Baba?” Shahrzad began. Shahrzad was leaning over him, looking perplexed. A flash of something passed across her face. Alarm?
    Irsa dropped the linen and swiveled to her father’s side. “What’s wrong?” Irsa asked. “Did he open his eyes?”
    Shahrzad shook her head. “I—no. I thought I heard something outside, but I must have been mistaken.” The ends of her lips turned into the beginnings of a smile. “I know the desert enjoys playing tricks on a weary mind. If you’ll start with Baba’s face, I’ll wash his arms.”
    “Are you quite certain?” Irsa pressed.
    “Quite.” It was a firm rejoinder, one that could not be ignored.
    And though Irsa set about working in silence with Shahrzad to cleanse their father’s skin of sweat and grime—
    She knew her sister was lying.

    “What happened?” Irsa whispered, the instant their father’s tent flap fluttered shut behind them. “Tell me the truth, Shazi, or I’ll—”
    Shahrzad wrapped a hand around Irsa’s wrist to pull her near. “I thought I heard something outside the tent,” she replied in ahushed tone. “And I didn’t want anyone to overhear us speaking about matters of import.”
    “You think someone is
spying
on us?” Irsa couldn’t imagine why anyone would care to listen to their conversation.
    “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
    Tugging the strap of her satchel tight across her body, Irsa quickened her pace. Her gaze drifted from side to side. For the few weeks she’d been here, she’d never felt unsafe. Not even for a moment. She spent most mornings with Aisha and the children, and in the afternoons Rahim was teaching her to ride horses more proficiently.
    Who would threaten two young girls of common birth?
    As Irsa cut a sideways glance at her sister, she remembered.
    Shahrzad was no longer the mere daughter of a lowly keeper of books.
    She was the Calipha of Khorasan.
    An asset for any enemy of Khalid Ibn al-Rashid.
    Of which there were many.
    In the same instant the realization dawned on her, Irsa banished the thought.
    Shahrzad had been here for only a day. Her sister was being ridiculous. Paranoid. Clearly the result of living alongside a monster and fearing for her life on a daily basis.
    Irsa bent through the opening of their tent.
    A clammy hand grabbed her by the neck and flung her inside.
    She squealed.
    Long fingers gripped her by the nape. Hot breath washed across her skin.
    “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” a low voice rasped in her ear. “I’m sorry.”
    She blinked hard and fast, forcing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
    Spider?
    “What are you doing?” Irsa cried.
    “Let her go.” Shahrzad