This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(16)

Kamran closed his eyes, felt the press of a cold blade against his cheek.

“Lost in your head, darling?”

He looked at his mother, irritated not merely with her, but with himself. Kamran did not know the precise shape of the discomfort that addled him; he could not fathom an explanation for his disordered thoughts. He only knew he felt every day a creeping dread, and worse: he feared such uncertainty of mind would only exacerbate matters, for these lost moments, Kamran knew, could cost him his life. His mother had proven that just now.

She seemed to read his mind.

“Don’t worry. It’s decorative, mostly.” Firuzeh stepped back, tapping the glimmering ruby blade with the tip of a perfectly rounded fingernail. She tucked the weapon into her robes. “But I am quite angry with you today, and we must speak about it quickly.”

“Why is that?”

“Because your grandfather has things he wishes to say to you, but I mean to say my things first.”

“No, Mother, I meant: why are you angry?”

“Well, certainly we must discuss this servant girl you have s—”

“There you are,” boomed a voice just behind them, and Kamran spun around to see the king approach, transcendent in vibrant shades of green.

Firuzeh fell into a deep curtsy; Kamran bowed.

“Come, come.” The king motioned with one hand. “Let me look at you.”

Kamran stood and stepped forward.

The king took Kamran’s hands and held them, his warm eyes appraising the prince with an undisguised curiosity. Kamran understood that he would be reprimanded for his actions today, but he also knew he would bear the repercussions with dignity. There was no one alive he respected more than his grandfather, and Kamran would honor the king’s wishes, whatever they were.

King Zaal was a living legend.

His grandfather—his father’s father—had overcome all manner of tribulations. When Zaal was born, his mother had thought she’d given birth to an old man, for the baby’s hair was already white, his eyelashes white, his skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Despite the protests of the Diviners, the child had been declared cursed, and his horrified father refused to own him. The wretched king ripped the newborn child from his mother’s arms and carried him to the peak of the highest mountain, where the infant was left to die.

Zaal’s salvation came in the form of a majestic bird that discovered the crying infant and carried it away, raising it as one of its own. Zaal’s eventual return to claim his rightful place as heir and king was one of the greatest stories of their time, and his long reign over Ardunia had been just and merciful. Of his many achievements, Zaal was the only Ardunian king who’d seen fit to put an end to the violence between Jinn and Clay; it was by his order that the controversial Fire Accords had been established. Ardunia was, as a result, one of the only empires living in peace with Jinn, and for that alone Kamran knew his grandfather would not be forgotten.

Finally, the king drew away from his grandson.

“Your choices today were exceedingly curious,” Zaal said as he seated himself on his mirrored throne, the sole piece of furniture in the room. Kamran and his mother did what was expected and folded themselves onto the floor cushions before him. “Do you not agree?”

Kamran did not immediately respond.

“I think we can all agree that the prince’s behavior was both hasty and unbecoming,” his mother interjected. “He must make amends.”

“Indeed?” Zaal turned his clear brown eyes on his daughter-in-law. “What kind of amends do you recommend, my dear?”

Firuzeh faltered. “I cannot think of any at present, Your Majesty, but I am certain we shall think of something.”

Zaal steepled his hands under his chin, against the carefully trimmed cloud of his beard. To Kamran, he said, “You neither deny nor justify your actions today?”

“I do not.”

“And yet, I see that you are not remorseful.”

“I am not.”

Zaal turned the full force of his gaze upon his grandson. “You will, of course, tell me why.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I do not think it unbecoming of a prince to care for the welfare of his people.”

The king laughed. “No, I daresay it is not. What is unbecoming is a fickleness of character and an unwillingness to speak the truth to those who know you best.”

Kamran stiffened, heat prickling along the nape of his neck. He knew a rebuke when he heard one, and he was not yet immune to the effects of an admonishment from his grandfather. “Your Highness—”

“You have walked among your people for some time now, Kamran. You’ve seen all manner of suffering. I might accept an explanation of idealism more readily were your actions symptomatic of a larger philosophical position, which we both know they are not, as you’ve never before taken an active interest in the lives of street children—or servants, for that matter. Certainly there is more to this story than the sudden expansion of your heart.” A pause. “Do you deny that you acted out of character? That you put yourself in danger?”

“I will not attempt to deny the first. As to the second—”

“You were alone. Unarmed. You are heir to an empire that spans a third of the known world. You solicited the help of passersby, put yourself at the mercy of strangers—”