Shewouldthink it does, given her obsession with hair dye. For me, the much-too-persistent strands need to be plucked. Not that I have time now, however. My best friend would flay me alive if I destroyed her court-worthy work.
Sands, I can’t believe I’m going to Kaldari!
“I still think someone got this wrong,” I murmur.
“Why?” she counters.
I lift one arm to gesture limply at myself. “There’s no logic behind it.”
“It’s hardly random,” she scoffs, resting her chin on top of my shoulder. “The monarchy doesn’t do something like this without a plan. They chose you, Sura.”
For some reason, her words hit harder than anything from Amma or my father, or even Cyrill. Do they know about my work with jadu? Is this all some intricate ploy to get me to Kaldari to put my head on a spike? “Yes, butwhy?”
“Whynot?” she stresses, her eyes wide within their own rim of kohl.
“You’re very irritating, you know that?”
She wraps her arms around me from behind. “Good thing you adore me. Get up and let’s get you outside before you miss your portal. I can’t wait to see the king’s runemasters in action. Do you think they’ll be hot?”
“No. Those men are all old and decrepit.” With a half groan, half snicker, I stand and grimace at the silk fabric of my tunic clinging to my thighs. “Maybe the crown made the selections based on ample, heir-bearing hips. That I can understand.”
“Thick thighs save lives,” Laleh says sagely. “But you’re wrong. Parvi’s hips would snap in a strong wind. You just have to acceptthe fact that you’re special, Suraya Saab, and a sexy prince probably thinks you’re marriage material.”
“I can’t think of anything worse,” I mutter as we make our way downstairs. Just before we reach the bottom stair where my father and Amma are waiting, Laleh pulls me into a hug.
“Promise me you’ll try to have a good time?” she whispers. “Stay out of your own head and live in the moment. And for the love of all things holy, please do not bring up the Dahaka or anything political. I don’t need to be breaking anyone out of a palace prison. Channel me if you have to. What would Laleh do?”
Chuckling softly, I exhale and return the squeeze. “I promise.”
Amma’s face crumples as I reach her. With a choked sound, she flings her arms around my waist and hugs me tight. Before I can say a word, she growls that she loves me and then releases me and scurries to the kitchen.
I bite my lip, fighting back my own sob.
“You know how she is,” my father says gruffly. “Come, it’s time.”
The main street of the village is filled to bursting with well-wishers—our neighbors are out in droves, throwing rice and petals toward me as if it’s such an honor to have been selected. I suppose it is, but I close my eyes, swaying unsteadily.
Despite my so-called silver lining of visiting the palace and the royal forge, my nerves have seen better days. Amma and Papa had quarreled for hours... and finally it had come down to one thing: we could not risk angering the king with a refusal. Eventually, Papa had conceded with great reluctance, but with so many rules I could hardly keep track.Keep my head down. Speak only when spoken to. Don’t touch anyone.I’d raised my eyebrows at the last one but agreed all the same. Contrary to my best friend’s hopes, I don’t plan on touching anyone at all.
“Sura, wait,” Laleh says from behind me, making me jump. “I forgot to give you this. I made it for you.”
In her outstretched hands is a beautiful, jeweled headpiece woven from intricate lace. I feel my eyes start to sting. “Laleh.”
“Don’t make a scene.” She wrinkles her nose as she reaches up on tiptoe to place it over my curls. “Just promise to find out howenormousthe library is, and we’ll call it even.”
I can’t help but laugh and whisper under my breath, “Again, your fixation is unhealthy.”
“And you need to fixate a little more,” she says with a wink. “Wear the teal outfit, and I guarantee your life will change.”
My brow furrows.What teal outfit?
A part of me wonders if I should regret letting Laleh take charge of my wardrobe, but it’s far too late now. She squeezes my arm and darts away for a better view of the square before I can thank her, and I’m left trying to ignore the whispers and glances of the crowd. I can imagine what they’re saying: Why was someone like me chosen when I’m nothing compared with Parvi or Fatima? Or worse, even Simin, who is glaring at me with the force of a thousand suns?
“What’s the matter?” my father asks quietly, noticing my agitation.
“Nothing, I’m just hot,” I say quickly. I tug at the soft collar of my bodice—an embroidered tunic with matching trousers made from pale lilac muslin. Laleh had insisted that the color made my gray eyes look like polished moonstone.
My father’s arm comes down around my shoulders, hauling me against his side, and he leans in, his voice low and urgent. “You can change your mind.”
