This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(100)

“Oh,” Miss Huda cried, her eyes shining now with excitement. “Oh, I’ve figured it out, I’ve figured it out. You only wore the snoda to protect your identity, didn’t you? Did you pretend to work at Baz House, too? Are you a spy? Are you employed by the crown?”

Alizeh opened her mouth to respond, and Miss Huda cut her off with a wave.

“Now, listen, I know you said you can’t say who you are. But if I guess correctly, will you tell me? You need only nod your head yes.”

“No.”

Miss Huda frowned. “That seems terribly unfair.”

Ignoring this, Alizeh snatched the parcel from Miss Huda’s hands and set the box on a nearby table. Without further delay, she lifted the lid.

Miss Huda gave a small cry of delight.

The box was neither empty nor teeming with goat brains; instead, nestled between delicate sheets of tissue-thin paper, were a pair of lavender boots the exact shade of the diaphanous gown. Elegantly crafted of silk jacquard, they had softly pointed toes and short, stacked heels, ribbon ties lacing all the way up the high vamp of the shoe. The boots were so beautiful Alizeh was afraid even to touch them.

Tucked beside one silk boot, was a card.

“Magic,” Miss Huda whispered. “That was magic, wasn’t it? Good heavens. Who the devil are you? And why did you let me order you around like you were a servant?” The young woman began pacing the room, flapping her hands as if they were on fire. “Oh, I’m experiencing quite the most painful wave of retroactive embarrassment; I hardly know what to do with myself.”

Alizeh paid this small drama no attention. Instead, she picked up the enclosed card, unfolding it with care. It was more of the same script.

When the path is unclear, these shoes will lead the way.

Alizeh was only just beginning to process the enormity of her own astonishment—the enormity of what it all might mean—when the words on the note suddenly disappeared.

She drew a sharp breath.

“What is it?” Miss Huda asked eagerly. “What does it say?”

Slowly, fresh words bloomed on the blank note before her: sharp, dark strokes as substantial as if they were written in real time, by an invisible hand.

Don’t be alarmed.

As if on cue, alarm shot through Alizeh with the force of an arrow, startling her backward, her mind reeling as she spun around, searching for something—for someone—

No, she went deathly still.

The words had disappeared once more without warning, displaced now by others, but more quickly now, as if the writer were in a rush—

I am not your enemy.

Miss Huda snatched the note from Alizeh’s limp hands and scanned it, then made a sound of frustration.

“Why do the words disappear the moment I try to read them? I take great offense to this. I want it known that I take great offense to this,” she said to the room at large.

Alizeh, meanwhile, could hardly breathe. “I must get dressed,” she said. “I must get ready.”

“What? Get dressed?” Miss Huda turned, blinked at her. “Have you gone quite out of your gourd? Of all the things to be thinking at this moment—”

“Forgive me, but I must,” Alizeh said, snatching the two yellow boxes up into her arms, then darting behind a dressing screen in a far corner of the room. “I hope you will understand now why I cannot stay to fix your gown.”

“Oh, dash the gown!” Miss Huda cried. “Where will you go?”

Alizeh didn’t respond right away, occupied as she was with disrobing at breakneck speed. The dressing screen being not at all as opaque as Alizeh would prefer, she went invisible as she changed, feeling quite exposed standing in her unmentionables so close to a stranger. This was not how she’d imagined preparing herself for the ball tonight, not in a mad rush behind a dressing screen; not within reach of Miss Huda and her unceasing questions.

“Will you not answer me?” It was the young miss yet again, only louder this time. “Why do you need to get dressed? Where do you intend to go? Those boots aren’t at all practical for running away. Why, if you look away from your feet for even a moment you’re likely to step in a fresh pile of horse manure—or even an old pile, you know, as they’re never able to clear the roads quickly enough—and the silk will never be the same, this you may rely upon, for I speak from personal experie—”

“I thank you for your wisdom,” Alizeh said sharply, cutting her off. “Though I don’t know where I’m going just yet, only that I—”

Like a half-mute bird, Miss Huda screamed.

It was a tortured sound, a strangled cry of surprise. Alizeh would’ve darted out from behind the screen if not for her nakedness—a problem she rushed now to address—and would’ve called out a question of concern if her voice had not been unceremoniously drowned out by another.

“Your Majesty,” she heard someone say.

Alizeh suddenly froze.

It was the voice of a young man. “Forgive me,” he said. “I meant not to frighten you. I take it you received my packages?”

Alizeh’s heart raced wildly in her chest. She knew the sound of Hazan’s voice—the evening they’d met had been emblazoned in her memory—and this was not he. This was the voice of no one she recognized.

Who, then?