Seventeen
“WAIT— WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
Hazan charged after the prince, who’d bolted out the door of the war room without warning and was then striding down the hall clutching the strange book with a speed indicative of only one of two things: eagerness or anger.
Kamran wasn’t sure which he felt more powerfully.
That they would go to Tulannow—that he might evade the tedious political route, circumvent the fruitless, circular discussions of the nobles who’d no doubt spend days, if not weeks, debating the merits and demerits of waging war—
This was astonishing to him.
He’d never considered that there might be benefits to the current, nightmarish state of his life.
Kamran had grown so accustomed to the shackles of royalty and the endless rigamarole that defined their international affairs that he’d not realized what freedom he might possess in the wake of all this recent personal devastation. If he were stripped of a title, if he continued to be sidelined by Zahhak, if the nobles refused to include him in their discussions— Well, then, he might become his own master.
He would go to Tulan as a man, not a prince.
He would avenge his grandfather’s murder on a personal mission, not an order. He would finally, after eighteen yearsof unfailing service to the crown, do whatever he damned well pleased.
Oh, he had plans for Cyrus.
He would not merely kill the young man—he would first destroy him. He would make the southern king pray for death, and only then would he be merciful, fulfilling Cyrus’s wishes by driving a blade through his heart.
“Kamran, youass— Wait—”
As was his wont, the prince did not wait. Only when Hazan had caught up to him did he answer his friend’s question—but quietly, so they wouldn’t be overheard—
“There are an untold number of things we must do before we can leave,” said Kamran, “and if we don’t start now, we’ll never make it in time.”
“In time?” Hazan stared at the prince. “In time for what?”
“I don’t know. I only feel that we’re going to be late.”
“Kamran, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that I ask it sincerely—”
“What?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
The prince laughed at that, the sound hollow. “I lost my mind the moment I met her, Hazan, and you were there to witness my fall from reason, so don’t feign surprise now.”
“I swear, sometimes you scare me.”
“Sometimes, Hazan, I scare myself.” Kamran continued moving at a steady clip, even as he glanced down at the book in his hands. “We’ll set sail tonight, at midnight, under the cover of darkness.”
“Sail?” Hazan’s eyes widened, nearly missing a step as hekept pace. “You mean to enter Tulan via the Mashti River? We might not survive such a journey in daylight, much less—”
“Our dragons are under heavy guard in Fesht province,” Kamran said, “which you know as well as I do is a month’s journey by coach. I can’t summon the beasts without drawing unwanted attention, and there’s no faster way to get to Tulan. Our fleet, however, have the benefit of being bolstered by magic; water journeys often take months, not only because of the amount of work required at every stage but also because of the immense cargo we haul. Without the added weight of metric tons of water, we’ll move much faster—and by the time anyone notices our absence in the morning, we’ll be gone. I’ve done enough water journeys to know the way well enough; and I can sail any ship myself. So long as we avoid major delays or turbulent weather, we might be able to clear the distance in under a week.”
Hazan fell silent at that, even as his eyes were troubled. “Very well,” he said finally. “What will you tell the boy?”
“Omid?” Kamran frowned. “Nothing. The fewer people who know of our whereabouts, the better.”
“And why must we keep our journey a secret?”
“Because I’d rather they didn’t know where to find me.”
“Who?” Hazan said, brows furrowing. “I didn’t realize you were being hunted.”
