Seldom did Kamran spend time here, at the outer edge of the palace grounds, though his hesitation arose not from a fear of feeling exposed. The palace was all but impenetrable to attack, guarded as it was on all sides by natural defenses. The vast grounds, too, were secured by an outer wall, the top of which grazed the clouds, and that was manned at all times by no fewer than a thousand soldiers, all of whom stood by, arrows notched in waiting.
No, it was not that the prince felt unprotected.
Despite the breathtaking views from this vantage point, Kamran avoided lingering too long on this bridge because it reminded him of his childhood, of one day in particular. He found it hard to believe that so much time had passed since that fateful day, for it still felt to him, in certain moments, as if the event had occurred but minutes ago.
In fact, it had been seven years.
Kamran’s father had been away from Ardunia then, gone from home for months to lead a senseless war in Tulan. A young Kamran had been stuck at home with tutors, a distant mother, and a preoccupied king; the long stretches of worry and boredom had been interrupted only by visits to his aunt’s house.
The day his father was due to arrive back at the palace Kamran had been watching from the high windows. He searched restlessly for the sight of his father’s familiar carriage, and when it finally arrived he’d run desperately out the doors, breathless with anticipation, coming to a stop at this very bridge, overtop this very river. He waited outside the parked carriage, lungs burning with exertion, for his father to greet him.
The rainy season had been ferocious that year, rendering the river turbulent, heaving with a terrifying force. Kamran remembered this because he stood there, listening to the heft of it as he waited; waited for his father to open the door, to show himself.
When, after a long moment, the doors had not opened, Kamran had wrenched them open himself.
He later found out that they’d sent word—of course, they’d sent word—but none had thought to include the eleven-year-old child in the dissemination of the news, to tell him that his father was no longer coming home.
That his father was, in fact, dead.
There, on a lush seat in a carriage as familiar to him as his own name, Kamran saw not his father, but his father’s bloody head, sitting on a silver plate.
It was not an exaggeration to say that the scene had inspired in the young prince so violent and paralyzing a reaction that he’d desired, suddenly, the arrival of his own swift death. Kamran could not imagine living in a world without his father; he could not imagine living in a world that would do such a thing to his father. He had walked calmly to the edge of the bridge, climbed its high wall, and pitched himself into the icy, churning river below.
It was his grandfather who’d found him, who dove into the frozen depths to save him, who’d pulled Kamran’s limp blue body from the loving arms of Death. Even with the Diviners working to restart his heart, it was days before Kamran opened his eyes, and when he did, he saw only his grandfather’s familiar brown gaze; his grandfather’s familiar white hair. His familiar, gentle smile.
Not yet, the king had said, stroking the young boy’s cheek.
Not just yet.
“You think I don’t understand.”
The sound of his grandfather’s voice startled Kamran back to the present, prompting him to take a sharp breath. He glanced at the king.
“Your Majesty?”
“You think I do not understand,” said his grandfather again, turning a degree to face him. “You think I don’t know why you did it, and I wonder how you can think me so indifferent.”
Kamran said nothing.
“I know why the actions of the street child shocked you so,” the king said quietly. “I know why you made a spectacle of the moment, why you felt compelled to save him. It has required of us a great deal to manage the situation, but I was not angered by your actions, for I knew you meant no harm. Indeed, I know you’d not been thinking at all.”
Kamran looked into the distance. Again, he said nothing.
King Zaal sighed. “I have seen the shape of your heart since the moment you first opened your eyes. All your life, I’ve been able to understand your actions—I’ve been able to find meaning even in your mistakes.” He paused. “But never before have I struggled as I do now. I cannot begin to fathom your abiding interest in this girl, and your actions have begun to frighten me more than I care to admit.”
“This girl?” Kamran turned back; his chest felt suddenly tight. “There is nothing to discuss as pertains to her. I thought we’d finished with that conversation. This very morning, in fact.”