“Oh!” the boy exclaimed. “Oh, I think he’s breathing!”
Deen went slack. “Thank heavens.”
“It does seem curious,” Miss Huda mused, “that, despite the many faces pressed to the window, not a soul has stepped outside. I think if we were going to be tossed in the dungeons it might’ve happened already.”
Hazan was studying the palace windows, the many wide eyes peering down at them. “Yes, very curious,” he said quietly. “Where on earth is the royal guard to defend their king?”
He walked over to Cyrus’s fallen body, crouching to get a better look. After a moment, he said gravely: “He’s certainly not dead, though his health has deteriorated with astonishing speed – which is strange, as his wounds aren’t terribly severe. His leg has stopped bleeding and the damage to his hand, while grotesque, is not enough to kill him. I can’t imagine why he’s lost consciousness.”
“Maybe he fainted,” offered Omid.
“I doubt that,” Kamran said darkly. “He doesn’t seem the type to lose his head over a little mutilation.”
“Blood loss, perhaps?” suggested Deen.
Hazan, who was still inspecting Cyrus, said, “Not quite enough blood lost, I would say. Though it’s certainly possible.”
“Did you see the way he used magic?” asked Miss Huda, who was stepping cautiously closer to the king. “The way he made some of those arrows just…disappear?” A pause, while her brow furrowed. “Speaking of which: Has anyone else noticed that he seems to be rather frighteningly magical? How do you think he’s able to cast spells so easily?”
“The devil,” said Kamran. “No doubt he and Iblees are fast friends. I’m sure his power is a consequence of selling his soul to darkness.”
“If that’s true” – her frown deepened – “I wonder why he didn’t use magic to spare himself of this moment now. He’s in a horribly vulnerable position. Just think: anyone at all might come along and” – she made a dramatic slicing motion with one hand – “chop off his head.”
Omid giggled at that, and she giggled back, as if it were entirely the etiquette to be making jokes at such a moment. Kamran turned away from the infantile pair, grimacing against the sharp blade of a fresh headache.
“It’s possible he was dealt a blow to the head in the descent,” Hazan said quietly. “If he’s suffering from an internal injury he’ll need assistance at once. His situation is growing more uncertain by the moment.”
“Shall we let him die naturally, then?” More from the excruciating Miss Huda. “Or do you still intend to kill him?” This she asked as she whipped around to look at Kamran. Three other sets of eyes turned in his direction.
“Don’t you dare,” came Hazan’s low warning.
Kamran shot his old friend a hateful look.
The insipid king had fallen to the ground at his feet almost as if he were offering himself up to be killed. How easy it would’ve been to drive a dagger through his throat;indeed Kamran should’ve been thrilled – and yet he was nothing less than furious. He wanted the blackguard to get up and fight; what satisfaction could there be in impaling a corpse? Then again, the entire morning had been a tragic disappointment. First, Simorgh had abandoned them almost immediately after alighting; then, Alizeh had been discovered unconscious. Kamran had only just digested the revelation that she hadn’t betrayed him when Cyrus came into view, and it had been the perfect opportunity. He’d been inches from victory. Inches from exacting revenge upon the person responsible for the nightmare his life had recently become.
That Alizeh had tried to save the blighted king was hard enough to understand – but that Kamran had shotherinstead –
For a terrible moment he thought he’d killed her. It would’ve been a tragedy – he knew that, knew it in his soul – but he was nursing a quiet anger toward her, too. Anger that she’d intruded upon a private matter, anger that she’d taken the side of his oppressor, anger that she’d foiled his plans. To make matters worse, she’d now complicated things horribly: she was injured and missing, and would require a second rescue. Lord knew what Cyrus had done to her, sending her off on the back of yet another blasted dragon to some godforsaken place.
“Why shouldn’t I kill him?” said the prince ominously.
“The simple answer,” said Hazan, “is that Alizeh begged you not to.”
Kamran’s expression grew only stormier. “Is that all? You think I should’ve let him live simply because she wanted me to?”
“Is that not enough? You did as you pleased and nearly killed her in the process –”
“A terrible accident!”
“And where is your remorse?” Hazan demanded. “Why do you express no concern for her well-being – why do you remain preoccupied only with your own disappointments, when we came here with the express purpose of saving her –”
“I came here with one purpose.” Kamran cut him off, his eyes flashing. “And that was to avenge my grandfather.”
Hazan fell silent a moment. “Even now?” he said. “Even after discovering your grandfather was wrong about her? Can you not relinquish your anger long enough to realize that Alizeh needs our help –”
Kamran flinched. “Stop saying her name!”
“My humble opinion?” Deen cleared his throat and lifted a finger. “You might consider killing the king now, Your Highness. It does seem a good opportunity. You could finish up, and we could fly straight home.” He picked up a fallen arrow and offered it to Kamran as if he needed it – as if he didn’t have any number of weapons concealed on his body. “If we move quickly, we might even be back in time for supper.”
