She could feel Tariq’s eyes on her. Like the eyes of the wolves about the fire.
He pulled her close. Tried to shield her. Not simply out of concern.
But out of pity.
She knew it the instant she felt his hand in her hair, smoothing it from her face, silently assuring her of—
“Let’s ask the White Falcon!” The first young man turned to Tariq. “The supposed leader of our host.” The men around him did not even bother to hide their amusement at the slight. “How would you like to see the monster meet his end?”
Tariq stiffened at the taunt, then relaxed. He tilted his head back, affecting a look of ease. His fingers ran through Shahrzad’s dark waves, in full view of those around them.
Please show me you are not driven solely by hatred, Tariq.
Show me there is honor behind your actions.
That I can still reach you.
“I am not necessarily in agreement,” Tariq began in a solicitous tone that managed to quiet the restless din around them. “For I do think Khalid Ibn al-Rashid deserves a dram of water.”
Shahrzad’s pulse slowed in time with her breath as Tariq held up a hand against a slew of protests.
“And his body deserves a proper burial . . .” Again, he silenced the crowd with a gesture.
“After I put his head on a pike for all the world to see.”
The sound of the cheering was lost in the bitter rage echoing through Shahrzad’s ears. The strangled screams of a wrecked heart.
As the men continued carrying on with their pitchers and their puffs on the ghalyans around them, Tariq handed Shahrzad his spiced wine, his expression bleak. Vaguely apologetic.
Yet determined.
Shahrzad drank, staring into the fire—
Watching it burn her newfound hope to ash.
“I don’t need your help.” Shahrzad pushed Tariq away, then proceeded to lurch to one side.
“A likely story, you awful girl.” He threaded his arms across his chest, watching Shahrzad sway through the Badawi camp on unsteady feet, in the opposite direction of her tent.
Tariq was honestly surprised she was able to remain upright at all. Even hours later, he still felt impeded by the effects of the wine, and he’d never known Shahrzad to drink spirits of any kind before.
By all rights, Tariq knew he should fall down laughing at his current predicament. The irony. Shackled to the one person he hoped to avoid. This was not at all how he’d wished to end the night. He’d hoped the wine would dull his frustrations. With Shahrzad and his uncle’s continued evasions. With the soldiers’ veiled taunts as to his irrelevance. It was becoming clearer every day that he was nothing beyond a name. After all, when had his uncle given him anything more than nominal power?
Tariq felt uneasy around these men who were willing to destroy what remained of Rey without question. Willing to shed innocent blood for their cause.
Blood Tariq was not ready to spill.
When Shahrzad pitched to one side again, Tariq shot forward and caught her, though the sudden motion nearly launched him into the sand. Fighting for balance, he reached for a nearby pole, its waning torchlight glowing thinly around them.
“I told you, I don’t need your help!” she slurred, though she gripped at his qamis in an attempt to stand straight.
Her delicate hands were against his chest. She smelled of spiced wine and springtime. Her hair was a tangle of invitation. Everything about her was utterly beguiling. Enchanting in that way only she could be—a girl who wielded her wiles without intent.
A girl who, despite his wiser inclinations, ensnared him still.
When she peered up at Tariq with a question on her perfect lips, it was all he could do not to answer it with a kiss.
“Was it you?” she whispered.
“What?” Tariq said, shaken from his trance.
Shahrzad grasped tightly the linen near his throat. “Did you send the Fida’is?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you? No matter how much you hated him? You wouldn’t do that to me.” She clenched the fabric even tighter, a plaintive note in her voice.
He blinked, trying to clear his mind of the wine’s lasting haze. “Shazi—”
“You have too much honor for that.” She shook her head while looking away, as though she were speaking to herself. “I could never love a boy without honor.”
“Yet you love him.” Tariq’s rancor could not be missed.
Nor could he miss the opportunity to strike out at her.
Shahrzad’s eyes focused on his. For a moment, he saw the heat of anger shine through the muddle of colors. “Khalid has honor, Tariq. If you’d only—”
“I don’t want to hear you make excuses for him.” Tariq shoved off the pole, determined to return Shahrzad to her tent and be done with this night, once and for all.
She stumbled after him. “If you would just listen—”
A group of soldiers rounded the corner, stalking into the light. Judging by their comportment, Tariq guessed they were intoxicated, but they didn’t seem to be glad of it. They seemed to be looking for something, their shoulders caged, their fists at their sides.