He faltered at the murderous look on her face, his anger fracturing as warring instincts inside him fought for dominance. She could see his inner conflict—could see his twinge of remorse even as his resentment percolated. Alizeh was not without an imagination: she saw why he might think she’d betrayed him when faced by ample evidence that she’d broken into his locked room—and she did not blame him for doubting her. How could she, when she understood how he felt? Of course he didn’t know whether he could trust her.
But neither did she know whether she could trusthim.
His blade was beginning to dig into her throat, and she worried, for a moment, that he might actually hurt her.
“Cyrus,” she said. “I asked you a question.”
“I stole it,” he said quietly.
The nosta warmed against her chest.
“When?” she said, her heart failing. “Why—?”
“Days ago,” he said, his halting whisper betraying his guilt. Still, he did not lower his weapon. “I replaced it with a decoy enchanted to look identical.”
“You went through my room at Baz House,” she said, astonished. “You searched my things—”
“Yes.”
“Youliedto me.”
“Technically,” he said, “I did not.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like you’re an idiot,” she said angrily, the blade cutting her just a little as she spoke. “You understand very well what I mean.”
“Stop moving,” he said, furious. “This sword is devastatingly sharp—”
“Then lower your weapon, you scoundrel!”
He did, but only enough so it was no longer touching her. “Are we back to this, then?” He swallowed, staring at the cut at her neck. “Insulting each other?”
“You dare mourn the loss of my goodwill,” she whispered, “even as you hold a blade to my throat.”
“And you,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave. “You have the audacity to rebuke me, when I’ve discovered you doing the same detestable deed, breaking into my rooms to search my private belongings—”
“I didn’t mean to break the door!”
“Youchoseto ransack my things,” he cried. “Meanwhile I was forced to rummage through yours!”
Slowly, as if heavy cataracts were clearing her eyes, Alizehbegan to see what Sarra saw.
It’s not that I do not care, the woman had said. It’s that I no longer believe him. For the last several months, my son has blamed all his bad decisions on the devil. Never does he take accountability for his actions. He’s always begging me to understand that he has no choice—
Alizeh felt suddenly, dangerously ill.
She did not ask Cyrus how he’d done the hateful deed, for he’d accomplished things far more complicated than breaking into her unlocked, humble closet of a bedroom; it had likely taken him minutes to accomplish this trifling chore.
She only stared at him then, her heart slowly atrophying in her chest. She ached at the betrayal, at her own stupidity, at her idiotic weaknesses that had led her to be kind to him. She hated herself for ever admiring him, for crying for him as he’d screamed, for mopping up his blood and all but tucking him into bed. He’d bought her a piece of bread and her charity had been so easily purchased, her porous heart so easily moved. She’d really thought perhaps they could be something like reluctant friends.
Oh, she was a fool of astronomical proportions.
He would never be on her side, she was realizing. No matter his occasional moments of humanity, Cyrus was in bed with the devil.
Still, even as her heart hardened against him, she could not condemn him as Sarra did. She’d seen what Iblees had done to him tonight, and she could not deny that Cyrus suffered greatly at the hands of his merciless master. But she reminded herself once more that Cyrus hadsummonedIbleesinto his life; this copper-headed king had been offered something in exchange for his torment, and while she didn’t know what he’d received, or why he’d done it, she could not, by definition, call him a victim.
Steadily, she met his eyes.
She saw an intensity in his stunning irises, something desperate straining against his control, and she swore in that moment she could almost feel his soul pressing against hers.
