This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(46)
This was a call-and-response familiar to most Ardunians, a prayer offered up always when remembering the dead.
Alizeh looked away then, focused her eyes on the timer. She would not cry here. They had only several minutes left, and she did not want to spend them feeling sad.
She sniffed, then said brightly: “So. You’ve come to invite me to a party. When shall we celebrate? I wish I could join you for an afternoon outing, but sadly I’m not allowed to leave Baz House during the day. Perhaps we might find a clear patch of forest in the evening? Enjoy a moonlit picnic?”
To her great surprise, Omid laughed.
“No,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “Miss, I mean to ask you to a real party.” He laughed again. “I’ve been invited to the ball tomorrow night as a special guest of the king.” He retrieved a heavy, gilded scroll from his inside pocket, unfurling it on the table before her.
“See? It says just there”—he pointed several times—“just there it says I can bring one guest to the royal ball.” Omid unearthed two other scrolls, flattening them both before her. They were numbered, hand-lettered invitations rendered in heavy calligraphy, and stamped with the royal seal. Each admitted one guest.
Omid pushed the spare invitation across the table.
Carefully, Alizeh gathered up the heavy sheaf. She studied it for a long time, and then looked up at the boy.
She was dumbfounded.
“Is that not what it says, miss?” Omid asked after a moment. He peered again at the scroll. “I know little Ardanz, but I think they’re correct. Aren’t they?”
Alizeh could hardly speak for the shock she felt.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I don’t— I’m afraid I still don’t— Oh.” She gasped, covering her mouth with one bandaged hand. “Is this the reason you were admitted through the front door? Is this why you were allowed an audience with me? You— Oh my goodness. So these are real, then?”
“Are you very pleased, miss?” Omid beamed at her, puffing out his chest a bit. “At first I weren’t allowed to bring a guest, see, but I’ve been thinking hard for a while now how to make amends, and then”—he snapped his fingers—“it just struck me, miss, just like that!
“So the next time they came to see me I said to them that I’m ever so grateful for the invitation, but I’m only twelve, understand, still but a child, and a child can’t attend a ball without a chaperone, so may I please have another, else I won’t be able to go at all! And can you believe it, miss, they didn’t question me, not one bit. I fear the king’s ministers might be stupid.”
Alizeh picked up the scroll, examined the wax seal. “So this . . . but it must be real. I never dreamed . . .”
There were all manner of astonishments to contend with in that moment, but perhaps the most shocking was Alizeh’s realization that—even with all her duties at Baz House—she might actually be able to go. Royal balls didn’t even begin until at least nine or ten o’clock in the evening, which meant Alizeh could leave Baz House at her leisure. It would not be the first time she’d forfeited an entire night of sleep—and it was a price she would happily pay.
Even better: she’d need not tell anyone where she was going, for it was not as if she had any friends who might notice her prolonged absence. In fact, had she a proper room in the servants’ wing, she might’ve had more trouble getting away, for most servants shared rooms and were able to keep few secrets as a result.
Not that it needed, strictly, to be kept a secret.
Alizeh’s attendance at such a ball would not technically be unlawful—though she doubted there was much precedence for a snoda attending any royal function—but it seemed unlikely that others would take kindly to the idea of the lowest, most disposable servant of Baz House being invited to a royal event. She would be surprised, indeed, if they did not hate her for it merely out of spite, but then—
Alizeh frowned.
If Omid had been admitted entry to Baz House on the basis of these papers, did not Mrs. Amina already know about the invitations? Had she not already been informed on the matter, and made her decision? The housekeeper could’ve easily barred the boy from entering, could’ve denied Alizeh even a moment to speak with him. Could it be, then, that her fifteen minutes with the child were tacit approval of precisely such an outing? Had Mrs. Amina done her a kindness?
Alizeh bit her lip; it was hard to know.
Still, this uncertainty did not keep her from dreaming. Such an evening would be a rare treat for anyone, though perhaps especially so for the likes of Alizeh, who’d not been invited anywhere in years.
In fact, she’d not done anything purely recreational in what felt like a painfully long time. This would be a singular experience, then, for not only was it an evening of excitement by any metric, but it would be embarked upon with a friend, a friend with whom she might conspire and share stories. Alizeh thought she’d be content merely to stand at the back of the ballroom and stare, to admire the gowns and glittering details of a living, breathing world so different from the drudgery of her own waking hours. It sounded decadent.
It sounded fun.
“And we can eat fancy food the whole night long!” Omid was saying. “There should be all kinds of fruits and cakes and nuts and oh, I bet there will be sweet rice and beef skewers, and all sorts of stews and pickled vegetables. The palace chef is said to be a legend, miss. It’s bound to be a real feast, with music and dancing and—”