Her eyes narrow at the deliberate slight in my address, fear slinking into them before it is swallowed up by hate. “Your aunt’s life is on the line. Hers as well,” she says, pointing to Laleh. “Would you sacrifice them so easily?”
“Hurt either of them, and you’ll get a taste of just what I can do.”
A slap cracks across my face, my head rocketing to the side as pain erupts along the side of my cheek. She stares at me in alarm, not because of what she’s done... but at the cool iridescence of my magic that instantly flares to soothe my stinging skin. I smile as the runes on my arms ignite, and her face pales.
With her standing there alone and exposed, a feral thought enters my head. I could offer Javed his mother’s life in exchange for Amma’s. My hands heat with deadly purpose, but the same thing must have occurred to her, because she summons the guards with a frantic shout. As they enter the room, I prepare to take them all out, and then I remember my best friend standing steadfastly at my side.
And Amma.
And Roshan.
My anger recedes while the queen departs in a loud swish of silken clothing. “See that she is ready,” she barks to the waiting handmaidens.
They filter back into the room, their eyes downcast as if even looking at me means a death sentence will follow. In all likelihood, it could.
“You need to get away from here, Laleh,” I whisper as the handmaidens run me a scented bath in the adjoining bathing hall. I remember us dreaming about swimming in the palace baths what seems like a hundred years ago and smile sadly.
“How? We’re both trapped.”
I place my lips close to her ear. “If I cause a distraction, you can escape. There’s an underground passageway near the kitchens. Look for a storage room close to the baking hearths, one with grain and flour. It leads to an exit west of the city. Find a weapon, a knife, anything. And if you run into trouble, do what you have to, do you hear me?”
Her expression is fearful. “What about you and Amma?”
“Let me figure that out. Be safe, Laleh. Go, please!”
Eyes stinging, I give her an encouraging push and move to the bath. I pretend to undress and center my energies on the bed in the middle of the adjoining chamber, where I imagine a spark and focus on it. My magic feels full and malleable. I sketch the rune for fire in my mind’s eye until a flame bursts to life. Aran would be so proud.
Laleh’s eyes take in the tiny spire of gray smoke, then meet mine through the doorway, widening with shock that hardens into determination when the blaze takes root, eating away at the cloth and the canopied tapestries.
Pandemonium erupts as the handmaidens run screaming from the burning space and my guards rush in. I look for Laleh, but I don’t see her. With any luck, she’ll escape this hellhole. Calmly undressing myself, I release the tie holding the curtain between the rooms and slip into the scented bathwater. Fire can’t hurt me, not when I’m burning far hotter inside than any meager earthly flame.
In the midst of the uproar, I finish my bath, rubbing the rose oils into my skin and drying myself with heated towels. I am sitting at the mirrored dressing room table pulling a brush through my hair when the king himself storms in.
“What did you do?” he says, grabbing hold of my upper arm.
“I took a bath as instructed.”
“And the fire in your chamber?”
“There was a fire?” I ask, eyes wide with false innocence.
“You didn’t hear the screams?”
I keep my face expressionless and my tone mild. “Your mother was in here earlier. She tends to cause that kind of reaction. Why don’t you ask her?” I smile at him in the mirror. “You do know that the diviners say it’s ill-fated luck to see the bride before the wedding, right?” I glance pointedly at his fingers biting into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. “Either way, I’m sure your fawning court won’t approve of such marks on your bride’s skin.”
He drops my arm and turns on his heel, gnashing his teeth. “You did this.”
“From the bath?”
“Your magic,” he hisses.
“Are you suggesting that I can start fires with my mind?” I ask sweetly. “Come now, Your Majesty. That is an interesting idea, but I’m sure you’ll agree that one of the servants overturning a lamp is a much better explanation.” I eye his state of half dress with amusement. “You look nice.”
“You think to jest?”
“Ineverjest about clothes,” I state with wide-eyed horror.
His eyes narrow as if he can’t quite decide whether I’m baiting him or being this obtuse on purpose. I swallow the itch to incinerate him as easily as I had the bedclothes and continue brushing my hair. One of the handmaidens rushes forward to assist, and soon she is followed by another and another. His eyes slide over them. “Where’s the other one?”
