For to kill her—
To kill her now, innocent as she was, seemed to him as senseless as shooting arrows at the moon. That kind of light was not so easily extinguished, and what was there to celebrate in a success that would only leave the earth dimmer as a result?
But did it frighten him, the power she wielded over his emotions in so brief a time? Did it frighten him what he might be driven to do for such a girl if she became real? What he might be inspired to give up?
He drew a sudden breath.
No, it was not merely frightening. It felt more like terror; a feverish intoxication. Of all the young women to want, it was madness to want her. It shook him to admit this truth even in the privacy of his mind, but his feelings could no longer be denied.
Did it frighten him?
Quietly, he said, “Yes.”
“Then it is my job,” Hazan said softly, “to make certain she disappears. With all possible haste.”
Nineteen
MRS. AMINA WAS A STRANGE woman.
It was a thought Alizeh could not shake as she pushed through the dark, ducking her head against the blustery wind of yet another brutally cold night. She was on her way to Follad Place—the grand home of the Lojjan ambassador—for what was doubtless one of the most important appointments of her short career. As she walked she could not help but reflect not only on the day’s many strange events, but on the mercurial housekeeper without whose permission they might not have occurred.
Alizeh had timed her exit from Baz House that evening so she’d not be noticed by Mrs. Amina; for though Alizeh was not breaking any rules by leaving the house after the day’s work was done, she remained wary of having to explain to anyone what she was doing in her spare time, least of all Mrs. Amina. The woman had so often threatened Alizeh for putting on airs that Alizeh worried she’d be seen as reaching above her station by pursuing extra work as a seamstress.
Which indeed she was.
Alizeh had been struck dumb, then, when Mrs. Amina had come upon her just as Alizeh made to leave, one hand reaching for the door, the other clutching the handle of her modest carpet bag, which she’d fashioned herself. Alizeh had been but a sturdy three-year-old the day she climbed up onto the bench of a loom, settling her small bottom between the warm bodies of her parents. She’d watched their deft hands work magic even without a pattern, and had demanded right then to be taught.
When her mother died, and Alizeh sank into a resolute stoicism, she’d forced her trembling fingers to work. It was during this dark time that she’d fashioned the carpet bag she carried with her always—that which housed her sewing supplies and few precious belongings—and which she disassembled whenever she found a place to rest. Most days it remained on the ground next to her cot, transformed into a small rug she used for much appreciated warmth in the room.
She’d been carrying it the day she arrived at Baz House.
Tonight the housekeeper had appraised Alizeh upon her exit, examining the girl from crown to boot, her keen eyes settling just a bit too long on the bag.
“Not running away, are we?” Mrs. Amina had said.
“No, ma’am,” Alizeh said quickly.
The housekeeper almost smiled. “Not before the ball tomorrow night, anyway.”
Alizeh dared not breathe at that; dared not speak. She held still for so long her body began to shake, and Mrs. Amina laughed. Shook her head.
“What a strange girl you are,” she said quietly. “To behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom.”
Alizeh’s heart thudded painfully in her chest.
The housekeeper studied Alizeh a moment longer before her expression changed; moods shifting as reliably as the phases of the moon. Sharply, she said, “And don’t you dare forget to bank the fire before you go to bed.”
“No, ma’am,” said Alizeh. “I would never.”
Mrs. Amina had turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen after that, leaving Alizeh to step into the cold night, her mind spinning.
She walked along the road now with caution, taking care to remain as near as possible to the glow of the hanging gaslights as she went, for the bulk of her carpet bag was not only a bit difficult to handle, but would certainly attract unwanted attention.
Alizeh was seldom spared when she was out alone, though nighttime was always worse. A young woman of her station was reduced to such circumstances more often than not because she had no one upon whom to rely for her safety or well-being. As a result, she was more frequently accosted than others; considered an easy target by thieves and scoundrels alike.