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G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
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Copyright © 2015 by Renée Ahdieh.
Map illustration copyright © 2015 by Russell R. Charpentier.
Cover photos: Michelle Monique Photography, Rauluminate/iStock
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
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 boy-king of Khorasan but discovers not all is as it seems within the palace.
[1. Fairy tales. 2. Love—Fiction. 3. Murder—Fiction.] I. Title.
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 first star in my night sky.
I once had a thousand desires,
But in my one desire 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 BETWEEN
THE MOUNTAIN OF ADAMANT
DESPINA AND THE RAJPUT
DRAW WEIGHT
BY THE LIGHT 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 DARK WOUND
A BRUTAL TRUTH
LILACS AND A RAGING SANDSTORM
MEHRDAD THE BLUEBEARDED
THE DIE 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 FEEL
AVA
OBLIVION
ONE 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 father on the rooftop terrace of the marble palace. They watched the pale light of the early morning sun push back the darkness with slow, careful deliberation.
“Where is he?” the young man asked.
His father did not look his way. “He has not left his chamber since he gave the order.”
The young man 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 short order.” It was a terse response, still made to a somber stretch of light.
“In short order? Do you not think a mother and father, regardless of birth or rank, will fight to avenge their child?”
Finally, the father faced his son. His eyes were drawn and sunken, as though a weight tugged at them from within. “They will fight. They should fight. And you will ensure it amounts to nothing. You will do your duty to your king. Do you understand?”
The young man paused. “I understand.”
“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 two men stared up at the sky.
Waiting.
A drop of rain struck the arid surface beneath their feet, disappearing into the tan stone. Another plinked against the iron railing before it slid its way into nothingness.
Soon, rain was falling around them at a steady pace.
“There is your proof,” the general said, his voice laden with quiet anguish.
The young man did not respond right away.
“He ca
“He can. He is strong.”
“You have never understood Khalid. It is not about strength. It is about substance. What follows will destroy all that remains of his, leaving behind a husk—a shadow of what he once was.”
The general winced. “Do you think I wanted this for him? I would drown in my own blood to prevent this. But we have no choice.”
The young man shook his head and wiped the rain from beneath his chin.
“I refuse to believe that.”
“Jalal—”
“There must be another way.” With that, the young man turned from the railing and vanished down the staircase.
Throughout the city, long-dry wells began to fill. Cracked, sunbaked cisterns shimmered with pools of hope, and the people of Rey awoke to a new joy. They raced into the streets, angling their smiling faces to the sky.
Not knowing the price.
And, deep within the palace of marble and stone, a boy of eighteen sat alone before a table of polished ebony . . .
Listening to the rain.
The only light in the room reflected back in his amber eyes.
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 around him, filling his ears with the promise of a life rooted in the past.