By the angels, he had questions.
“Avo, kemem dinar shora,” he’d said darkly. First, I want to know why. “Why did you beg me not to hand you over to the magistrates?”
The boy shook his head.
“Jev man,” Kamran had said. Answer me.
Again, the boy shook his head.
Kamran stood sharply, clasping his hands behind his back. “You and I both know the real reason you are here, and I will not soon forget it. I have no interest in forgiving you for your actions today merely because you nearly died in the effort. You would’ve murdered a young woman just to steal her wares—”
“Nek, nek hejjan—” No, no, sire—
“And were willing to kill yourself so you would not have to stand trial—so you would not be turned over to the magistrates and pay the price for your debased actions.” Kamran’s eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger. “Tell me why.”
For the third time, the child shook his head.
“Perhaps I will turn you over to the magistrates now. Perhaps they might be more effective at yielding results.”
“No, sire,” the boy had said in his native tongue, his brown eyes large in his sunken face. “You would not do that.”
Kamran’s eyes widened a fraction. “How dare y—”
“Everyone thinks you saved my life because you are compassionate and kind. If you threw me in the dungeon now, it would not look good for you, would it?”
Kamran’s fists clenched, unclenched. “I did save your life, you ungrateful wretch.”
“Han.” Yes. The child almost smiled, but his eyes were strangely distant. “Pet, shora?” But, why? “After this, I will be returned to the street. To the same life as before.”
Kamran felt an unwelcome pang in the region of his chest; a flicker of conscience. He was quite unaware that the edge to his voice had gone when he said, “I do not understand why you would rather kill yourself than go to prison.”
“No, you do not understand, sire.” The redheaded boy would not meet his eyes. “But I have seen what they do to kids like me. Being turned over to the magistrates is worse than death.”
Kamran straightened, then frowned. “What can you mean? How can it be worse than death? Our prisons are not so foul as that. You would be offered a daily meal, at the very least—”
The boy was now shaking his head hard, looking so agitated Kamran feared he might bolt from the room.
“All right—enough,” the prince said reluctantly, and sighed. “You may instead tell me what you know of the girl.”
The boy froze at that, the inquiry unexpected enough to have disarmed him. “Know of her? I do not know her, sire.”
“How, then, were you able to communicate with her? Do you speak much Ardanz?”
“Very little, sire.”
“And yet, you spoke with her.”
“Yes, sire.” The boy blinked. “She spoke Feshtoon.”
Kamran was so surprised by this revelation he failed to mask his expression fast enough. “But there are no servants in the royal city who speak Feshtoon.”
“Begging your pardon, sire, but I didn’t know you were acquainted with all the servants in the royal city.”
At that, Kamran experienced a swell of anger so large he thought it might break open his chest. It took all he had to bite out the words: “Your insolence is astonishing.”
The boy grinned; Kamran resisted the urge to smother him.
This redheaded Fesht boy had the uncommon ability to move Kamran to a swift, discomposing anger—an anger of the most dangerous variety. Kamran knew this, for he knew well his own weaknesses, and implored himself to defuse what he knew to be an irrational reaction. There was no reason to scare away the child, after all, not now that the boy might provide him with information he needed to hunt down the duplicitous servant girl.
“I beg you will help me understand,” Kamran had said flatly. “You claim that a servant girl with little education—a servant girl who is likely illiterate—somehow spoke to you in Feshtoon. You claim she gave you bread, which you di—”
“No, sire. I said that she offered me bread.”
Kamran’s jaw tensed. This was the second time the child had interrupted him. “I see little difference,” he’d said. “Gave and offered are interchangeable words.”
“No, sire. She told me to come to the kitchens at Baz House if I was in need of bread.”
Here, Kamran experienced a moment of triumph.