That an empire was failing
that his father might die
Simorgh brought him finery
that he wore without joy
to return to the palace
he’d not known as a boy
He said his farewells
with an ache in his heart
to the family he’d chosen
whom he’d loved from the start
Then he seated himself
on his mother’s back
and she tore through the sky
with a deafening crack
Color exploded
when she took flight
She landed at the palace
in a shower of light
None would forget
the day Zaal had returned
The way the world brightened
the way his father had burned
Zaal took the throne
he was always meant to claim
But he would never forget
his true mother’s name
Twenty-Eight
ALIZEH WAS TRYING NOT TObreathe. She dared not make a sound. She didn’t even know where she was. In her panic she’d not merely yanked open the closest door, she’d inadvertentlybrokenit, shattering the lock with unplanned, wretched preternatural strength. The hefty trio of engaged bolts had torn through the solid frame, and now the blasted door wouldn’t latch, her panic only escalated, and she feared that, when the real Cyrus awoke, he’d renege on his promises and actually kill her for this appalling invasion of his privacy.
She leaned heavily against the broken door, trying to catch her breath as she held the substantial panel closed. For the moment, at least, she was safe, for Alizeh suspected the maid would know better than to poke her head in a chamber that was usually locked. Still, her mind was racing; she’d hardly had time to register that Cyrus kept a bolted room in his own private quarters before she’d been blindsided by its cozy interior.
She realized only then, as she looked around, that she’d formed no expectations at all of Cyrus’s personal tastes. He never wore anything but black; she’d not assumed he had any interest in color or comfort, and was stunned to discover that he’d hidden away such a beautifully appointed space. She stood then in a well-worn sitting room anchored by arug of astonishing detail, rendered in vivid shades of blue; the space itself was furnished with cozy, lived-in seating, floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with tattered books, and a titanic fireplace before which stood a colossal, weathered desk stacked with papers, pots of ink, and various bell jars through which gleamed specimens of crystallized rock, each neatly labeled.
