This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(57)

Alizeh smiled. “You need very little embellishment, miss. You can see here that I did nothing just now but remove the distractions from the gown.”

Miss Huda went a bit slack when the fight finally left her body. She studied herself now with a cautious optimism, first drawing her fingers down the lines of the gown, then carefully touching those same fingers to her face, to the slant of her cheekbone.

“I look so elegant,” Miss Huda said softly. “Nothing at all like a trussed walrus. What incomprehensible magic this is.”

“It’s not magic, I assure you,” Alizeh said to her. “You have always been elegant, miss. I’m only sorry you’ve been tortured into thinking otherwise for so long.”

Alizeh did not know what time it was when she finally left Follad Place, only that she was so exhausted she’d begun to feel dizzy. It had been at least an hour since the last time she’d checked the time, which meant that, if her calculations were correct, it was well past one o’clock in the morning. She would be spared only a handful of hours to sleep before the work bell tolled.

Her heart sank in her chest.

Alizeh forced her eyes open as she plodded along, even stopping to gently pinch her own cheeks when, in her fogginess, she thought she’d seen two moons in the sky.

She was carrying her carpet bag as carefully as possible in the bitter cold, for it now held Miss Huda’s green gown, which she’d promised to finish mending before tomorrow’s ball. Bahar, Miss Huda’s lady’s maid, would be arriving to retrieve the gown at eight o’clock, precisely one hour after Alizeh finished her shift.

She exhaled a sigh at that, staring for a moment at the icy plume her breath painted against the dark.

Alizeh had taken all of Miss Huda’s measurements; the five additional gowns were to be designed however Alizeh saw fit, as per the young woman’s instructions. This was both a boon and a burden, for while it gave Alizeh full artistic license, it also placed the whole of the sartorial responsibility on her shoulders.

Alizeh was at least grateful that the other gowns would not be due for another week. Already she couldn’t imagine how she’d manage all of tomorrow’s work in addition to finding something suitable for herself to wear to the ball, but she consoled herself with the reminder that what she wore would not matter, for no one would be looking at her anyway—and all the better.

It was just then that Alizeh heard an unusual sound.

It was unusual in that it was not a sound endemic to the night; it was more like the rasp of a kicked pebble, a skittering there and gone in a flash.

It was enough.

Sleep fled her brain as adrenaline moved through her body, heightening her senses. Alizeh dared not break her stride; dared not speed up or slow down. She acknowledged, quietly, that the sound could’ve been provoked by an animal. Or a large insect. She might’ve even blamed the wind except that there was no breeze.

There was in fact no evidence to support Alizeh’s sudden, chilling fear that she was being followed, none but a basic instinct that cost her nothing to take seriously. If she should appear foolish for overreacting, so be it.

Alizeh would take no chances at this hour.

As casually as she could manage, she hefted the carpet bag up, into her arms, and snapped it open. As she walked, she strapped her pincushion to her left wrist, pulling free handfuls of the sharp objects and tucking several needles between each of her knuckles. She retrieved her sewing scissors next, which she kept clenched in her right fist.

The footsteps—soft, nearly undetectable—she heard soon thereafter.

Alizeh dropped her carpet bag to the ground, felt her heartbeat rocket in her chest. She stood planted to the pavement, chest heaving as she bade herself be calm.

She then closed her eyes and listened.

There was more than one pair of footsteps. How many, then? Four. Five.

Six.

Who would send six men to chase down a defenseless servant girl? Her pulse raced, her thoughts spinning. Only someone who knew who she was, who knew what she might be worth. Six men sent to intercept her in the dead of night, and they’d found her here, halfway to Baz House, far from the safety of her own room.

How had they known where she was? How long had they been tracking her? And what else had they learned?

Alizeh’s eyes flew open.

She felt her body tense with awareness, go suddenly solid with calm. Six heavily shadowed figures—each clad in black—approached her slowly from all sides.

Alizeh sent up a silent prayer then, for she knew she would require forgiveness before the night was done.

The assailants had her completely surrounded when she finally broke the silence with a single word:

“Wait.”

The six forms came to a surprised halt.

“You do not know me,” she said quietly. “You are no doubt indifferent to me and do not personally harbor me ill will. You are performing your duty tonight. I realize that.”

“What’s yer point?” one of them said gruffly. “Let’s get on wiff it then if yer so understandin’. Business to do an’ all ’at.”

“I am offering you amnesty,” Alizeh said. “I give you my word: walk away now and I will spare you. Leave in peace now and I will do you no harm.”

Her words were met with a roar of laughter, guffaws that filled the night.

“My, wot cheek,” a different man cried. “I think I will be sorry, miss, to kill ye tonight. I do promise to make it quick, though.”