He noticed the tears staining the child’s cheeks, eyes bloodshot and swollen. The boy, Omid, studied him warily, fear and fascination warring in his expression. Neither said another word as Omid bent carefully beside the dying king, and with a trembling hand withdrew from his pocket a glittering blue sugar cube.
Kamran stiffened at the sight.
“I think they knew, sire,” Omid said in Feshtoon. “The Diviners. I think they knew what was going to happen. I think they knew they were going to be murdered.”
Kamran felt his heart pounding in his ears. The object Omid held in his hand was a magical ration calledSif; the legendary blue crystals were compressed into bite-sized cubes that had historically been provided to Ardunian royals on the battlefield. So valuable were the lives of emperors and their heirs that the Diviners had always sent them to war with these single-use reinforcements. The final blade of fatality, once delivered, none could overcome; but there was a great deal to be done for those even inches from death.
Just one Sif was enough to undo even the worst injuries.
“Bengez,” the child whispered.Take it.
“No— I—I cannot—”
“They gave it to me after I began to recover,” the boy said quietly. “Told me to keep it with me always, that I’d know when to use it.” He swallowed. “I thought they gave it to me to save myself in the future, see. I didn’t realize until just now that maybe I wasn’t supposed to use it on myself.”
“No,” Kamran said again, this time sharply. He was seeingstars, bright lights sparking and fading behind his eyes. “If the Diviners blessed you with such a gift”—he wheezed—“you should not— You cannot give it away—”
“I’ll do as I please,” said Omid, anger edging into his voice. “You saved my life, sire. Now it’s my turn to save yours.”
Four
IN THE DISTANCE, ALIZEH SAWstars.
Tens of thousands—or perhaps hundreds of thousands—or thousands of thousands—
It was impossible to tell, and she seemed incapable of conjuring an estimate large enough to account for them all. She knew only what she saw, and what she saw was a seemingly infinite expanse of densely assembled celestial bodies, all of which appeared to tremble upon approach. They had been sitting in a bleak silence for hours now, and with each flap of the dragon’s enormous, leathery wings, their small party drew steadily closer to the spectral sight, the distant lights rearranging themselves repeatedly, shifting in erratic patterns.
Finally, Alizeh frowned.
It was very unlike a star to act in such a manner.
She turned to her companion for an explanation but was brought up short by the sight of him. Cyrus sat beside her with a palpable discomfort made apparent in the unnatural stiffness of his body: head up, shoulders back, spine straight. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, his hair rippling in the wind, longer strands occasionally obscuring his vision—and still he did not move.
It was impossible to know what tormented him the most,and Alizeh could not bring herself to care. Her eyes still itched with the remnants of tears; she despised this blackguard, and yet, until she could figure out a plan of action, she would need a great deal from him: his answers about the devil’s plans for her, his guidance in navigating Tulan, the offer of a safe place to stay while she gathered her wits and decided her next move. It was a hateful situation, one she would have to manage with all possible caution, and Alizeh was still considering this, still examining his stoic features when his jaw suddenly tightened.
“Enough,” he said sharply. “I don’t welcome your analysis. Cease studying me.”
Something bitter prompted her to say, “You are not my master.”
Cyrus turned at once to look at her, staring into her eyes with an intensity that bordered on alarming. “Do you aspire to be mine?”
This question was so shocking, Alizeh drew back in response.
Cyrus leaned in. “Relinquish the dream,” he said softly. “You have no hope of mastering me.”
Alizeh tensed. “I could kill you right now.”
He only looked at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Go on, then,” he said. “Kill me. I will not intervene.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not dispose of that which is still useful to me.”
“Useful? Is that what you’ve decided I am?” He almost laughed. “And do you lie to yourself often?”
Alizeh felt a flash of heat at that; an anger that compelledher into silence as the two locked eyes then in a vicious contest. Alizeh did her utmost to remain still under Cyrus’s now ruthless inspection, but the full weight of his scrutiny—at such close proximity—was indeed too much to bear. He seemed to devour her with a single look, his blue gaze holding hers without mercy before cataloging every inch of her face, the angle of her jaw, the column of her neck. His eyes were charged with something both electric and devastating, the unbound energy of his entire body diverted to this single avenue of connection. Alizeh felt the heat of his slow appraisal in her bones, in the tips of her fingers; her heart sped up in response, understanding even as he frightened her—that he was trying to frighten her.
Too soon, Alizeh averted her gaze.
“As I thought,” he whispered. “You’re too soft even to bear the weight of my attentions.”
