It soon became obvious that these men had been ordered only to kidnap, not to murder, for if they’d been ordered to kill the prince they’d certainly have done so by now.
Here, Kamran had the advantage.
They needed to keep him alive—but to Kamran, his life was worth little, and he was more than willing to lose it in any struggle for his freedom.
What’s more, he’d been spoiling for a fight.
All day the prince had been containing his rage, trying to fight back the storm in his chest. This was a relief, then.
He would unleash it now.
Kamran struck out with his foot, kicking backward between the assailant’s legs as hard as he could manage. The man cried out, finally loosening his grip just enough to give Kamran an inch of leverage, which the prince then used to full advantage, decking the second man with the weight of his shoulder, then his knee. With mere seconds to spare he succeeded in getting his wrists free from their unfinished bindings, but Kamran was still blind as he moved; striking out with unseeing blows, not caring where his fists landed, or how many ribs he broke.
When he’d finally knocked back both men enough to spare himself the moments necessary to tear off his hood, Kamran promptly drew his sword, blinking against the sudden light, drawing in lungfuls of air.
He moved toward his two attackers with all possible calm, appraising them as he went. One large, one average. Both crouched, breathing hard, and bleeding heavily from their mouths and noses.
The larger of the two lunged at the prince without warning and Kamran pivoted gracefully, leveraging the man’s own weight to flip the sod over his shoulder and onto the floor. The assailant landed with a resounding crack on his back, knocking not merely the air from his lungs but possibly the vertebrae from his spine.
Kamran then tensed his fingers around the hilt of his sword and advanced upon the second brute, who glanced nervously at the supine figure of his much-larger comrade before meeting the prince’s eyes.
“Please, sire,” the man said, holding up both hands, “we wish ye no harm; we was only doing as we was told—”
Kamran grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck, pressing the point of his blade against the other’s throat until he drew blood. The man whimpered.
“Who sent you here?” Kamran said angrily. “What do you want from me?”
The lout shook his head; Kamran dug the blade a bit deeper.
The man squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, sire, we—”
“Who sent you?” Kamran cried.
“I did.”
Kamran dropped the man at once, drawing away as suddenly as if he’d been set aflame. The assailant slumped to the floor and the prince turned slowly around, astonishment reducing his motor functions near to nothing. A drop of blood dripped from his sword, landed on his boot.
Kamran met his grandfather’s eyes.
“You will join me directly,” the king said, “as we have a great deal to discuss.”
Twenty-Three
ALIZEH STARED, STUNNED, AT THE figure bowing before her.
“Forgive me,” the stranger said quietly. “I only meant to keep close to you tonight should you need assistance—which, clearly, you did not.” Even in shadow, she saw a flash of his smile. “My firefly, however, is quite taken with you and insists on seeking your attention whenever the opportunity arises.”
“It is your firefly, then?”
The stranger nodded. “Normally she’s more obedient, but when she sees you she seems to forget me entirely, and has been accosting you against my wishes these last two days. She first disobeyed me the night you met her at Baz House—she’d darted through the kitchen door even as I expressly forbid it. I apologize for any frustration her impulsiveness has caused.”
Alizeh blinked at him, bewildered. “Who are you? How do you know me? How did you know I might need help tonight?”
The stranger smiled broadly at that, a gleam of white in the dark. He then held out a gloved hand, within which was a small glass orb the size of a marble. “First,” he said. “This is for you.”
Alizeh went suddenly still.
She’d recognized the object at once; it was called a nosta, an old Tulanian word for trust. To say that they were rare was a gross understatement of the truth. Alizeh had not seen one since she was a child; she thought they’d been all but lost to time.
Carefully, Alizeh took the small object into her hand.
In all of history, only several nostas had ever been made, for their creation required an ancient magic of which only the Diviners were capable. Alizeh’s parents had often told her that the magic in Tulan was different—stronger—than it was in Ardunia, for the southern empire, while small, had a more potent concentration of the mineral in its mountains, and a far greater population of Diviners, as a result. Many Jinn had fled to Tulan in the early Clay wars for precisely this reason; there was something about the mountains there that called to them, imbued them with power.