This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(52)

Which indeed she was.

Alizeh had been struck dumb, then, when Mrs. Amina had come upon her just as Alizeh made to leave, one hand reaching for the door, the other clutching the handle of her modest carpet bag, which she’d fashioned herself. Alizeh had been but a sturdy three-year-old the day she climbed up onto the bench of a loom, settling her small bottom between the warm bodies of her parents. She’d watched their deft hands work magic even without a pattern, and had demanded right then to be taught.

When her mother died, and Alizeh sank into a resolute stoicism, she’d forced her trembling fingers to work. It was during this dark time that she’d fashioned the carpet bag she carried with her always—that which housed her sewing supplies and few precious belongings—and which she disassembled whenever she found a place to rest. Most days it remained on the ground next to her cot, transformed into a small rug she used for much appreciated warmth in the room.

She’d been carrying it the day she arrived at Baz House.

Tonight the housekeeper had appraised Alizeh upon her exit, examining the girl from crown to boot, her keen eyes settling just a bit too long on the bag.

“Not running away, are we?” Mrs. Amina had said.

“No, ma’am,” Alizeh said quickly.

The housekeeper almost smiled. “Not before the ball tomorrow night, anyway.”

Alizeh dared not breathe at that; dared not speak. She held still for so long her body began to shake, and Mrs. Amina laughed. Shook her head.

“What a strange girl you are,” she said quietly. “To behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom.”

Alizeh’s heart thudded painfully in her chest.

The housekeeper studied Alizeh a moment longer before her expression changed; moods shifting as reliably as the phases of the moon. Sharply, she said, “And don’t you dare forget to bank the fire before you go to bed.”

“No, ma’am,” said Alizeh. “I would never.”

Mrs. Amina had turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen after that, leaving Alizeh to step into the cold night, her mind spinning.

She walked along the road now with caution, taking care to remain as near as possible to the glow of the hanging gaslights as she went, for the bulk of her carpet bag was not only a bit difficult to handle, but would certainly attract unwanted attention.

Alizeh was seldom spared when she was out alone, though nighttime was always worse. A young woman of her station was reduced to such circumstances more often than not because she had no one upon whom to rely for her safety or well-being. As a result, she was more frequently accosted than others; considered an easy target by thieves and scoundrels alike.

Alizeh had learned to cope with this over time—had found ways to protect herself with small measures—but she was well aware that it was her many physical strengths that’d saved her from worse fates over the years. It was easy, then, for her to imagine how many young women in her position had suffered greater blows than she ever would, though the understanding offered her cold comfort.

The sharp trill of a nightjar suddenly pierced the silence, the sound promptly followed by the hoot of an eagle owl. Alizeh shivered.

What had she been thinking about?

Ah, yes, Mrs. Amina.

Alizeh had been working at Baz House for nearly five months now, and in that time the housekeeper had shown her both unexpected kindness and stunning cruelty. She’d strike the girl across the face for minor infractions, but never once fail to remember Alizeh’s promised allotment of water. She’d threaten the girl constantly, finding fault in faultless work, and demand Alizeh do it again, and again. And then, for no apparent reason at all, she’d permit the lowest ranked servant in the house a fifteen-minute audience with a questionable guest.

Alizeh did not know what to make of the woman.

She realized her musings were strange—strange to be pondering the strangeness of a housekeeper who was doubtless strange even to herself—but this evening was quieter than she liked, causing her hands to twitch from more than mere cold. Alizeh’s reliable, creeping fear of the dark had evolved from uncomfortable to unsettling in the last several minutes, and with so much less to distract the senses tonight than the evening prior, she needed to keep her thoughts loud, and her wits about her.

This last bit was harder to achieve than she’d have hoped. Alizeh felt sluggish as she moved, her eyes begging to close even with the incessant snap of winter against her cheeks. Mrs. Amina had worked the girl to within an inch of her life in the wake of Omid’s visit, tempering a single act of generosity with swift punishment. It was almost as if the housekeeper had sensed Alizeh’s happiness and had made it her business to disabuse the girl of such fanciful notions.

It was unfortunate, then, that Mrs. Amina had very nearly accomplished her goal.

By the end of the workday Alizeh had been so ragged with exhaustion she’d startled when she walked past a window and discovered it dark. She’d been abovestairs most of the day and hardly noticed when the sun was siphoned off into the horizon, and even now, as she stepped from one pool of gaslit cobblestone to another, she could not fathom where the day had gone, or what joys it once held.

The glow of Omid’s visit had faded in the aftermath of many hours of physical toil, and her melancholy was made worse by what seemed the permanent loss of her firefly. Alizeh realized only in its absence that she’d conjured an unreasonable amount of hope at the insect’s initial appearance; the sudden and complete loss of the creature made her think the firefly had found her only by mistake, and that upon realizing its error, had left to begin a fresh search.