Were the girl to make even the slightest move against King Zaal, Kamran’s choice would be clear, his emotions undiluted. He would not scruple to defend his grandfather with his life.
The problem was that Kamran could not believe that the girl—as she existed now—had any interest in overthrowing the throne. Murdering her as an innocent seemed to him an action dark enough to dissolve the soul.
Still, he could not say any of this for fear of offending the king, in addition to losing what little respect his grandfather had left for him. They’d never fought like this, never been so far apart on such an important issue.
Even so, Kamran felt he had to try. Just once more.
“Could we not consider,” he said, “perhaps—keeping her somewhere? In hiding?”
King Zaal canted his head. “You mean to put her in prison?”
“Not— No, not prison, but— Perhaps we could encourage her to leave, live elsewhere—”
His grandfather’s face shuttered closed. “How can you not see? The girl cannot be free. While she is free, she can be found, she can be rallied, she can become a symbol of revolution. So long as I am king, I cannot allow it.”
Kamran returned his gaze to the floor.
He felt a savage pain lance through him then, the blade of failure. Grief. The girl would be sentenced to death because of him, because he’d had the audacity to notice her, and the self-importance to announce what he’d seen.
“Tonight,” said the king gravely, “the girl will be dealt with. Tomorrow night, you will choose a wife.”
Kamran looked up in an instant, his eyes wild. “Your Majesty—”
“And we will never discuss this again.”
Fifteen
IN THE SILKY GLIMMER OF a sunlit window, she saw motion, then heard it: a flutter of wings, the sound like blades of grass in the wind, pushing together, then apart. Alizeh was washing the windows of Baz House on this beautiful morning, and when compared to her tasks the day before, the work seemed almost luxurious.
The sound of wings grew suddenly louder then, and a tiny body careened into the window with a soft bop.
Alizeh shooed it away.
The fluttering insect repeated this action twice more. Alizeh checked to make sure she was alone before she held up a single finger to her lips. “You must be quiet,” she whispered. “And remain close to me.”
The firefly did as it was bade, and landed gently on the nape of her neck, where it folded its wings, crawled downward, and ducked its head underneath her collar.
Alizeh dipped her sponge in its bucket, wrung the excess water, and continued scrubbing the smudged glass. She’d reapplied the salve to her hands and throat last night, which had made her pain quite manageable this morning. In fact, in the presence of the sun, all the terrors induced by the events of the evening prior had faded. It was easier for Alizeh to declare her fears dramatic when the skies were so clear, when her hands no longer throbbed in agony.
Today, she swore, would be easier.
She would not fear the condemnations of the apothecarist; nor would she concern herself with the prince, who had only done her a kindness. She would not worry over her missing handkerchief, which would doubtless be found; she would not fear for her health, not now that she had her salves. And the devil, she reasoned, could go to hell.
Things were going to get better.
Tonight, she had an appointment inside the Lojjan ambassador’s estate. She was engaged to design and execute the creation of five gowns, for which she might hope to collect a total of forty coppers, which was nearly half a stone.
Goodness, Alizeh had never even held a stone.
Her mind had already run wild with the possibilities such a sum of coin might provide. Her wildest hope was to secure enough customers to make a regular living, for only then might she be able to leave Baz House. If she was careful and kept to a tight budget, she prayed she’d be able to afford a small room of her own—maybe somewhere sparsely populated on the outskirts of town—somewhere she might never be bothered.
Her heart swelled at the thought.
Somehow, she would manage it. She’d keep her head down and work hard, and one day she’d be free of this place, these people.
She hesitated, her sponge pressed against the glass.
Alizeh could not help but think how strange it was that she worked in service. All her life she’d known she wanted to spend her life in the service of others, though not at all like this.
Life, it seemed, possessed a sense of irony.
Alizeh had been brought up to lead, to unify, to free her people from the half-lives they’d been forced to live.