There was so much to look at she hardly knew where to rest her eyes. Her nerves calmed incrementally as she looked around, praying all the while that the room might present her with a secret exit, or a closet, or even an accessible window.
Instead, she saw evidence of Cyrus everywhere.
An empty cup of tea, a half-eaten apricot, and a slim leather volume with a visible bookmark sat together on a dusty end table; dozens and dozens of loose pages crammed with lines of steady, even script had been bound in twine and left stacked on one of the faded velvet couches; aged, yellow maps of terrains she didn’t recognize had been annotated and pinned to the wall; a half-toppled tower of patterned rug pillows trembled beside a stack of unopened crates; a gleaming ox-headed mace rested against the slightly singed arm of a reading chair; a dark coat and a top hat hung from hooks adjacent to the fireplace; a bottle-green, thick-bristled hairbrush sat upon a low table beside a sleeve of long-stemmed matches and a solid bar of perfume; and there was a single, brilliant sword, the gleaming copper blade of which had been planted into the wood floor beside the desk chair.
Alizeh wanted then, possibly more than she’d desired anything material in a long time, to open drawers, lift cushions,leaf through pages, and look around—even as she knew it would be treacherous to snoop. Nevertheless, she managed to restrain herself not because she was virtuous, but because if she stepped away from this door, it would yawn open, and she couldn’t risk—
She heard a startled scream.
Ah, the poor servant had discovered Cyrus, then. Alizeh heard the pounding of the snoda’s panicked footfalls as the girl bolted from the room with a terrified cry, and then, as the front door eased shut with an audiblesnick, her own petrified heart began pounding anew.
It really hit her then.
She hadbrokenhis door.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, not knowing how she’d explain this. She couldn’t hide the evidence of what she’d done, and she didn’t know whether he’d believe the truth.
From afar, she looked unambiguously guilty.
Even she could see how it looked: any who doubted her would assume she’d taken advantage of Cyrus’s torture—and subsequent torpor—to trick the king into bringing her into his private rooms, whereupon she’d forced him into bed only to then break down a locked door and rifle through his personal belongings.
It made her seem fairly diabolical.
She bit her lip. Such a story was false, of course, but she could not deny an urge to be justa littlediabolical, for the desire to rummage through his things was agonizing. This room was a veritable museum of wonders, dotted not merelywith fascinating artifacts of Cyrus’s life, but with evidence of his state of mind, his current pursuits and interests. She felt certain there were answers here—clues to a series of mysteries she might otherwise never be able to solve—
And then, with a start, she saw the cabinet.
How she’d overlooked it initially, she did not know, though perhaps because it was fairly unattractive: large, dark, weathered, and looming from its position against the wall, adjacent to the fireplace. It was a sort of cabinet of curiosities, something more likely to be found in an apothecary than a sitting room, with many little doors and drawers, each with an individual keyhole.
Temptation sunk its teeth in her.
She drew inches deeper into the room, feet moving toward the chest almost without her permission. The broken door groaned quietly open behind her, but she paid it no mind, for the maid was gone, the wing was quiet, and she felt quite certain Cyrus was asleep. She clasped her hands to keep from touching anything, but as she approached the cabinet, she felt her fingers flare with heat, proving a deliciously strange sensation for a girl with ice in her blood. The closer she drew, the more Alizeh felt almost tethered to this odd piece of furniture, as if she were compelled to approach it, as if it contained something that belonged to her—
Slowly, the cabinet began to tremble.
Alizeh felt her pulse pick up and advanced toward the unit now with haste, the old wood rattling with increasing fervor. It was making a terrifying racket, the tremors so intense they disturbed the walls and floors of the entire room. Sheunderstood, dimly, that she would pay for causing such a clamor, that the din might wake Cyrus, that this could land her in a catastrophic amount of trouble, but at the moment, it seemed worth the risk.
Alizeh was transfixed.
She drew a fortifying breath as she pressed her heated hands against the old, shuddering exterior of the cabinet, the reverberations beginning to crescendo. She was waiting for something, even as she knew not what, and only when the vibrations had built up to the strength of a small earthquake did one of the small doors finally snap and swing open.
Alizeh hardly dared to breathe as she peeked into the deep, gleaming compartment—and in an instant, her mind came unraveled. The heavy furniture had not ceased its shaking, the tumult growing only more frenzied, but Alizeh found she no longer cared to be quiet.
She wanted to scream.
She felt betrayed and confused, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Carefully she reached inside, her hand glowing so hot it hurt, and attempted to retrieve what was hers, what she’d worried she’d lost—and the door snapped shut so quickly it nearly took off her fingers. The cabinet went eerily still.
And Cyrus, damn him, was fast.
To be fair, Alizeh had been preoccupied and the room had been rattling, but that he’d approached her with this degree of stealth—such that she’d not even sensed his presence—was truly impressive. She could not know how he’d done it; she had no idea what he’d seen or how, exactly, he’d spunher around and cornered her. She knew only that Cyrus was about to show her exactly why so much of the world feared him, for she was pinned against the wall, and there was a sword pointed at her throat.
“What,” he whispered, his eyes glittering with barely restrained fury, “are you doing in here?”
Even then, even when she’d begun to hate him again; when, his promises aside, she truly believed he’d not hesitate to kill her— Even then, she was relieved he’d managed to put on a pair of pants. He was not, however, wearing a shirt.
Alizeh dropped her gaze, stared at the blade. She was so much shorter than him that she could see her reflection in its shine.
“Why,” she said, lifting her eyes to his, “do you have my book?”
