“No,” Kamran heard himself say. “This is terrible news, indeed.”
“Her collection has been set for tomorrow evening, sire.” A pause. “Late night.”
“Tomorrow.” Kamran’s eyes were on a single point of light in the distance; he hardly felt a part of his own body. “So soon?”
“The king’s orders, Your Highness. We must move with all possible haste and pray no one else gets to her before we do.”
Kamran nodded.
“It feels almost divine, does it not, that you were so swiftly able to identify her?” Hazan managed a stiff smile. “A servant girl in a snoda? Lord knows we might never have found her out otherwise. You’ve most assuredly spared the empire the loss of countless lives, sire. King Zaal was deeply impressed with your instincts. I’m sure he will tell you as much when you see him.”
Kamran said nothing.
There was a tense stretch of silence, during which the prince closed his eyes, let the rain lash his face.
“Sire,” Hazan said tentatively. “Did you come upon cutthroats earlier? You look as if you came to blows.”
Kamran placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Within moments his horse came galloping toward him, the stunning beast rushing to a reckless halt at his master’s feet. Kamran placed a foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the slick seat.
“Sire?” Hazan shouted to be heard over the wind. “Did you meet with anyone out here?”
“No.” Kamran grabbed the reins, gave the horse a gentle nudge with his heels. “I saw no one.”
Thirteen
ALIZEH HAD BROKEN NO FEWER than seven different laws since fleeing the scene with the prince. She was breaking one right then, daring to remain invisible as she entered Baz House. The consequences for such offenses were severe; if she were caught materializing she’d be hung at dawn.
Still, she felt she was left with little recourse.
Alizeh hurried to the hearth, stripping her coat, unlacing her boots. Public undressing of any kind was considered an act of stateliness, one deemed beneath those of her station. She might be forgiven for removing her snoda late at night, but a servant was forbidden from removing any essential article of clothing in common gathering areas.
Not a coat, not a scarf. Certainly not her shoes.
Alizeh took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was invisible to Clay eyes. She suspected there were a handful of Jinn employed at Baz House, but as she’d not been allowed to speak with any of the others—and none had dared compromise their positions by reaching out—she’d no way of knowing for certain. She hoped that any who might come upon her now might be willing to look the other way.
Alizeh drew nearer the fire, trying as best she could to roast her sopping jacket and boots. Alizeh had a spare dress, but only one jacket and one pair of boots, and there was little chance the articles would dry out overnight in the musty closet that was her bedroom. Though perhaps if she remained indoors all day tomorrow she’d not have need of her jacket—at least not until her appointment with Miss Huda. The idea gave her some comfort.
When the jacket lost the worst of its wet, Alizeh slipped her arms back into the still-damp piece, her body tensing at the sensation. She wished she could lay the article out by the fire overnight, but she’d not risk leaving it here, where it might be noticed by anyone. She picked up her boots then, holding them as close to the flames as she dared.
Alizeh shivered without warning, nearly dropping the shoes in the fire. She calmed her shaking hands and chattering teeth by taking steady, even breaths, clenching her jaw against the chill. When she felt she could bear it, she put her mostly wet boots back on.
Only then did Alizeh finally sink down onto the stone hearth, her trembling legs giving out beneath her.
She removed her illusion of invisibility—fully dressed, she’d not be reprimanded for taking a moment by the fire—and sighed. She closed her eyes, leaned her head against the outer brick. Would she allow herself to think about what transpired tonight? She wasn’t sure she could bear it, and yet—
So much had gone wrong.
Alizeh still worried over her treasonous comments to the apothecarist, and a bit about the man who’d tried to attack her—no doubt to steal her parcels—but most of all she worried about the prince, whose attentions toward her were so baffling as to be absurd. Where had he come from? Why had he cared to help her? He’d touched her just as the devil had foretold, as she’d seen in her nightmares the very night before—