“What are they demanding?” Cyrus asked coldly.
“Why did you bring her here?” Sarra said, and practically sobbed. “Why have you wrought such havoc upon our home? Do you not see what will become of us? More Jinn will hear of her and they’ll come for her—they’ll crawl out of every dark corner of the earth”—she gasped—“and we’ll have towage war against our own people—”
“Mother,” he said sharply. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“You are a blight upon this family,” she cried. “You are a stain upon the earth—”
“What do they want from her?” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “What are their demands?”
“They want proof that she’s real! And they want to know she’s unharmed. Most of all they want to know whether she’s come here to marry you, whether she will take the throne.”
Alizeh gasped, clasped a hand to her throat.
Cyrus was briefly silent. He was subdued when he said, finally, “Do theywanther to marry me?”
“I don’t know!” Sarra exploded, sounding unhinged. “All I know is that they’re threatening to set the city on fire if she doesn’t show herself soon—and I can’t find her anywhere—”
“I’ll find her,” he said roughly, and even then Alizeh knew he was protecting her. Cyrus knew she hadn’t wanted to be found in a compromising position with him, in his bedroom, and the small gesture meant a great deal to her. But she was slowly realizing there was no use. She could not hide forever.
“Where are you going to find her?” Sarra shouted. “You know where she is? You’ve known this whole time and you’ve just been torturing me?”
“First,” Cyrus said, ignoring his mother’s outburst, “you must get them to calm down. I can’t let her stand before this mob until I’m sure she can be safe.”
“Youask them to calm down,” Sarra shot back. “You think I haven’t been trying? They won’t listen to me!”
Her reputation be damned.
Alizeh could no longer stand there silently. These were her people, and they were her responsibility. And she knew that if her parents were here, they’d tell her to come into the light.
They’d tell her not to be afraid.
Her heart pounding desperately in her chest, Alizeh held her head just above the rising waters of terror, and stepped out of the shadows.
Thirty-One
KAMRAN HAD BEEN STANDING THEREfor at least twenty minutes already, staring at the sky with a fragile, fracturing hope. He’d tucked the scrap of paper back into the box, and the box back into his cloak pocket, but the feather, now marred by his blood, was still clutched in his fist. His mind was a maelstrom of warring emotions, upended by the inconceivable evidence that his beloved Diviners had known, days and days before they were murdered, not only that King Zaal would die, but how Kamran would suffer.
It made his heart ache.
He marveled at how certain the priests and priestesses had been of his movements and actions. Kamran was now in possession of a piece of his grandfather’s will, and had he opened this parcel but a day sooner, he would’ve been shocked, yes, but also confused and devastated. He might’ve used the feather too soon, or at the wrong time. Worse: the slim box could’ve been easily lost. Misplaced. Handled incorrectly.
And yet, the Diviners hadn’t worried. All had happened precisely as they’d foreseen.
He’d mistakenly assumed that the new crop of Diviners had betrayed him by tossing him into the tower. He saw now that they’d been protecting him—locking him somewhereZahhak might not reach him, and leaving him high enough in the sky so that Simorgh might come to him easily.
What he didn’t know, of course, was which part of all this was meant to be a test. He didn’t know what, exactly, he was meant to prove, or how he might prove it—but he saw now that they had known his plan. They must’ve known he was heading to Tulan, for the gift of Simorgh—the exalted character he’d heard so much about in childhood, about whose kindness and generosity Zaal had told endless stories—was a gift of transportation and protection. Kamran knew he could ride upon her back, that she would carry him where he needed to go, that she would offer him her armor and her companionship.
Simorgh was beloved by many, but especially Ardunians, who believed she still lived here with her family but who hadn’t been spotted since the day Zaal was returned to the palace in a triumphant moment, blazing through the sky on the back of this brilliant, ethereal creature.
And now, here stood Kamran, presented with a possible exit from the madness of his life—an opportunity to ally with the most legendary magical beast in the history of his world—and he didn’t even know whether Simorgh would come. Kamran had no idea whether he’d done the deed right, or how long it might take the magnificent bird to find him.
Hours? Days? Would he freeze to death until then? Was she even alive, after all this time?
It occurred to Kamran that he might keep warm by searching the floor of this filthy tower for a pair of rocks he might strike together against a pile of dead leaves; and whilehe wasn’t beyond searching the decrepit depths of this cell with his bare hands, he did hesitate at the thought, hoping then for a third option, preferably something more like divine intervention, or—
He heard the sudden thunder of harried footsteps, the swell of agitated voices.
“Kamran? Kamran, are you in there?” There was a violent pounding against the metal door, and the prince was so stunned by this unexpected clamor that he struggled to rouse himself from his thoughts; indeed he’d hardly a moment to gather his wits before he saw a soft, gleaming light fall steadily from the sky above him. He’d been so consumed by silence and strangeness all this time that he thought, for a moment, he might be imagining things—just until he heard a growing buzz as the soft light approached, the little glow flickering as, without warning, it bopped gently against his face.
