“Sire,” the boy said breathlessly, before speaking in rapid-fire Feshtoon. “You’ve got to help, sire— I’ve been telling everyone but no one believes me— I went to the magistrates and they called me a liar and of course I tried to inform the king, but n—
Kamran jerked suddenly back.
Omid had made the mistake of touching the prince, reaching out a trembling hand in a thoughtless, desperate motion.
“Guards,” Hazan called. “Restrain this child.”
“No—” Omid spun around as guards came rushing from all sides, easily pinning the child’s arms behind his back. Omid’s eyes were wild with panic. “No— Please, sire, you’vegot to come now, we’ve got to do someth—”
Omid cried out as they twisted his limbs, resisting even as they dragged him away. “Get off me,” he shouted, “I need to speak with the prince— I have to— Please, I beg you, it’s important—”
“You dare lay your hands on the crown prince of Ardunia?” Hazan rounded on him. “You will hang for this.”
“I didn’t mean no harm,” the boy cried, thrashing against the guards. “Please, I just—”
“That’s quite enough,” the prince said quietly.
“But, Your Highness—”
“I said,enough.”
The room went suddenly, frighteningly still. The guards froze where they were; Omid went limp in their grip. All the palace seemed to stop breathing.
In the silence, Kamran studied the Fesht boy, his tear-streaked face, his shaking limbs.
“Release him,” he said.
The guards dropped the child unceremoniously to the floor, where Omid fell hard on his knees and curled inward, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath. When the child finally looked up again, his eyes had filled with tears. “Please, sire,” he said. “I didn’t mean no harm.”
Kamran was eerily calm when he said, “Tell me what has happened.”
A single tear tracked down the boy’s cheek. “It’s the Diviners,” he said. “They’re all dead.”
Thirty-Four
ALIZEH STARED BLANKLY AT THEyoung woman.
“I really can’t believe it,” Miss Huda was saying, her eyes wide with astonishment. “It’s you. How on earth?”
“Forgive me, but I don’t understa—”
“This,” Miss Huda said, rushing toward a chest of drawers. She tugged open one of the compartments and rifled through her things, and not a beat later held aloft a cream-colored envelope. “This.This.”
Alizeh stared. “A letter?”
“I received it earlier today. Go on.” She pressed it into Alizeh’s hands. “Read it.”
Unbidden, Alizeh’s heart began its familiar pounding, nerves crawling slowly across her skin. With great trepidation she tugged free the note from its sleeve, unfolded the paper, and went still at the sight of the familiar script. It was written with the same firm hand as the note she’d received earlier today; the one currently tucked into her pocket.
You will meet today with a young woman with silver eyes. Kindly deliver the enclosed package into her hands.
As if she were an hourglass, Alizeh felt herself fill incrementally with grains of awareness; she grew suddenly heavywith unease, with a feeling of fear. Whosoever had delivered her the gown had also written this note—but if that were true, she should have no reason to worry.
Why, then, did she worry?
“This says there’s an enclosed package,” Alizeh said, looking up. “Is there a package?”
“Yes,” said Miss Huda, who made no effort to move. She only stared, as if Alizeh had grown a third leg.
