“Do you really mean it, Grandfather?” Kamran said quietly. “Is what you say true?”
“You know it is true.”
“How then, pray, do you secure my livelihood and my happiness when you threaten to cut off my head?”
“Kamran—”
“If there is nothing else, Your Majesty.” The prince bowed. “I will now retire to my room. It has been a tediously long night.”
Kamran was already halfway to the exit when the king said—
“Wait.”
The prince hesitated, took an unsteady breath. He didn’t look back when he said, “Yes, Your Highness?”
“Spare me a minute more, child. If you truly wish to assure me of your loyalty to the empire—”
Kamran turned sharply, felt his body tense.
“—there is a task of some importance I wish to charge you with now.”
Twenty-Five
ALIZEH WAS ON BOTH KNEES in a corner of the grand sitting room, hand frozen on her floor brush; her face was so close to the ground she could almost see her reflection in the glossy stone. She dared not breathe as she listened to the familiar sound of tea filling a teacup, the burbling rip of air as known to her as her own name. Excepting the elixir of water, Alizeh had never much cared for food or drink, but she loved tea as much as anyone in Ardunia. Tea drinking was so entrenched in the culture that it was as common as breathing, even for Jinn, and it sent a little flutter through her chest to be so close to the brew now.
Of course, Alizeh was not supposed to be here.
She’d been sent to scrub this particular corner only after a large bird had flown through the window and promptly defecated all over the marble floor.
She’d not known Duchess Jamilah would be present.
Though it was not as if Alizeh would get in trouble for doing her job; no, the girl’s concern was that if anyone saw her in the same room as the mistress of the house, she’d be promptly dismissed and sent to work elsewhere. Servants were not allowed to dawdle for long in rooms where occupants of the house were present. She was to do her job and be gone as quickly as possible—but for the last five minutes, Alizeh had been scrubbing the same clean spot.
She did not want to go.
Alizeh had never seen Duchess Jamilah before, not up close, and though she could not exactly see the woman now, Alizeh’s curiosity grew only by the second. From beneath the finely carved legs of the stiff couches, Alizeh was able to observe a horizontal stripe of the woman. Every so often the duchess stood without warning, then sat back down. Then stood up again—and changed seats.
Alizeh was fascinated.
She caught another sliver of the woman’s hem then, the peek of her slippers as she moved for the fourth time in as many minutes. Even from this skewed vantage Alizeh could tell that the lady wore a crinoline under her skirts, which at this early hour was not only unusual, but a bit gauche. For ten thirty in the morning, Duchess Jamilah was supremely overdressed with nowhere to go. Doubtless, then, she was expecting company.
It was this last thought that inspired a terrifying flip in Alizeh’s stomach.
In the two days since the announcement of the prince’s arrival in Setar, Mrs. Amina had worked the servants nearly to death, in accordance with orders issued by the lady of the house herself. Alizeh could not help now but wonder whether the highly anticipated moment had finally arrived—and whether Alizeh herself might see the prince again.
Quickly, she returned her eyes to the floor.
Her heart had begun to pound in her chest at the prospect. Why?
Alizeh had not allowed herself to think much of the prince in the last couple of days. For some unfathomable reason, the devil had forewarned her of the young man—and every day Alizeh grew only more baffled as to why. Indeed what had, at first, seemed so foreboding had only recently been proven toothless: the prince was neither a monster nor a murderer of children.
Not only had Omid’s recent visit dispelled any lingering concerns Alizeh might’ve had about the young man’s motivations toward the boy, but Alizeh herself now carried evidence of the prince’s kindness. Apart from sparing her a fight with a shadowy figure, he’d returned her parcels in the midst of a rainstorm—and never mind how he’d known to find her. She’d decided no longer to dwell on that uncertainty, for she didn’t see the point.
The devil’s warnings had always been convoluted.
Iblees, Alizeh had learned, was consistent only as an omen. His brief, flickering appearances in her life were followed always by misery and upheaval—and this much, at least, had already proven to be true.