Even better: she’d need not tell anyone where she was going, for it was not as if she had any friends who might notice her prolonged absence. In fact, had she a proper room in the servants’ wing, she might’ve had more trouble getting away, for most servants shared rooms and were able to keep few secrets as a result.
Not that it needed, strictly, to be kept a secret.
Alizeh’s attendance at such a ball would not technically be unlawful—though she doubted there was much precedence for a snoda attending any royal function—but it seemed unlikely that others would take kindly to the idea of the lowest, most disposable servant of Baz House being invited to a royal event. She would be surprised, indeed, if they did not hate her for it merely out of spite, but then—
Alizeh frowned.
If Omid had been admitted entry to Baz House on the basis of these papers, did not Mrs. Amina already know about the invitations? Had she not already been informed on the matter, and made her decision? The housekeeper could’ve easily barred the boy from entering, could’ve denied Alizeh even a moment to speak with him. Could it be, then, that her fifteen minutes with the child were tacit approval of precisely such an outing? Had Mrs. Amina done her a kindness?
Alizeh bit her lip; it was hard to know.
Still, this uncertainty did not keep her from dreaming. Such an evening would be a rare treat for anyone, though perhaps especially so for the likes of Alizeh, who’d not been invited anywhere in years.
In fact, she’d not done anything purely recreational in what felt like a painfully long time. This would be a singular experience, then, for not only was it an evening of excitement by any metric, but it would be embarked upon with a friend, a friend with whom she might conspire and share stories. Alizeh thought she’d be content merely to stand at the back of the ballroom and stare, to admire the gowns and glittering details of a living, breathing world so different from the drudgery of her own waking hours. It sounded decadent.
It sounded fun.
“And we can eat fancy food the whole night long!” Omid was saying. “There should be all kinds of fruits and cakes and nuts and oh, I bet there will be sweet rice and beef skewers, and all sorts of stews and pickled vegetables. The palace chef is said to be a legend, miss. It’s bound to be a real feast, with music and dancing and—”
The boy hesitated then, the words dying in his mouth.
“I do hope,” he said, faltering a bit, “I do hope you see, miss, that this is my way of apologizing for my wrongdoing. My ma wouldn’t have been proud of me that morning, and I been thinking about it every day since. You can’t know how ashamed I am for trying to steal from you.”
Alizeh conjured a faint smile. “And for trying to murder me?”
At that Omid turned bright red; even the tips of his ears went scarlet. “Oh, miss, I weren’t going to murder you, I swear, I never would’ve done it. I was only”—he swallowed—“I only— I was so hungry, see, and I couldn’t think straight— It was like a demon had possessed me—”
Alizeh covered his freckled hand with her own bandaged one and squeezed gently. “It’s quite all right,” she said. “The demon is gone now. And I accept your apology.”
Omid looked up. “You do?”
“I do.”
“Just like that? No groveling or nothing?”
“No, no groveling necessary.” She laughed. “Though—may I ask you a rather impertinent question?”
“Anything, miss.”
“Well. Forgive me for how this sounds, for I mean no disrespect—but it strikes me as odd that the king’s men agreed to your request so readily. All of high society must be devouring itself for a chance at one of these invitations. I can’t imagine it was a small thing to offer you two.”
“Oh that’s true, miss, no doubt about it, but as I said, I’m pretty important now. They need me.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “Pretty sure I’m meant to be there as a trophy,” he said. “Living proof, miss.”
Alizeh was surprised to discover that Omid’s tone did not project arrogance, but a quiet wisdom rare for his age.
“A trophy?” she said, realization dawning. “A trophy for the prince, you mean?”
“Yes, miss, exactly that.”
“But why would the prince require such a trophy? Is he not enough on his own?”
“I can’t say, miss. I only think I’m supposed to remind the people, you understand, of the merciful empire. To tell the tale of the heroic prince and the southern street rat.”