This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(45)

“I’m glad you got some bandages for your hands, though.” He made as if to look closer, then jerked back, paling. “And I did damage to your neck, miss, I see that now. I’m ever so sorry.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“’Tis more than a scratch, miss.” The boy sat up straighter. “And I’ve come to you today to make amends for what I done.”

She smiled then, feeling a complicated fondness for the boy. “Forgive me,” she said. “But my curiosity has overcome my manners, and I must know: how on earth did you convince them to admit you through the front door?”

The boy beamed at that, displaying a set of teeth still a touch too big for his face. “You mean why was a slippery, no good, thieving street urchin allowed through the front door?”

Alizeh matched his smile. “Yes. Precisely that.”

For some reason, the boy seemed pleased by her response, or perhaps he was relieved that she would not pretend the ugliness between them had never happened.

“Well,” he said, “because I’m an important person now, aren’t I? The prince saved my life, didn’t he? And the king himself said he was very glad I didn’t die. Very glad. And I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

“Is that so?” Alizeh blinked at him. She believed little of what the boy was saying but found his enthusiasm charming. “How wonderful that must be for you.”

He nodded. “They’ve been feeding me eggs most mornings, miss, and honestly, I can’t complain. But today,” he said, “today I’ve come to see you, miss, to make amends for what I done.”

Alizeh nodded. “As you said.”

“That’s right,” he said, just a little too loudly. “I’ve come to invite you to a party!”

“I see,” said Alizeh, glancing nervously around the near-empty kitchen. Mercifully, most onlookers had dispersed, having given up hope of hearing the two of them speak Ardanz. Alizeh and the boy were now alone but for the occasional servant passing through the kitchens; Mrs. Amina was doubtless far too busy with her own tasks to waste time hovering over a pair of nobodies.

“Goodness, a party. That’s very kind of you . . .” Alizeh hesitated, then frowned. “Do you know, I don’t believe I know your name.”

The boy leaned forward at that, arms folded on the table. “I’m Omid, miss. Omid Shekarzadeh. I come from Yent, of Fesht province, and I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“Nor should you be,” Alizeh said, surprised. “I’ve heard so much about Yent. Is it really as beautiful as they say?”

Omid blinked, regarding her for a moment as if she might be mad. “Begging your pardon, miss, but these days all I ever hear about any place in Fesht is probably not fit to be repeated in present company.”

Alizeh grinned. “Oh, but that’s only because a great many people are stupid, aren’t they? And what’s left of them have never actually been to Fesht.”

Omid’s eyes widened at that, and he sputtered a laugh.

“I was quite young the last time I went south,” Alizeh was saying, “so my memories of the region are dim. But my mother told me the air in Yent always smells of saffron—and that its trees grow so tall they fall over and stay that way, with their branches growing along the ground. She said the rose fields are so near the rivers that when heavy summer winds tear the flowers from their stems, the petals fall in the streams and steep, perfuming the water. She said there was never a more heavenly drink than river rosewater in the heat of summer.”

Very slowly, Omid nodded.

“Han,” he said. “Your mother is right.” He sank back in his seat, drawing his hands into his lap. It was a moment before he looked up again, and when he did his eyes were bright with an emotion he’d not been able to fight.

Softly, Alizeh said, “I’m so very sorry you had to leave.”

“Yes, miss.” Omid took a deep breath. “But it’s real nice to hear you talk about it. Everyone hates us, so they think Fesht is all donkeys and idiots. Sometimes I start to think my life there was all a dream.” A pause. “You’re not from Setar, either, are you?”

Alizeh’s smile was strained. “I am not.”

“And is your mother still with you, miss? Or did you have to leave her behind?”

“Ah.” Alizeh turned her gaze to the unfinished wood of the weathered table. “Yes,” she said softly. “My mother is still with me. Though only in my soul.”

“Mizon,” Omid said, slapping the table with feeling.

Alizeh looked up.

Mizon was a Fesht word that did not translate easily, but was used to describe the inexpressible emotion of an unexpected moment when two people understood each other.

“Mizon,” Omid said again, this time gravely. “As my mother is in mine.”

“And my father,” Alizeh said, smiling softly as she touched two fingers to her forehead, then to the air.

“And mine.” The boy echoed the gesture—two fingers to his forehead, then to the air—even as his eyes glistened. “Inta sana zorgana le pav wi saam.” May their souls be elevated to the highest peace.

“Inta ghama spekana le luc nipaam,” she returned. May their sorrows be sent to an unknown place.