Kamran flinched.
“Indeed, I do,” Mrs. Amina said triumphantly. “I read the girl’s name in the papers this morning and I knew straightaway when I saw it seemed familiar, and then I remembered how I’d heard that awful girl tell her name to this boy”—she pointed at Omid—“when he’d come to Baz House to hand her a dratted invitation to the ball, and which I see now I was far too generous to allow, and after the way my dear mistress came home last night, all affright over the terrible tragedy, I told her, I said to her—as I brought her a cup of mint tea to soothe her nerves—I said well how do you like that, milady, I’ve pieced it all together myself, the girl from the papers had worked here at Baz House all that time— And my mistress was ever so upset about the whole thing, I can’t even describe her horror, for she’d begun thinking that you, sire, had known all along about the girl’s deception and lied about it, for why else would you have defended her so ardently that day and again at the ball, but I assured her that the girl had likely bewitched you, Your Highness, and that you shouldn’t be blamed for her wickedness—”
“Mrs. Amina, that is quite enough—”
“Forgive me,” Deen said, frowning as he glanced around the group. “But were we brought in to be questioned about the same girl? The Jinn snoda who came to me for salve? If so, I cannot corroborate these stories, for I don’t know her name, and I’ve no notion of her attending a ball or causing any kind of trouble—”
“She was no ordinary snoda!” Mrs. Amina cried. “Don’t you see? I’d long suspected there was something the matter with her—she was always putting on airs, speaking all the time like she was some kind of toff—and I only blame myself, sire, for not exposing her sooner. I felt the darkness in her the first day I saw her, and when I watched her eyes change color right in front of me I should’ve known she had the devil inside her—”
“If anyone has the devil inside her,” Omid said angrily, “it’s you!”
“Vile girl,” Mrs. Amina was saying, ignoring this outburst from the boy. “Never liked her. She never followed instructions, you know. Always sloppy with her work, cutting corners—”
“Sloppywith her work?” Deen cut her off, his eyes wide with shock. “The girl who came into my shop with hands so destroyed by hard labor she could hardly make a fist?” He shook his head, took a sharp step away from the woman. “You’re the housekeeper who beat her, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re responsible for that infected cut across her throat, too?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Omid said quietly in Ardanz. “That was me.”
Deen looked suddenly revolted. “Whoareyou people? Pray tell me, what crimes have I committed to deserve the great misfortune of your company? I merely treated a girl for her wounds!” He looked beseechingly at the prince. “Your Highness, will you not allow me to return home? I’ve done no wrong here—I don’t deserve to have my name lowered by association with these heathens—”
“Hold a moment,” Kamran said, considering Deen closely. “You can confirm that the girl’s injuries were real, then? They weren’t the result of an illusion?”
“An illusion?” Deen hesitated. “Your Highness, I can’t imagine what reason she’d have to waste magic on torturing herself, but if for some inane purpose she’d managed to enchant her hands to ruin, I should think she’d have the ability to change them back. What need would she have of my salves if she could do such a thing on her own? No, sire, I don’t believe her wounds were any kind of illusion.” The apothecarist frowned then, appearing to remember something. “She did, however, discover in my presence that her body was able to heal itself at a more rapid rate than was normal, and removed her bandages after only days, instead of the week I’d suggested—”
“Heal itself?” Kamran repeated, going still. “Really?”
“Yes, sire.” Deen blinked at him, surprised by the prince’s interest. “Her skin recovered itself at a rather unnatural pace, which is not considered common even among Jinn—”
“A sign of the devil!” Mrs. Amina cried. “Here is proof!”
“Oh, doshut up,” Miss Huda said irritably.
“You ignore the signs at your own peril, miss,” Mrs. Amina countered sharply. “Jinn can make themselves invisible, notblurry—and no one was able to get a good look at the girl last night, almost certainly on account of the devil’s influence—”
“There are possibilities other than the devil,” Miss Huda shot back angrily. “The clothes she was wearing— Well, they’d been delivered with a note I couldn’t read, but garments are all the time bewitched, particularly in battle, tooffer their wearer anonymity or protection, and her blurriness might’ve been the work of a fairly straightforward magical enchantment—”
“Darkenchantments! Dark magic!” Mrs. Amina cried. “Everyone knows that dark magic cannot be born without the devil’s interference!”
“This is utter rubbish,” said Deen, rolling his eyes. “If the girl had access to dark magic, do you really think she’d accept a pittance in exchange for scrubbing scum from your mistress’s floors? You think if she had access to dark magic that she’d willingly share a roof with a brutal housekeeper who clearly took pleasure in beating her?I should think not.”
Mrs. Amina gasped in outrage, took a step back, and promptly lashed out at the apothecarist, who rallied with ease.
Kamran wanted to put an end to this madness, wanted to clear these clowns out of his home, but he’d discovered then—to his dismay—that he could not move. His pulse seemed to be pounding in his head, his heart beating violently against his chest.
Bit by bit, he was being proven wrong about Alizeh.
Having now been personally subjected to Cyrus’s manipulations of magic, Kamran could imagine that the southern king possessed the skills necessary to have imbued her garments with protections. Indeed it would make sense if he’d magicked the gown to protect her identity from those who wished her harm—for what else might explain why so few people at the ball had been able to identify her? What else would explain Cyrus’s cryptic statement, his subtleaccusation that Kamran couldseeher?
Alizeh’s gown had been incinerated, twice, as she entered and exited the fire. Perhaps in the process the frock had lost some of its effectiveness, blurring her from the crowd instead of blotting her out altogether. This might explain why Kamran’s eyesight had failed him with such inconsistency, why she’d seemed to fade in and out of focus before him; as Alizeh’s betrayals were revealed, he’d swung wildly between hatred and longing, wanting at once to kill her and save her.
The magic had perhaps reacted to his warring emotions.
If Alizeh had thought her identity was protected, this would explain, too, why she’d not felt the need to wear her snoda. It did not, however, explain why she’d physically assaulted the young man she’d—allegedly—agreed to marry.
Kamran grit his teeth; he felt then the onslaught of a powerful headache, pain gripping the base of his skull.
He didn’t know what he felt most in the face of these reveals: anger or relief or confusion. Perhaps some mixture of the three. For while, on some level, these answers exonerated Alizeh, they also proved that she’d lied to him; she’d pretended not to know Cyrus while she was all the while allied with the Tulanian king. She’d accepted his help, his magic. She’d worn his gown; they’dhad a plan. Kamran couldn’t conquer the chasm of uncertainty yawning open under his feet, for there remained a great deal to doubt about Alizeh, including her betrothal to Cyrus, her alliance with the devil, and her escape from the palace on the back of a Tulanian dragon.
He felt at sea, drowning in doubt, and his frustration only intensified. This anger was directed toward himself, toward his grandfather, toward the circumstances that now defined his life.
