It was a modest victory, and it had cost Alizeh dearly.
At best, Mrs. Amina would deny her a reference—a reference that might’ve made all the difference in finding another position quickly. At worst, Mrs. Amina might report the sprain to Duchess Jamilah, who might then report Alizeh to the magistrates on charges of assault.
The girl’s hands were shaking.
She shook not merely with rage, but with fear for her life, the whole of it. For the first time she had hope of escape, but Hazan himself had said there was a chance their plans could go awry. It was imperative that Alizeh attend the ball tonight, but the deed was to be done with discretion—she would need camouflage in such a situation, which meant she needed a gown. Which meant she needed time and space to work; a safe place to prepare.
How would any of that happen now?
It was all beginning to drown her, the realizations sinking in like sediment. The pain in her knee had begun to ebb, but still it throbbed, and the dull ache reminded her now only of her own inexhaustible torment.
Never was she spared a moment of peace; never would her demons leave her be. She was always fatigued, always tense. She couldn’t even change out of her miserable, sopping clothes without being besieged, and now she would be pitched out into the winter streets. Everything she’d tirelessly built—the pocket of light she’d dug free from darkness—had been so easily extinguished.
All the world seemed frightfully bleak.
The magistrates alone would’ve been terrifying enough, but with the crown in pursuit of her, Alizeh knew her life was forfeit. If she couldn’t make things work tonight she’d have no choice but to leave Setar, to begin again elsewhere and hope Hazan could find her again.
She felt suddenly close to tears.
There was a whisper of movement then, a featherlight touch along her arm. She looked up.
The prince was staring at her, his eyes dark as pitch, glittering in the candlelight. Alizeh could not help but be struck by him, even then. His was a face you seldom saw in a crowd; so stunning it stopped you in your tracks.
Her heart had begun to race.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It was not my intention to upset you.”
Alizeh looked away, blinked back tears. “What a strange person you are,” she said. “So polite in your determination to rummage through my things without my permission; to deny me my privacy.”
“Would it improve matters if I were rude?”
“Do not attempt to distract me with such tangential conversations.” She sniffed, wiped her eyes. “You know very well that you are strange. If you truly did not wish to upset me, you would leave at once.”
“I cannot.”
“You must.”
He bowed his head. “I will not.”
“Just moments ago you said you wish me no harm. If that is true, why not leave me be?”
“What if I told you that your safety was dependent on the results of my search?”
“I would not believe you.”
“And yet.” He almost smiled. “Your safety is dependent on the results of my search.”
The nosta glowed so hot Alizeh flinched, then stared, wide-eyed, at the prince. “Do you mean to say you seek to violate my privacy in the interest of my protection?”
He grimaced. “Your summary is distasteful.”
“But you scarcely know me. Why would the prince of Ardunia trouble himself to protect a hated stranger?”
He sighed at that, looking frustrated for the first time. “My motivations, I fear I cannot adequately explain.”
“Why on earth not?”
“The truth may seem to you farfetched. I wonder whether you will believe a word of it.”
Alizeh felt keenly the pressure of the little glass orb then, grateful for its presence more than ever. “I would ask you to try anyway.”
At first, he did not speak.
He reached into his pocket instead, retrieving what appeared to be a handkerchief—which he then held out as an offering.
Alizeh gasped, recognizing it at once.
Her body was seized by a static of shock as she took the familiar cloth into her own hands. Oh, she’d thought it lost. She’d thought it lost forever. The relief that overcame her then was such that she thought she might be inspired, suddenly, to cry.
“How? How did you—”
“It is my fault you are now being hunted,” the prince said quietly. “When I saw you disarm the Fesht boy that awful, fateful morning, I thought you’d stolen your uniform from an unsuspecting servant, as it seemed more likely to me that you were a Tulanian spy than a snoda. I made inquiries, and in the process, delivered you undue harm.”