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This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(70)

Author:Tahereh Mafi

Or so Alizeh had heard.

The few nostas that ever existed in Ardunia were widely believed to have been stolen from Tulan; a few small mementos of many failed wars.

How this stranger had gotten his hands on something so precious, Alizeh could not even begin to imagine.

She looked down at him in astonishment. “This is for me?”

“Please consider it a token of my loyalty, Your Highness. Keep it with you always, so that you never need wonder who your enemies might be.”

Alizeh felt her eyes prick with unexpected emotion. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Then I would be so bold as to ask for your forgiveness. You have suffered all these years alone, never knowing how many of us quietly searched for you. We are so grateful to have found you now.”

“We?”

“Yes. We.” Another flash of a smile, though this one was somber. “Your presence was only recently made known to me, Your Majesty, and I have been waiting every day for the right moment to approach you. In the interim, I’ve been tracking your movements so that I might offer protection if you should need it.”

As he spoke, the nosta glowed warm in her hand. She knew that if he lied even a little, the orb would turn to ice. Alizeh’s mind spun so fast she could scarcely draw breath.

“You may rise,” she whispered.

He did, unfolding slowly to reveal a body much broader than she first suspected.

“Step into the light,” she said.

He moved into the glow of a nearby gaslight, the flames setting fire to his pale hair and eyes. He was well dressed and groomed; his clothes were cut from fine cloth, his camel hair overcoat tailored to perfection. Were it not for the nosta, she did not think she’d believe this young man was fighting for her cause. He looked too well fed.

She struggled now to know what to make of him.

Still, the longer she stared, the more she saw. He was handsome in an unexpected way, his face composed of many small imperfections that added up to something interesting.

Strong.

Strange, but his features reminded her slightly of Omid—the dusky color of his skin, the generous smattering of freckles across his face. It was only his pale hair that kept him from looking like a native of the south.

Alizeh took a deep, steadying breath.

“You likely do not remember my mother,” the young man said quietly, “but she was a courtier. This was after the establishment of the Fire Accords, when Jinn were finally allowed to join the court freely; but she had been by that time so used to hiding who she was that she continued to keep her identity a secret.”

Alizeh’s mind began to turn. As the nosta warmed in her hand, she realized there was something about this story that sounded familiar.

“On one of her many evenings at court,” he went on, “my mother overheard the late queen speaking about the prophecy, and she knew then th—”

“A prophecy?” Alizeh frowned, cutting him off. “A prophecy about me, you mean?”

The young man went suddenly still. For a long moment he said nothing.

“Sir?” Alizeh prompted.

“You must accept my many apologies, Your Highness.” He sounded a bit worried now. “I did not realize you were unaware.”

Now Alizeh’s heart was pounding. “Unaware of what?”

“I fear I must again beg your forgiveness, for this story is a rather long one, and there is not enough time tonight to tell it. Once the matters of your safety are settled, I promise to explain everything in greater detail. But tonight I cannot be away for too long, or I will be missed.”

Again, the nosta burned hot.

“I see,” Alizeh breathed.

A prophecy. Had her parents known? Was this the real reason why she’d been hidden away? Why all who knew her had been murdered?

The young man went on: “Allow me to say now only that my mother was once, long ago, acquainted with your parents. She acted as their eyes from inside the palace walls, and would visit your home often, always with the updates she was able to glean from the court. Occasionally, she took me along. I cannot imagine you remember me, Your Majesty—”

“No,” she whispered, disbelief coloring her voice. “Can it be true? Is it possible you once taught me to play jacks?”

In response, the smiling young man reached into his pocket, and presented her with a single hazelnut.

A sudden, painful emotion seized her body then; a relief so large she could hardly fathom its dimensions.

She thought she might cry.

“I have been waiting close to the crown, as my mother once did, for any news of your discovery. When I learned of your existence I began at once to make arrangements for your safe transfer. I take it you’ve received your invitation to the ball tomorrow night?”

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