“You take a great risk by voicing aloud your truths, Minister. With every word you put forth you walk yourself closer to your own funeral. Has it not occurred to you,” he said quietly, “to fear for the possibility that my crown remains firmly fixed upon my head?”
Zahhak swallowed, his jaw clenching. “Seize him,” he said.
Kamran had hardly opened his mouth to speak before his lips were sealed shut, his legs pinned together, and his arms bolted to his sides. His mind screamed in protest as he struggled uselessly against his magical binds, his eyes dartingback and forth in a terrible panic. Alarm bloomed through his body, awakening inside him simultaneous fear and rage. For the second time in less than a day he was paralyzed—though this time at the hands of the Diviners, the priests and priestesses who’d always loved and protected him, and upon whom Kamran had relied all his life. This latest blow of another savage betrayal rattled him to his core.
He went suddenly weightless.
The prince felt, more than saw, that he hung in the air, experiencing a strange emotional and physical detachment as his body was shuttled through space. He thought he heard a familiar, insistent buzzing sound, but then came the clamor of voices—a thunder of shouts and cries—and the din faded into nothing as he was forced, floating and paralyzed, from the room.
Twenty-Five
KAMRAN STRUGGLED IN VAIN.
It was not in his nature to give in under attack, and he could not bring himself, even immobilized as he was, to simply let go. His mind thrashed against the injustice of it all, against the breakdown of his life. Ardunia had been his to inherit from the moment he could form conscious thought; this was his home, his land—these were his people—and no matter his many qualms, and no matter the complaints he’d so often registered aloud, Kamran did not want to lose who he was. Even he, at this miserable juncture, could admit now that there was perhaps some truth to Zahhak’s remonstrations.
Kamranhadbeen a spoiled child.
He’d taken his life for granted; he saw that now. But never again would he be a child, and never again would he be cosseted. He’d been forced, unfinished, into this blistering kiln of change, and it had vulcanized him; it would continue to transform him. He could learn from his mistakes. He could adapt as the situation demanded.
And he did not want to lose his crown.
He listened, for a moment, to the sound of footfalls echoing through the corridor, the back of Zahhak’s greasy head leading the way as they went. The trio of Diviners were closebehind, and Kamran knew this only because he could feel them there, their presence as palpable as the cloak that still draped his body. Mercifully, the prince could move his eyes, and he was able to follow the path they forged through the endless halls of his home, which meant he soon realized, with mounting dread, that they were heading to the throne room.
The inevitable was finally upon him.
The prince was about to be dragged before a team of nobles who would flay him with their castigations, only to then force him before a halo of Diviners who would perform a ceremony that would strip him of his birthright.
On top of everything else he’d endured these last twenty-four hours, this seemed a bridge too far. He felt something break in his chest, something hollowing in the region of his heart.
In a single day, he had been decimated.
Even as it killed him to imagine it, Kamran held fast to a single hope: that, after they ruined him tonight, he might still have time enough to dash to the docks to meet Hazan. He was worrying over this, clinging now more than ever to the idea that, in the wake of his metamorphosis, he might at least become his own man, avenge his grandfather’s death, and forge his own path—when, at a sudden split in the passage, Zahhak took a sharp left, and Kamran veered right.
A fresh wave of unease moved through him.
He couldn’t turn his head to see for certain, but he had to assume the Diviners were behind this abrupt change in plan.He was now going in an entirely different direction from the defense minister, and it was a minute before he heard Zahhak’s surprised shout, his distant footfalls growing louder as he chased them down.
Kamran heard the minister’s voice as if through water.
“Where are you going?” came his dull, warped cry. “You’re meant to follow me to the throne room—we’re all prepared—”
“Not tonight,” said a Diviner.
They never stopped moving.
Hope took flight in the prince’s heart, shook him from within. He had no idea where they were headed now, but this seemed a promising turn of events.
“What do you mean?” Zahhak said, his muted voice shaking with anger. “We had a plan— You agreed to perform the ceremony tonight—”
“We agreed only to test the boy,” came the simple reply.
“Test him? Test him how?Wait— You can’t go back on your word— You’re incapable of lying—”
“We promised to determine whether the boy is fit to rule.”
“There’s no question but that he’s unfit!” cried Zahhak. “The boy is mutilated! That has to mean something! The magic has clearly made a statement—”
“Leave,” said the Diviners in unison.
