This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(41)

She could almost feel the firefly grieve. It wilted against her neck, rubbing one little arm over its eyes.

The creature had snuck into Baz House last night, during the brief window of time it took for the prince to open and close the back door. It had flown hard and fast in her direction, pelting her in the cheek with its little body.

It’d been so long since Alizeh had seen a firefly that, at first, she hadn’t recognized the creature. When she did, she smiled so wide she hardly knew herself.

Alizeh had been sent a firefly.

A communiqué.

From whom? She did not know. Though not for a lack of effort on the part of the insect. The poor thing had been trying to drag her outside since the moment it found her.

There was a special relationship between Jinn and fireflies, for though they could not communicate directly, they understood each other in ways unique only to the two species. Fireflies were to Jinn what some animals were to Clay. Beloved companions. Loyal friends. Comrades in arms.

Alizeh knew, for example, that this firefly was a friendly one, that it already knew who she was, and that it wanted now to guide her to a meeting with its owner. Though it appeared neither the firefly nor its owner understood the limits surrounding Alizeh’s freedom.

She sighed.

She took as much time as she dared scrubbing each delicate windowpane, enjoying the expansive view to the outside. It was rare that she was afforded so much time to take in the beauty of Setar, and she relished it now: the shattering, snowcapped Istanez mountain range in the distance; the frosted green hills in between. Dozens of narrow rivers fractured the landscape, the valleys blue with turquoise and rainwater, bookended on either side by miles of saffron and rose fields.

Alizeh was from the very north of Ardunia—from Temzeel province—an icy, elevated region so close to the stars she’d often thought she could touch them. She missed her home desperately, but she could not deny the splendors of Setar.

Without warning, the bell tolled.

It was noon, the morning now officially at an end. The sun had slid discreetly into position at the apex of the horizon, and Alizeh marveled at it through the glass, at the jolly warmth it emanated across the land.

She really was in a fine mood.

She recognized that it had been good for her to cry last night, to release a bit of the pressure in her chest. She felt lighter this morning, better than she had in a long ti—

The sponge dropped from her fingers without warning, landing with a dull thud in its soapy bucket, spraying her fresh snoda with dirty water. Anxiously, she dried her wet hands on her apron and pressed closer to the window.

Alizeh could not believe her eyes.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, overcome by an irrational happiness to which she was almost certainly not entitled. That wretched Fesht boy had nearly slit her throat; what reason did she have to be delighted to see him now? Oh, she didn’t know, and she didn’t care.

She couldn’t believe he’d come.

Alizeh watched him as he came up the walk, marveling anew at his shock of red hair and prematurely long frame. The boy was an entire head taller than her, and at least five years younger; it was a wonder to her how he grew at all for a child who ate so little.

The boy arrived at the fork in the footpath then, making a sharp right where he should’ve gone left, his unsettling choice directing him straight to the main entrance. When Alizeh was certain his vivid figure had disappeared for good, her joy evaporated.

Why had he gone to the front door?

She’d instructed the boy to come to the kitchens, not the main house. If she hurried right this second she might, under the pretense of collecting more water, be able to rush down to meet him. But if he was discovered at the front door not only would he be whipped for the impudence—she’d be cast out for having promised him bread.

Alizeh sat back, her heart racing at the thought.

Was this her fault? Should she have explained things more thoroughly to the boy? But what street child was deluded enough to think he might be admitted through the front door of a grand estate?

She dropped her face in her hands.

The firefly fluttered its wings against her neck, asking the obvious question.

Alizeh shook her head. “Oh, nothing,” she said softly. “Just that I’m fairly certain I’ll be thrown out onto the street . . . any minute now.”

At that, the firefly grew animated, taking flight and tossing its body once more at the window.

Bop. Bop.

Alizeh couldn’t help her smile then, however reluctant. “Not in a good way, you silly creature.”

“Girl!” A familiar voice barked at her.

Alizeh froze.

“Girl!”

In a flash, the firefly flew up the cuff of Alizeh’s sleeve, where it shuddered against her skin.

Alizeh turned slowly from her seat in the window bay to face Mrs. Amina, where the housekeeper somehow managed to tower over her even from below.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one, ma’am.”

“I saw your lips moving.”

“I was humming a song, ma’am.” Alizeh bit her lip. She wanted to say more—to offer up a more robust lie—but she was warier than ever of saying too much.

“Your job is to disappear,” Mrs. Amina said sharply. “You’re not allowed to hum, you’re not allowed to speak, you’re not allowed to look at anyone. You don’t exist when you work here, especially when you’re abovestairs. Do I make myself clear?”