“Yes,” said Alizeh, touching a hand to her throat. She was looking around blindly, searching for the exit. “Yes, I’m fine. How do we get out of here?”
“How can you move so quickly in that gown?” said Huda, gathering up her hem as she moved. “The train alone is four feet long!”
“Not that you don’t look lovely,” Deen added hastily. “Which you do. Quite lovely.”
Alizeh glanced back at him, her anxiety briefly overpowered by gratitude. “Thank you,” she said with feeling. “I’ve never worn a garment so exquisite in my life.”
It was a masterpiece of pale pink silk, lace, and diamond- studded tulle. Every inch of the material was embellished with intricate gold patterns, fine stitches glimmering with yet more shining gems. The fabric of her bodice, with a high collar and long fitted sleeves, was a sheer illusion, artfully woven with shimmer and glittering rose-colored stones. Atop her head she wore a matching diaphanous veil, which had been weighed down by a gold circlet that glinted like a crown. She’d yet to glimpse her own reflection – there’d been no time – but all she had to do was look down at herself and her breath caught with wonder.
After all her years as a servant, Alizeh still struggled with splendor. She didn’t believe a person was made better by wearing finery, but she could not deny the power of a garment. It was one of the things she’d loved most about being a seamstress: bolts of fabric could be fashioned into something like a weapon. An outfit might be used to build a person or break them down. Just then, this opulent gown had helped shift her mindset.
She ratherfeltlike a queen.
“There’s a door to a courtyard up ahead,” Huda was saying, “and from there you can access one of the balconies –”
“This is a bad idea.” The former street child was shaking his head, his long legs helping him keep pace easily. “I don’t think you should do this. There’s a million people out there, miss.”
Huda rapped his arm and he flinched.
“I mean, Your Majesty.”
“Huda assured me it was fewer than a hundred thousand,” said Alizeh. “And you don’t have to call me Your Majesty.”
“I don’t care how many people there are,” Omid shot back angrily. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Alizeh stopped in place, she was so surprised.
Slowly she turned to face the boy, discovering genuine fear in his eyes. Laughing off his pain, she knew, would only wound him. She, too, had lost both her parents at a tender age; she knew how terror and loneliness propagated alongside grief like invasive weeds. There had never been another warm embrace.Never another loving hand to stroke her hair. Never a day she didn’t struggle with the impermanence of joy. In a matter of months this poor boy had lost his parents, lived on the streets, saw his friends murdered for Zaal’s profit, and then lost the Diviners.
He was afraid he’d lose her, too.
Alizeh watched Omid swallow back a knot of emotion before she drew forward, opening her arms to him. He towered over her by at least a foot, but she knew he was just a child – a child like so many others in need of comfort. At first he paled at her offer, but then, looking as if he might cry, he stepped into her embrace, turning a shade of red so bright it clashed with his ginger curls.
“I don’t want to mess up your dress,” he mumbled.
She only held him tighter.
“Don’t you worry about me,” she said finally, giving him a squeeze before holding him at arm’s length. “I’ll be all right.”
He looked toward the floor, his face still blotchy with color. “I do worry, miss. I do worry. You already almost died. And I know what it’s like in big crowds – me and the boys used to pull our best hauls at gigs like this. Thieves and rogues love to work a big crowd –”
“I hate to say it, but the child is right,” said Deen. “You mustn’t put yourself in danger. Besides, you’ve only just awoken – maybe you should take time to recuperate a bit more. I could brew you a medicinal tea to revive your spirits –”
“I appreciate your concern,” said Alizeh, looking around at her friends. “Really, I do. But I must speak with my people,even if it endangers me to do so.”
They only stared at her, their expressions registering varied levels of panic and resignation.
“There’s something more you wish to tell me,” Alizeh said, her brows pulling together. “What is it?”
“The whispers along the trade routes have been worrisome,” said Deen quietly, though he wouldn’t look at her now. “Many merchants of my acquaintance have written to me, asking about you, and the stories they’ve shared in return –” He shook his head. “Your Majesty, it is imperative that you know how many there are who wish you harm.”
“It’s true,” Huda added, her eyes darting from her to Deen then back again. “Forgive me, dear, but a great deal has changed since you were injured. Even here in Tulan there are many against you. The sheer influx of migrants has been frightfully disruptive – it’s angered the citizens, no matter how peaceful the crowds have been. They don’t really… want you here.”
“It’s worse than that,” said Omid angrily, retrieving a folded newspaper from inside his jacket, which he thrust toward Alizeh. “They want you todie.”
“Omid!” Huda gasped, trying to snatch the paper out of his hand. “You shouldn’t have brought that!”
His jaw set in a determined clench, Omid easily evaded this effort and handed the paper to Alizeh, which she carefully accepted. She knew from its dusty-green pages that she’d been handed a copy ofThe Daftar, Ardunia’s most famous newspaper, though she didn’t know how they’d procured a copy so far from home. She looked once more upon her friends’ faces – worried,worried, and angry – before turning her eyes to the publication, shaking it open to read the headline.
