Free The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn) by Renée Ahdieh Page B

possible.
    Despite all his attempts to avoid his destiny, it had found itsway to him. Had slashed its way across his city. Set fire to all he held dear.
    And he could not watch Shahrzad burn with him.
    He would burn alone—again and again—before he would ever watch such a thing.
    “I cannot make her smile,” Khalid said. “Not anymore.”
    The Rajput ran his hand through his beard, lingering in contemplation.
    “It is too soon to pass judgment on the matter.”
    Khalid bowed deeply, touching his fingertips to his brow. “I wish you happiness, Vikram Singh.”
    “And I you,
meraa dost
—my greatest friend.”



NOT A SINGLE DROP
    C
UT THE STRINGS, SHAZI. FLY.”
    The words were whispers in her ears, carried on the air like a secret summoning.
    “Fly.”
    Shahrzad sat in the center of her tent, ignoring the commotion outside. Sounds of the newest contingent of soldiers arriving in camp. Sounds of impending war. Instead she focused on the dusty ground, her knees bent and her feet crossed at the ankles.
    Before her lay the ugliest carpet in all of creation.
    Rust colored, with a border of dark blue and a center medallion of black-and-white scrollwork. Fringed on two sides by yellowed, woebegone tassels. Seared in two corners.
    A rug with a story of its own . . .
    Albeit a small one. It was barely large enough to hold two people, sitting side by side.
    Shahrzad canted her head in contemplation. Took a measured breath. Then she pressed the flat of her hand to the rug’s surface.
    A prickly feeling, like that of losing sensation in a limb, settledaround her heart. It warmed through her blood, spreading into her fingertips.
    Though she knew what to expect, it still took her by surprise when a corner of the carpet curled into her hand.
    She removed her palm and swallowed. The rug fell flat.
    “Cut the strings, you goose. Did you swallow your ears just now, along with your nerve?”
    “I heard you the first thousand times, you rat!” With a small grin for Shiva’s memory, Shahrzad reached for an empty tumbler and the pitcher of water on the low table nearby. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she filled the tumbler halfway and placed it within the center medallion of the ugliest carpet in all of creation.
    “Now for the true test,” she muttered.
    Shahrzad returned her palm to the carpet. Just as before, the strange feeling unfurled around her heart before tingling down her arm. The edges of the rug bowed in on themselves, then the rug took to the air. Soon, there was nothing beneath it but empty space. She lifted onto her knees, moving with caution. The tumbler had not stirred from within the medallion; not a single drop of water had spilt. Exhaling through her nose, Shahrzad floated her fingers to the right. The rug followed along at shoulder level, the water’s surface as calm as an unruffled lake.
    Shahrzad decided to take the enterprise a step further.
    She stood without warning, her hand spiking toward the steepled ceiling of the tent. Shahrzad expected the carpet to careen out of control, but—though it lifted in the mere blink of an eye—it refused to be buffeted about on such a graceless tide.Instead, it rippled as though it were under the spell of the lightest of breezes. Trailing her fingertips, it rose above her head—a series of small waves upon an invisible shore—before spiraling back to the ground at her command. She repeated the motions twice. Up. Down. And back again. Not once did the carpet break contact with her skin. Not once did it lose control. It bore the cup as its weightless passenger, from ceiling to floor like clouds upon the air.
    The most Shahrzad ever saw was the water loll from brim to brim, never spilling, simply swirling about, as though it were dancing to a languorous music it alone could hear.
    Her eyes wide, she let the magic carpet circle back to the earth.
    In her ears, the voice of her best friend—the voice behind the secret summoning—began to laugh, lyrically,