They were wandering down a bright, delightful avenue finished with gleaming ivory pavers, the street hemmed in on either side by colorful shops of all kinds. Alizeh had already looked around a great deal, but just then she was lookingupas they strolled, mesmerized by the majesty of the stratospheric ceiling above them, and which was not a ceiling at all, but an unfathomable number of wisteria vines stretched across the width of the road, crisscrossing from the top of one building to another. The purple flowers, Cyrus had explained, had been bewitched to bloom in perpetuity. They hung in astonishing masses from on high like ripe, decadent grapes, their otherworldly, honeyed scent infusing the air around them while loose, fallen petals decorated all in a surreal confetti. Occasionally a strong gust of wind blew through and shook the vines, resulting in a soft shower of wisteria petals, the sight and smell of which were so heavenly—so overwhelmingly beautiful—that Alizeh thought she might lie down in the middle of the road and happily die of delight.
“Alizeh,” Cyrus said again.
“Hmm?” She was still staring at the flowers, picking apart her bread methodically.
“What are you doing?” he said, audibly frustrated. “The crust is not a skin. You don’t have to peel it off to eat the insides.”
“I wasn’t peeling it,” she scoffed, finally turning to look at him. “I was studying it. Iwaswondering, though— Could you tell me how the bakers poked all these little holes in the middle without breaking the shell? It seems terribly clever.”
Cyrus came to a sudden stop. “My word,” he breathed. “Have you never eaten bread before?”
She frowned. “Of course I have.”
“You haven’t, have you? You’ve never eaten bread before.”
“Not true,” she said, pointing a finger. “Once, in one of my previous positions working in a big house, I was clearing away the dishes in the breakfast room, and there was still so much food untouched—an entire tray of perfectly good toast, can you imagine?—and I was so curious I actually took a small bite.”
Cyrus only stared at her. “When was this?”
“A couple of years ago.”
He searched the skies then as if for strength, and turned back to her with a sigh. “Once, a couple ofyearsago, you had a single bite of toast? That’s it?”
“Well, I couldn’t bring myself to do it again,” she said, worrying her lip. “One of the other servants saw me do the shameful deed and snitched straightaway to the housekeeper, who promptly dismissed me from my position. I tried to pointout that I’d not beenstealing, as she’d so unfairly described it, for we’d been ordered to toss all the bread straight into the trash, which seemed to me a shocking waste—”
“Heavens, Alizeh.” Cyrus had gone completely slack. “You might be the strangest girl I’ve ever met in all my life.”
“Are you insulting me?”
“Without question.”
She shot him a dirty look, but Cyrus only laughed.
Just then came a series of shouts; a team of men were unrolling a massive rug from a high balcony, the intricate piece unfurling in the sun like a newborn leaf. Suspended only by their efforts, it hung in the wind like a magnificent flag, its silk threads shimmering as one of them shouted rather aggressively from the balustrade about good prices and discounted delivery.
Despite her irritation, Alizeh smiled.
There were aspects of Tulan’s royal city—Mesti, Cyrus had called it—that reminded her very much of Setar, but there were rather glaring differences between them, too.
First, they spoke a duo of languages in equal measure here. Tulan was positioned just beyond Fesht province, the southernmost territory of Ardunia, and as a result there’d been quite a bit of blending along borders; the Tulanian people spoke FeshtoonandArdanz—though Alizeh occasionally thought she heard people speaking a third, unofficial dialect that sounded like a slapdash mix of both.
Second, and most obvious: while both royal cities were stunning feats of color and architecture, only one had been built with an abundance of magic. Tulan being but a fractionthe size of Ardunia, its royal city was a great deal smaller, giving it a cozier quality where every inch felt cleaner, more closely cared for, and delicately enchanted. Alizeh had been taking it all in with the enthusiasm of an ingenue, absorbing the life and bustle of the atmosphere not unlike a child discovering wind for the first time.
“What other essential things must I know about you?” Cyrus was saying. “Have you never had a glass of milk, for example? Have you never eaten a piece of cake? Do you need me to teach you how to use a knife and fork?”
Alizeh felt her face heat at that last question, for she’d almost certainly require such lessons. She’d only ever fumbled poorly with utensils, because she’d never had any use for them. As a servant she’d tried, on many occasions, to familiarize herself with their many uses, but whenever she lingered too long watching people eat, she was either punished or sacked.
“You,” she said finally, turning away to hide her embarrassment, “are being intentionally mean. You know full well that I’m not like you, that I don’t need to eat food to survive—”
“Oh, don’t you dare blame your strangeness on your own people,” he said, cutting her off. They’d started walking again. “There are many thousands of Jinn in Tulan who don’tneedto eat, and yet they patronize the local grocers and bakeries with gusto.”
At the mention of Jinn, Alizeh faltered a moment.
She’d be surprised indeed if Cyrus hadn’t noticed the many strange looks she’d been getting—he was too discerning to miss such a thing—but he hadn’t said a word aboutit, which led her to worry she might be imagining things. Still, she struggled to deny outright what seemed increasingly obvious.
Jinn here seemed preternaturally attuned to her.
Their heads lifted as she passed, looks of confusion crossing their faces. They frowned at her as if they were supposed to know her, as if her face belonged to an acquaintance whose name they struggled to recall. More than once someone did a double take as she went by, only to turn and whisper urgently to their companion, saying something she couldn’t hear.
