“Mmm,” he said softly. “Yes, back to bed, warmer there—”
“No,” she hastened to say, “notback to bed,nobed, just the castle—”
Alizeh bit back a shriek.
She went briefly weightless as the scene blurred, sounds merged, her stomach dropped, and she fell hard onto something soft and dense. The sound of crickets gave way to silence, the chilly darkness replaced by pools of warm, dim light that illuminated the shapes and contours of lush, decadent quarters she had to assume belonged to Cyrus.
And if this was his room, then she was lying on his bed.
Twenty-Four
FOR STRETCHES AT A TIME,Kamran would forget that his appearance had altered. He’d forget that his face was disfigured, that his eyes were different colors. He’d never been so vain as to linger before a looking glass, or even to catch a glimpse of himself in a reflective window, for of all the things he admired most about himself, his physicality was low on the list. Then again, he’d neverhadto care. He’d taken for granted his good looks. He’d long witnessed the effect he had on others; the way dilated eyes betrayed baser thoughts in his presence; the way young women trembled when he stood close enough. Kamran, like many people, was not insensible to a certain energy; he could feel a person’s desire.
He could also feel their loathing.
Zahhak’s animosity seemed to heat the air around them even as the minister smiled, his black eyes batting like the wings of a beetle, opening to reveal repellant insides for all of a moment before shuttering closed. Zahhak made no secret of his interest in Kamran’s transformed face, tracking, with morbid fascination, the glimmering, fractured lines that disappeared into his collar.
“Are you quite well, sire?” he said, feigning concern. “You appear to be in a great deal of pain.”
Kamran was careful to keep his expression impassive, even as the statement surprised him.
He was not, in fact, inpain.
This registered as a shock, for aside from the occasional discomfort he now experienced at the sound of Alizeh’s name, and the odd hum he felt in the presence of the Diviners, the sharp, electric torment he’d more recently been suffering—the pain he’d, for days, ascribed to the discomfort of his clothing—had altogether subsided in the wake of his physical transformation. It was in fact the very lack of discomfort that kept him from remembering his new, grisly appearance.
He did notfeeltremendously altered.
With a start, he remembered what Alizeh had said to him on the night of the ball—how she’d suspected, as his body had sustained wave after wave of torment, that he might’ve had an aversion to gold. She’d suggested, as a result, that he cease wearing clothing woven with the glittering thread. It had been an interesting observation, for the gilded stripe that once neatly bisected his chest and torso had all but shattered across his body in an almost reactive manner. But as he adjusted his sleeves then, stalling as he turned Zahhak’s words over in his mind, he was reminded that even his mourning clothes glimmered in places with strands forged from the precious metal.
In that regard, nothing had changed.
His attire, designed and fashioned months prior, had not been relieved of its decorative goldwork; the glimmering raised embroidery iconic of his royal garb could be foundalong the ruffs, cuffs, and shoulders of nearly all he owned.
He struggled then to remember the first incident of this specific, physical discomfort, and the memory found him with the force of a shock: his mother slapping his hand away from his collar, telling him to cease scratching at his neck like a dog; him complaining that they couldn’t find a capable seamstress in all the empire. But then, that wasn’t entirely fair, for Kamran could not recall ever having such an issue with his garments prior to that morning—
The morning he’d met Alizeh for the first time.
All this he processed in but a matter of seconds, and as he lifted his eyes to meet Zahhak’s beady gaze, a strange hypothesis had begun forming in his mind.
“I’m quite well,” the prince said, finally answering the minister’s question. “Though I thank you for your concern.”
Zahhak hesitated, surprise widening his eyes before he clasped his hands, rearranging his expression. It occurred to Kamran only then that he’d likely never thanked Zahhak for anything.
“I’ve come to you now on a matter of great import,” Zahhak said briskly. “In the wake of all this terrible, terrible tragedy, the nobles and I had resolved, among other things, to restore the magical protections of the empire with all possible haste. We assembled early this morning to issue a series of urgent summons to Diviners across Ardunia, but found our actions were redundant, for the esteemed priests and priestesses had begun delivering themselves to the palace before our messengers had even mounted their horses. They’ve been appearing at intervals all day, you see, havingalready foreseen the darkness befalling Setar.”
“Minister,” Kamran said sharply, sparing a glance at his four, wide-eyed onlookers. “As you can plainly see, we have the distinct displeasure of an unexpected audience tonight. Perhaps this discussion should wait for another time.”
“I gave you multiple opportunities, sire, to have this conversation in private, but you ignored my every request. I’ve no choice now but to beseech you where we stand.”
Kamran went briefly light-headed with rage.
“Get out,” he said, spinning around to face his unwanted crowd. “Go home. All of you.Now.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” said Deen, holding up one finger, “for I would love nothing more than to leave, but I should require a carriage, for our hackney is long gone, and it isn’t possible to hail a hansom cab from the palace—”
“Out,” Kamran shouted, pointing at the door. “Get out and walk home, for all I care—”
“Walk?” Miss Huda gasped. “But it’s at least half a mile just to cross the bridge, sire, and it’s terribly dark and cold outside—”
