“This matter will never be resolved!” Reza cried, hysterical now. “Don’t you see? It’s a trap – it’s always a trap –”
“That’s not true,” Cyrus said, determined. “I’ve already completed most of the tasks. I have four more months –”
Reza would not stop shaking his head, his torment undisguised, his moods as sudden and changeable as the wind. “My son – you don’t understand –”
“Tell me, then,” said Cyrus, his chest heaving with barely restrained emotion. He’d all but destroyed himself in the pursuit of righting these wrongs, and always his father doubted him. “Why is it you won’t put your faith in me? What is it I don’t understand?”
Finally Reza opened his eyes, the rosy flesh of the empty sockets still wet with tears. “It’s never been done,” he whispered. “No man has ever wagered against the devil and won.”
EIGHT
AT FIRST, ALIZEH THOUGHT SHEwas dreaming.
Her head felt lush and heavy, mellowed by the honeyed sounds and scents of daybreak. It seemed as if people were speaking to her, but it was difficult to distinguish voices from the trills of chatty birds and the distant roar of moving water, and she was too distracted besides. Delicious sunlight warmed the wool of her cloak, a cool breeze coaxing her hood to rise and fall against her face. Her lips curved into a smile as her eyes slit open, a blur of amorphous forms crystallizing into an astonishment of color above her: vivid leaves of towering trees embroidered like lacework across a cloudless sky; a trio of bright red finches shooting through it all like fireworks. Alizeh made a gentle sound of contentment before closing her eyes again.
“No, miss – please stay awake –”
“She appears to be smiling,” came a familiar, feminine voice. “Perhaps she chose to sleep outside?”
“If that’s true, why does she seem incapable of waking?”
Alizeh giggled. It sounded almost as if her Ardunian friends were here – Omid and Miss Huda and even Deen. This was a possibility so absurd it seemed a stretch even for a dream. She rolled onto her side, blades of grass tickling her nose as her oversized hood fell forward and obscured her face entirely,plunging her back into a glimmering darkness. She drew in lungfuls of the damp soil and sweet air, delighting in the ineffable magic of dew. Oh it was heavenly here, wherever she was. The dream was generous, too, the confluence of so many things she loved – the serenity of nature, the soundscapes of early morning, the ebullient hues of life – with none of the ominous shadows that so often ruled over her in slumber. Alizeh thought she might sleep indefinitely, if only given the opportunity to stay right here.
“Your Majesty.”
Alizeh startled at the strong voice. Her mind, which had not yet met the moment, was a step behind her heart, now pounding against her chest. Overwhelming intuition demanded she pay attention, but Alizeh could not place the speaker, even as she accepted he was important.
“Your Majesty.” Again, but gently now. “Why are you lying on the ground?” The surprising weight of a hand landed atop her cloaked head. “Are you in danger? Have you been hurt?”
Then, like a key turning in a lock, she fit the voice to a name.
With a gasp Alizeh tore open her eyes, the action resulting in a magnified impression of grass, blades adorned by pearls of dew, and punished not only by the searing burn behind her lids but also by the bleak realization she wasn’t dreaming. Her pulse racing, she perceived at once that this was not the landscape of fantasy, but the hard ground of reality, upon which she lay limp and disoriented. A shadow shifted,blotting the heat of the sun, and she shivered, the aches in her body awakening. The longer she held her eyes open the worse her head throbbed and her neck smarted; even some aspect of her face felt heavy with pain. Too soon the lift became too much, and her eyes fluttered shut once more.
It was when she felt the warm hand retreat from her head that she panicked, worrying she’d gotten it wrong, that this person was in fact a stranger, that her hopes were too wild to be realized. She summoned her strength, licked her parched lips, and compelled herself to whisper his name.
“Hazan?”
A beat.
Then, softly, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Alizeh thought she felt her heart stop. “Is it possible?” she breathed. “Are you really here?”
She did not imagine the tenderness, the faint surprise in his voice when he said, “I am really here.”
The nosta flared to life against her sternum.
All this time, her fear and guilt over Hazan’s fate had been trapped in a bauble of sentiment inside her, and the sudden compression of her chest shattered the delicately held emotion, wresting a terrible sob from her throat. She forced herself to turn over, lying flat on her back as she clapped a shaking hand over her mouth, hot tears curving toward her temples. Desperate for visual proof, she forced her eyes open again, her hands fumbling against the ground. When she turned an inch and saw him kneeling in the grass beside her, she was overcome.
She fell back against the earth and shook her head, over and over. She couldn’t believe he was alive. Hazan, who was peerless in his loyalty to her, who’d gifted her the rare nosta that had saved her in a thousand ways from harm, who’d risked his life over and over for her safety.
She thought he’d been killed.
And now he was here? He’d come for her once again?
In all these years since her parents’ death – years of screaming loneliness – she’d lost hope of ever finding another trustworthy soul. Yet Hazan had come to her without demands or expectations, parting veils of night to fall on one knee before her, setting into motion what might’ve been the great escape of her life. There was no one she felt safer with, and she’d done nothing to deserve his kindness.
He’d simply put his faith in her.
