Kamran heard the sharp trill of silver and china, a spoon stirring in a cup. He forced himself, once again, back to the present moment.
Duchess Jamilah was smiling.
She reached out without warning, placing her hand overtop Kamran’s. It was no small miracle that he managed not to flinch.
“I see that there is a great deal on your mind,” his aunt said kindly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you would visit even with so much to preoccupy your thoughts.”
“It’s always a pleasure to see my dear aunt,” Kamran said automatically. “I only hope you will forgive me for not coming by sooner.”
“I will forgive you as long as you promise to visit more often from here on out,” she said triumphantly, sitting back in her seat. “I have dearly missed having you here.”
Kamran smiled at his aunt.
It was a rare, genuine smile, stirred up by ancient affection. His aunt Jamilah was his father’s older cousin, and had been more of a mother figure to him than his own ever had. The prince had spent countless days—months, even—at Baz House during his life, and it was not a lie to say that he was happy to see his aunt now.
But then, it was not the same, either.
“As I have missed being here,” he said, staring, unseeing, at a glossy bowl of orange persimmons. He looked up. “How have you been? Are your knees still troubling you?”
“You remember your poor aunt’s ailments, do you?” She very nearly glowed with happiness. “What a thoughtful prince you are.”
Kamran denied himself the laugh building in his chest; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the effect he had on his aunt—though she required so little encouragement to praise him that it sometimes left him feeling ashamed.
“My knees are old,” she said simply. “Things begin to fall apart when they get old enough. Not much to be done about it. In any case, you need not worry about me when I’m so busy worrying about you.” A pause. “Are you merely preoccupied with your regular comings and goings? Or is there something troubling you, my dear?”
Kamran did not answer at first, choosing instead to study the filigree of his teacup. “Are you quite certain,” he said finally, “that it is age alone that accounts for our steady decline? If so, I am forced to wonder. Perhaps you and I are the same age, aunt, for I fear I may be falling apart, too.”
His aunt’s expression grew suddenly mournful; she squeezed his hand. “Oh, my dear. I do so wish—”
“Forgive me. Would you be so kind as to indulge me a brief interlude? I’d love to wander the house a short while, and clear away my nostalgia with fresh memories of your beautiful home.”
“Of course, dear child!” Duchess Jamilah placed her teacup down with a bit too much force. “This is your home as much as it is mine. Though I hope you will forgive me, as I cannot join you on your tour. My knees, as you know, cannot bear all the stairs unless absolutely necessary.”
“Not at all.” He stood and bowed his head. “Please remain here at your leisure, and I will rejoin you directly.”
She beamed somehow brighter. “Very good. I will see to luncheon in your absence. All will be ready for you when you’re finished with your wander.”
Kamran nodded. “I’ll not be long.”
Twenty-Seven
THE CURIOUS SERVANTS WERE STALKING his every move.
Kamran made noise as he roamed the halls of Baz House, opening doors and wandering corridors gracelessly, leaving evidence of his interests everywhere. He stood dramatically in doorways, dragged his fingers along the intricate wall moldings; he stared moodily out of windows and picked books off their shelves, holding the leather-bound pages to his chest.
Perhaps Hazan had been right. The prince was quite good at giving performances when he felt them necessary.
He maintained the show for as long as he felt was needed to evince his wistful intentions; only then, when he was certain any suspicions of the staff had been thoroughly defused, did he reduce himself to shadow.
Silent as light, he crept up the stairs.
Kamran’s heart had begun to beat a bit too fast, a traitor in his chest. Despite the hateful circumstances, some part of him still sparked at the prospect of discovering more about the girl.
He’d already learned from his grandfather that she was orphaned, that she’d been in Setar but a few months, and that she lived in Baz House as only a trial servant. She did not, as a result, have rooms in the servants’ wing, nor was she allowed to interact or communicate with the other servants. Instead, she’d been offered lodgings in an old storage closet at the vertex of the main house.