This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(111)

Indeed, Hazan had seemed so worried it scared her.

Perhaps he feared she was running out of time; the stranger had said Alizeh needed to leave the palace before midnight, but he’d abandoned her with so little apprehension that she hadn’t thought he meant it literally. And yet, if what he’d said was true—she glanced up at the towering clock in the hall—there were thirty-five minutes left in the hour. That felt like plenty of time.

Did Hazan mean for her to get to the transport alone, without assistance of the stranger? He said he’d sent messages, but to what message did he refer? Surely he meant the notes that came with the gown and shoes? Or was it the appearance of the copper-headed young man?

No, Alizeh considered, Hazan must’ve been referring to the shoes; for what other message had she received today that might aid in her escape?

Oh, if only she could get Hazan alone—if she could secure even a minute of his time—

Alizeh looked around as she moved, searching for a glimpse of Hazan’s face, but Kamran and his minister had been enveloped by the surging mass more easily than she, as the horde knew to make way for the prince even in the midst of chaos.

Though even the chaos was strange.

The screaming had stopped, but so, too, had the music. Most people were flocking toward the source of the commotion, while others were rendered immobile by confusion; everyone seemed to be waiting to know whether the terrifying scream could be ascribed to an overstimulated attendee—maybe a young woman had fainted, maybe someone had been overly startled. All seemed to wonder whether they might continue enjoying their evening without worry, as no one had yet confirmed a cause for panic.

Alizeh pushed against the swell of the crowd, worried for the fate of Miss Huda, wondering where she’d gone, when the silence was split open by yet another shriek of terror. Alizeh froze in place, struck by the sound of the young woman’s familiar voice.

“No,” Miss Huda was shouting. “No, I will not—You cannot—”

Dread pooled like tar in Alizeh’s gut. The stranger was no doubt accosting Miss Huda now—of this Alizeh felt certain—though she struggled to understand his motivations. Why had he so easily broken his promise? What reason did he have to torture Miss Huda?

Alizeh’s hands clenched, her body seizing with a desperate need to do something, when someone tugged at her arm.

Omid.

“Miss,” he said urgently. “That’s the voice of the lady who was hiding earlier. I think she needs help.”

Alizeh glanced up at the tall twelve-year-old. “Yes,” she said. “Can you take me to her? And quickly?”

“Right away, miss,” he said, already moving. “Just follow me.”

Alizeh trailed the boy without a word, the two of them weaving between bodies, wending around chairs, occasionally crawling under tables. Omid, she realized, was quite good at uncovering the narrow, unexpected path through madness, for no matter his reformed ways, he had been a street child, and knew well how to find his way through a crowd.

He led Alizeh through the throng with astonishing swiftness, delivering them both to a dark cove in a far reach of the ballroom, where Miss Huda was backing away from what appeared to be a tall shadow of a person, her arms held up defensively in front of her body.

Alizeh felt she recognized that shadow.

“Wait,” she said sharply, holding out an arm to halt Omid’s forward march.

She pulled them both behind a perforated wooden screen, where they ducked low, peering at the scene through a series of star-shaped cutouts. Alizeh had a vague idea of what she was expecting to see, but her imaginings were so far from truth that her mouth dropped open in surprise.

Miss Huda did not hold aloft her arms, but a candelabra, and she was approaching the tall shadow as if she might strike him. “Not so powerful now, are you?” she was saying. “Not so scary anymore, no, not when you’re at my mercy.”

“Listen, loud one,” came the acerbic, familiar voice of the stranger. “I’ve tried to be patient with you for her sake, but if you won’t cooperate, I’ve no choice but t—”

“No,” Miss Huda shouted. “You will never again use magic on me, sir, never again, or, or I’ll—I’ll do something terrible— I’ll have you trampled by a team of horses—”

“I never said I would use more magic on you,” he said sharply. “Lest you forget, I was minding my own business when you hit me on the head—in a most unladylike fashion, I might add—exhibiting such violence, and when I’ve been nothing but accommodating—”

“Accommodating?” she cried. “You stole my voice! And then you dumped me unceremoniously into the heart of a royal ball in my muslin day dress! I’m not with my family, I was never formally announced, no one even knows I’m here, and now I’ll never meet the prince.” Her chest heaved as she struggled for breath. “Do you even realize the cruelty of your actions?” she said, swiping at him with the candelabra. He dodged her attacks. “I can’t let anyone see me like this. As if my social standing wasn’t already in tatters, now I’m at the palace—for possibly the biggest event of the season—and I’ve not done my hair, I’ve got food in my teeth, I’ve not changed my slippers, I’ve no idea how I’ll get home from here—”

“Do you know, I’ve changed my mind,” said the young man. “Perhaps I will kill you. Though, alternatively, if you’re so apprehensive about the opinions of others I could always knock back your brain an inch—”