Tilting my head, I asked, “Why are you crying, Baba?”
He wiped his eyes, though it did little to get rid of the watery look. “I have made many mistakes in my life. Promises that must be kept. Promises that will change every—” He drew a deep breath and shook his head, plastering a smile on his face. “They are not important right now. Today, you are happy. Right?”
I grinned and took another bite of the baklawa. “Right!”
“That is all that matters.” Father lifted his robe and cleaned up the mess around my lips, not caring that it was staining his expensive fabrics.
Funny how it took hiding in a cramped room at a random inn in Ketopolis for that memory to resurface.
The king had always treated me with contempt and violence, which had bred my own disdain and hatred. Except he hadn’talways.
And now he was dead.
I rubbed my chest, where I could still feel that strange emptiness. It was irritating… and unexpected.
The door opened, and my muscles locked up. But it was only Jasim. “The camels are waiting downstairs,” he said as he entered, shutting the door behind him.
Pushing aside the old memories, I rose from the rickety bed. “And you spoke to the innkeeper?”
“I did. All he knew was that the Kaldfolk infiltrated the palace. No mention of the king.”
A small blessing, that. The tunnel Jasim had taken me through had let out onto the streets of Ketopolis, where havoc was alreadyin full swing. If they realized the Kaldfolk had succeeded in assassinating the king, there was no telling what further chaos could be unleashed. Not to mention what bright ideas the antsy jinn-descended princes might think up.
There was nothing more dangerous than a vacant throne.
My throne now, it seemed.
“The Kaldfolk are crazed animals, my queen,” Jasim said, repulsion evident. “They must have found a gap in our defenses and taken the opportunity without any thought for what comes next. It won’t be long before they’re dealt with.”
Jasim had been with the Khada Guard for nearly thirteen years. He’d fought the Kaldfolk before, had seen their lust for battle firsthand, but I didn’t think it ever got easier to watch a man be torn apart. I shuddered at the memory.
Jasim took a step toward me, a line of concern forming between his brows. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” I adjusted the new cloak around my shoulders. I’d found it hanging in the wardrobe, apparently forgotten by the last guest. My mother’s old dress was indeed unremarkable in a castle full of wonderful clothes, but just a few moments running through the streets told me it was still too noticeable. Hopefully, the hideous gray thing I now wore would be enough to keep me from being recognized. “We’ll head to the Temple of Shaya. It’s too dangerous to return to the palace with the Kaldfolk so close, and I need to speak with my father anyway, and we can—”
“Amunet,” he said softly, and I stalled at the casual use of my name. At the gentle caress over the syllables—Ah-moon-et. The scratching noise in my head returned at full volume. Jasim’s eyes shone in that way they always did after a roll in the sheets, with too much emotion, with too many unsaid words. “You know you can talk to me.”
Sometimes it was truly a pain in the ass that he knew me as well as he did. “I am talking to you. I just told you that we should—”
“Your father is dead.” My eyes snapped up to his face. Jasim’s years of training with the Khada Guard had chiseled him into a man who looked far older than his twenty-one years. The thick beard framing his jaw certainly added to the illusion, as did his size. He’d ditched his white uniform and instead managed to procure a threadbare tunic—possibly from the innkeeper himself—which was entirely too snug around Jasim’s strong frame. Not abnormally bulky like the Kaldfolk, but properly muscular from days upon days of rigorous training.
But more than all of that, it was that gods-damn knowing look in his chocolate-brown eyes. A look filled with decades’ worth of wisdom that shouldn’t belong to a man so young. A look that said he saw me, understood me, and cared anyway.
A lie. No one ever saw me.
He said, “It is all right to be sad.”
“Well, thank you so very much for the permission.”
“Amunet,” he said again, voice unfathomably gentle, not at all fazed by the bite in mine. The scratching grew louder. My molars threatened to shatter. “I know your relationship was… complicated. But he was your father. Of course you would—”
“He wasnotmy father.” My voice was a lash between us. “The king and I shared no blood. I do not feel sad that he is dead—in fact, I wish I had been there to witness the event myself.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. A lifetime of bitterness for a man who had loved me once and then abruptly decided to stop.
Jasim’s shoulders lowered, as if he heard the hurt behind my violence. That infuriating tenderlook. The walls started to push in around me, the scratching so demanding that I wanted to slap my hands over my ears. My control was slipping.
“Amunet—”
I smacked him across the face, the sharpcrackseeming to echo around the room as his head snapped to the left.
