A shock of fear moved through the prince then, apprehension he could no longer push aside. A man who’d done magic? Surely there could be little doubt as to the identity of the culprit?
All of Setar’s Diviners were dead.
None but King Cyrus was suspected of using magic this night. What other havoc might the monstrous king have wrought?
The prince locked eyes with Hazan, who looked similarly panicked.
“Omid,” Alizeh said quietly. “Will you show me where this lady was hiding?”
“Your Highness,” Hazan said abruptly, turning his eyes to the floor once more. “You must go. Go now. With all possible haste you must lea—”
“Yes, very well,” Kamran said coldly. “You need not have a fit, Minister. If you would please excuse me—”
He was interrupted by a sharp, bloodcurdling scream.
Thirty-Eight
ALIZEH RUSHED HEADLONG INTO THE chaos, her heart beating hard in her chest, Omid trailing close behind. Her mind was already spinning with the weight of so many revelations—and now this? What was happening?
She’d hardly a moment to wrap her head around the realization that Hazan was minister to the prince, and even less to analyze a disconcerting suspicion that Hazan had not been speaking to Kamran, but to her when he’d issued those warnings to leave the ball, that things were not safe.
Indeed, Hazan had seemed so worried it scared her.
Perhaps he feared she was running out of time; the stranger had said Alizeh needed to leave the palace before midnight, but he’d abandoned her with so little apprehension that she hadn’t thought he meant it literally. And yet, if what he’d said was true—she glanced up at the towering clock in the hall—there were thirty-five minutes left in the hour. That felt like plenty of time.
Did Hazan mean for her to get to the transport alone, without assistance of the stranger? He said he’d sent messages, but to what message did he refer? Surely he meant the notes that came with the gown and shoes? Or was it the appearance of the copper-headed young man?
No, Alizeh considered, Hazan must’ve been referring to the shoes; for what other message had she received today that might aid in her escape?
Oh, if only she could get Hazan alone—if she could secure even a minute of his time—
Alizeh looked around as she moved, searching for a glimpse of Hazan’s face, but Kamran and his minister had been enveloped by the surging mass more easily than she, as the horde knew to make way for the prince even in the midst of chaos.
Though even the chaos was strange.
The screaming had stopped, but so, too, had the music. Most people were flocking toward the source of the commotion, while others were rendered immobile by confusion; everyone seemed to be waiting to know whether the terrifying scream could be ascribed to an overstimulated attendee—maybe a young woman had fainted, maybe someone had been overly startled. All seemed to wonder whether they might continue enjoying their evening without worry, as no one had yet confirmed a cause for panic.
Alizeh pushed against the swell of the crowd, worried for the fate of Miss Huda, wondering where she’d gone, when the silence was split open by yet another shriek of terror. Alizeh froze in place, struck by the sound of the young woman’s familiar voice.
“No,” Miss Huda was shouting. “No, I will not—You cannot—”
Dread pooled like tar in Alizeh’s gut. The stranger was no doubt accosting Miss Huda now—of this Alizeh felt certain—though she struggled to understand his motivations. Why had he so easily broken his promise? What reason did he have to torture Miss Huda?
Alizeh’s hands clenched, her body seizing with a desperate need to do something, when someone tugged at her arm.
Omid.
“Miss,” he said urgently. “That’s the voice of the lady who was hiding earlier. I think she needs help.”
Alizeh glanced up at the tall twelve-year-old. “Yes,” she said. “Can you take me to her? And quickly?”
“Right away, miss,” he said, already moving. “Just follow me.”
Alizeh trailed the boy without a word, the two of them weaving between bodies, wending around chairs, occasionally crawling under tables. Omid, she realized, was quite good at uncovering the narrow, unexpected path through madness, for no matter his reformed ways, he had been a street child, and knew well how to find his way through a crowd.
He led Alizeh through the throng with astonishing swiftness, delivering them both to a dark cove in a far reach of the ballroom, where Miss Huda was backing away from what appeared to be a tall shadow of a person, her arms held up defensively in front of her body.