The word was spoken softly, but it hit Zahhak with a forceful gust, knocking him back several feet and keeping him there. The defense minister fought in vain against this unrelenting wind, crying out as they retreated.
Kamran’s heart was pounding dangerously fast, for the hope that had so recently burgeoned in his chest had quickly evaporated.
We agreed only to test the boy.
The prince hadn’t a single reasonable hypothesis for what might happen next—and he didn’t have much time to theorize. Once Zahhak had been left behind, the Diviners propelled him through the castle at a breakneck speed, moving so swiftly the scenes around him blurred, so he had no idea of their location and could not guess at where they might be headed. His only clue arrived when he felt himself growing dizzy, and he realized, as his head spun, that they were spiraling upward, climbing floors. Of all the hints he might’ve received, this one was by far the darkest, for he knew most assuredly then that they were ascending the palace spires, and there was nothing good to be found here.
Still, he told himself not to overreact until he knew more—until he could be sure—
They came to a sudden, disorienting stop outside of an ominous, heavily rusted door—which blew open at the Diviners’ behest—and Kamran began to panic. When he felt the icy air of the merciless winter night rush all around him, his panic wedded with horror.
This was the tower prison.
Infinitely worse than the dungeons, which were only temporary holding cells, the tower prisons were reserved for the worst transgressors—usually high-ranking criminals who required more time to be sentenced, and were in theinterim doomed to wait out this period in the harshest form of solitary confinement, to make certain they didn’t escape. Keeping prisoners was an exhausting, grueling, and inefficient business; his grandfather had never cared for it. He’d always encouraged Kamran to deal with criminals swiftly; once a judgment had been made, the punishment would be served, and the prisons cleared out. Inmates were, as a result, never kept for very long, and the worst of them were often beheaded shortly thereafter.
They hadn’t used the tower prisons in years.
Even Kamran, who was fairly stout of heart, shook inwardly at the thought of such a fate. How the Diviners intended totesthim with this experience, he couldn’t know, and what he’d done to deserve this level of cruelty, he couldn’t imagine. He only hung there, suspended in the doorway of his disgusting new home for the length of a truly terrifying moment. It was pitch-black but for the glimmer of the moon and stars, for the tower had a single open-air skylight, which loomed from on high, at least fifty feet above his head. He had no idea what carcasses he might be forced to share this room with, and it made him ill to imagine he might leave this place only to have his head removed from his body.
Fear awoke, untamed, inside his mind.
How was this wretched place meant to prove his mettle? If only he could speak aloud a single word then, he would’ve begged for quarter.Why?he wanted to shout.Why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve such a sentence?
Alas.
Kamran hadn’t more than a moment to process this tyranny before his body was shuttled into the cell, the door slammed shut behind him, and he was finally, unceremoniously, released.
He fell to the icy stone floor with a pitiful cry.
Twenty-Six
CYRUS STILL CLUNG TO HER,his cheek pressed heavily against her chest, but his effort to transport them appeared to have drained the dregs of his energy, for he’d fallen asleep once more. He did not stir; he said not a word; and she could feel his deep, even breaths against her skin.
Inch by agonizing inch she drew away from him, carefully disentangling their limbs. He resisted at first, making incoherent sounds of protest, but he soon accepted his empty arms even as he frowned in his sleep. She watched him shift a bit, trying to get comfortable, and soon his hand slid up the silk sheet of his pillow, just as he’d done with her leg.
A rush of air left her lungs.
Perhaps her overwrought nerves could finally recover. They were safely back in the palace, Cyrus was in bed, he no longer seemed to be in danger of kissing her, and now all she had to do was sneak out and slink back to her own quarters—which was much easier said than done, for this palace was enormous and terrifyingly vertiginous. Alizeh had no idea where her rooms were positioned relative to his, but compared with all else, this seemed a simple enough problem to solve. First, she’d need to figure out how to exit Cyrus’s room without notice, and then she’d have to make certain to avoid running into Sarra, who’d no doubt want todiscuss Alizeh’s progress on the path to murdering her son. Should she manage all this, Alizeh would only need to ask a few nosy, gossiping servants for directions to her room, all the while hoping the uninitiated among them would neither question who she was nor ask about the bloodstain on her skirt.
Simple.
With a quiet groan, she surreptitiously slid off the bed, but then, glancing back at Cyrus, she hesitated.
She knew better than to think his intoxicated actions tonight were indicative of some larger shift in their relationship. Cyrus had told her quite plainly just hours ago that hehatedher, and the nosta had confirmed this. They’d enjoyed some reluctant and surprising moments of friendship, but she didn’t think it was enough to erase such passionate feelings of loathing, not when the agreement between them was meant to end with murder.
Still, Alizeh was too reasonable to deny that, despite her many practical objections, she was intenselyawareof Cyrus; there was no questioning that she felt a baffling, magnetic pull between their bodies. Then again, that didn’t mean she trusted him.
And right now, she feared for him.
For two hours the devil had put him through seven levels of hell, and apparently it wasn’t his first time. She doubted it would be the last. And while she knew Iblees had taken notice of her concern for Cyrus, she felt there was nothing to be done for it; Alizeh didn’t see the effectiveness in pretending to reverse what had already been set in motion; thedevil was not stupid. She would never be convincing enough to trick him into thinking otherwise. Alizehdidcare. Ice ran through her veins, yes, but it had never made her coldhearted. She’d sat there and borne witness to Cyrus’s suffering. She’d cried for him.
And now, no matter the devil’s machinations—no matter the incomprehensible state of things between she and the perplexing king—Alizeh was too tenderhearted to abandon his battered, brutalized body without a touch of mercy.
With a sigh, she walked over to his side of the bed, studying his strained expression, the dried blood caking his garments. Cyrus still wore his boots, his sword belt, his dense black coat. She saw the glimmer of a sheathed blade resting heavily against his leg and knew he must be terribly uncomfortable. Gone was the softness in his face earlier rendered by sleep; he’d been grumpy since she’d pulled away from him, and his shoulders had tensed all over again, even in slumber.
When she closed her eyes, she still saw him bleeding.
She could hear him weep.
