Kamran, to his credit, showed no surprise.
“All this time you could’ve walked free,” he said, staring steadily at his friend. “Why let the guards think they’d subdued you? You couldn’t have known I would come.”
“I didn’t,” Hazan said quietly. “I fought the guards because they treated me like an animal, and when they realized I was Jinn, their behavior toward me grew only more reprehensible. I remained here because I thought I deserved to die, for I thought I’d failed her. Now I’ve learned I must live, if only long enough to understand what’s happening.”
Kamran was quiet for some time, absorbing this. “It’s astonishing,” he said finally, “how long you managed to hide your true self from me. I always suspected you were holding back; I never realized how much.”
“And are you horrified,” he said, “to discover the truth?”
“No. I think I prefer the real Hazan.”
“I fear you might regret saying that,” he said, even as he almost smiled. “Be warned, Kamran. The terms of our agreement are nonnegotiable. Lift a finger against her prematurely and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself.”
Twelve
ALIZEH WATCHED AS A SMALLbee landed atop a lavender bush, the chosen sprig swaying under its buzzing weight. Birds chirped and tittered all around her, for the most part unseen from their assorted perches upon assorted branches, their cheerful songs never ceasing long enough to allow a moment of silence. The breeze was warm, the sun divine upon her skin, the heat of it filtering through her airy dress.
Though Sarra had selected a wealth of gorgeous articles for Alizeh, she’d not known the girl’s measurements, and as a result, most of the pieces were ill-fitting and would have to be altered. There were, however, a few in her size, alongside a wide array of undergarments of various dimensions available to her, and she’d been happy indeed to don fresh, clean things before finally stepping into the comfort of a soft, tissue-thin gown with long sleeves, hoping to protect the healing wounds along her left arm. She’d chosen an ivory number, the ethereal layers of chiffon offset by a weighty collar forged from a single gold cable that circled her neck and shoulders in cascading orbits, the precious metal halting its revolutions just below her breastbone. The neckband obscured an otherwise scandalously low neckline, where the delicate fabric crisscrossed firmly around the bodice before nipping in at her waist, below which it billowed out into afull skirt that fluttered in the wind.
Her hair she’d tied up in her usual style, a mass of glossy curls pinned haphazardly atop her head. It was Sarra who’d insisted she choose something from the prearranged allotment of jewels, and the options were so stunning it had taken little indeed to convince Alizeh to do so. Still, she’d chosen to wear only a simple circlet in her hair: three whisper-thin gold bands hammered into a fine crown, a rainbow assortment of gems embedded throughout.
Alizeh glittered as she moved, as she pushed through the double doors that led to the lush green path she’d discovered upon arrival. It felt good to be clean, to reset.
With the exception of her magical ball gown, it had been many years since Alizeh had worn anything but the drab, serviceable garb of a servant, and despite the tragic circumstances, she was immensely grateful for the finery. Always she’d appreciated an artfully woven garment, but there was an even greater pleasure to be derived from the textile itself; here, at least, her gowns would be fashioned from cloth so fine they’d never chafe or itch, never leave angry marks where the coarse seams scraped painfully against her skin during endless hours of labor. In a situation so bereft of mercies, she clung to this small gift, let it feed her starving heart.
Alizeh sighed, taking a sip from the cup of hot tea she’d carried with her into the garden.
Earlier, Sarra had summoned a servant to deliver a tray of comestibles and an assortment of beverages, and Alizeh, who’d gratefully drunk her fill of water, had been surprised to discover that here, too, the servants wore snodas—masksof tulle that wrapped around the eyes and nose, softly blurring the wearer’s features without impeding necessary vision. She’d been unable to look away from the young man who’d appeared, wraith-like, at the door; Alizeh had been too mesmerized by the reminder of who she herself used to be, by how much in her life had changed in so short a time. As a servant Alizeh had always been grateful for her snoda—for the anonymity it provided—but she’d never forget how cruelly her caste had been treated, nor the injustices they were forced to endure. Alizeh had whispered hello to the young snoda when he’d arrived, had offered him an encouraging smile; the boy had made a frightful sound in response, nearly dropping the tray as he hastened to set it down.
After that, Sarra had given Alizeh leave to rest.
The older woman had reasoned that if Alizeh stayed in her rooms, Cyrus would grow anxious to check on her, for he awaited her downstairs with great anticipation. Alizeh should wait for him to come to her, Sarra had said, whereupon she should take advantage of the private moment—away from the wide eyes and perked ears of watching servants—to tell Cyrus she’d had a change of heart and to accept his proposal.
Thinking it over now, Alizeh felt a bit sick.
It had been with a shocking reluctance that she’d agreed to Sarra’s morbid arrangement. Shocking, because, as Cyrus had so boldly accused Alizeh earlier, she’d indeed been threatening to murder him for hours. That Alizeh vacillated at all about killing him now was strange, for it should not have been so difficult a choice to make, certainly not under the current circumstances.
Still, had Alizeh decided to follow through with murdering the loathsome king under her own advisement, she’d never doubt the decision, for she trusted her judgment. But there was something about beingaskedto do it—something about being all butthreatenedto do it by decree of the young man’s mother—
It unnerved her.
Something about it didn’t sit right, and yet, by her own admission, Alizeh thought Cyrus a terrible, hateful king. His list of crimes was long and foul; she need not hesitate now, not because his mother had asked her rather aggressively to do what she’d already been planning to do anyway.
No, surely not.
If she killed Cyrus, she’d be free.
She might flee; Kamran might be safe; the world might be spared another needless, bloody war; and she might yet wriggle out of the devil’s grip. Sarra had not lied when she’d made the girl a series of promises—Alizeh had the nosta to prove that—so why had the entire business left her so uneasy?
Alizeh’s mind was muddled.
She needed to assemble herself—to prepare for a tactical maneuver that would make her deeply uncomfortable—for Sarra had assured her that the easiest path to a man’s murder was not forged with a weapon, but with unimpeachable kindness.
“Forgive me, darling, but you’ll never best him in battle,” she’d said sympathetically. “I shouldn’t try it, if I were you.”
Alizeh had protested at that, preparing to defend her many strengths, but Sarra only lifted a hand dismissively.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re quite capable. Noble, too. My son, on the other hand, will not fight fair. He’s been studying sorcery and divination since he was old enough to toddle. He’s exceedingly clever, rather deceptively strong, and lacks a basic standard of virtue. He’s also very, very angry, and suspicious to a fault. He trusts no one. He won’t take even a sip of water without having a servant taste it before him.” She’d looked Alizeh over. “Your unchecked anger makes you a clear threat, my dear, and for as long as you persist in this attitude, Cyrus will remain on guard.
