This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(61)

“No,” she whispered, disbelief coloring her voice. “Can it be true? Is it possible you once taught me to play jacks?”

In response, the smiling young man reached into his pocket, and presented her with a single hazelnut.

A sudden, painful emotion seized her body then; a relief so large she could hardly fathom its dimensions.

She thought she might cry.

“I have been waiting close to the crown, as my mother once did, for any news of your discovery. When I learned of your existence I began at once to make arrangements for your safe transfer. I take it you’ve received your invitation to the ball tomorrow night?”

Alizeh was still stunned, for a moment, into silence. “The ball?” she said finally. “Did you— Was that—?”

The stranger shook his head. “The original thought belonged to the child. I saw an opportunity and assisted. The context will help us.”

“I fear I’ve been rendered speechless,” she said softly. “I can only thank you, sir. I struggle now to think of anything else to say.”

And in a gesture of goodwill, she removed her snoda.

The young man started, stepped back. He stared at her with wide eyes, with something like apprehension. She watched him struggle to look at her without appearing to look at all, and the realization almost made her laugh.

She realized, too late, that she’d put him in an awkward position. Doubtless he thought she expected a review.

“I know my eyes make me hard to look at,” said Alizeh gently. “It’s the ice that does it, though I don’t entirely understand why. I believe my eyes are in fact brown, but I experience with some frequency a sharp pain in my head, a feeling like a sudden frost. It’s the onslaught of cold, I think, that kills their natural color. It’s the only explanation I have for their flickering state. I hope you will be able to overlook my strangeness.”

He studied her then as if he were trying to sear her image into his memory—and then looked sharply away, at the ground. “You do not look strange, Your Majesty.”

The nosta glowed warm.

Alizeh smiled, restored her snoda. “You say you are making arrangements for my safe transfer—what does that mean? Where do you mean to take me?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say. It is better, for now, that you know as little as possible, in the case that our plans go awry and you are apprehended.”

Again, the nosta glowed warm.

“Then how will I know to find you?”

“You will not. It is imperative that you arrive at the ball tomorrow night. Will you require assistance in accomplishing this?”

“No. I think not.”

“Very good. My firefly will seek you out when the moment is right. You may count on her to lead the way. Forgive me, Your Majesty.” He bowed. “It grows later by the minute, and I must now be gone. Already I have said too much.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said softly, grabbing his arm. “Will you not at least tell me your name?”

He stared at her bandaged hand on his arm for a beat too long, and when he looked up, he said, “I am Hazan, Your Majesty. You may depend on me with your life.”





Twenty-Four





KAMRAN SAID NOTHING AT ALL during the long walk with his grandfather, his mind spinning with all manner of confusion and betrayal. He swore to himself he wouldn’t jump to any absolute conclusions until he heard the whole explanation from the king, but it grew harder by the minute to ignore the rage simmering in his blood, for they did not appear to be heading to the king’s chambers, as Kamran had first assumed, and he could not envisage now where his grandfather was leading him.

Never in his life could he have imagined the king sending mercenaries to his room in the dead of night.

Why?

What had happened to their relationship in so brief a time as to inspire such cruelty? Such lunacy?

Luckily, the king did not keep him wondering for long.

The path they followed grew darker and colder as they went, the circuitous path growing both familiar and alarming. Kamran had wandered this way precious few times in his life, for he’d seldom had cause to visit the palace dungeons.

A bolt of panic branched up his spine.

His grandfather was still several paces ahead, and the prince heard the groan of a metal cage opening before he saw its primeval design. That a trio of torches had been lit in anticipation of his arrival was shocking enough, but that the illumination forced the coarse, clawed-out corners of this sinister space into sharp relief rendered this horror only too real. Kamran’s fear and confusion further electrified as the steady drip of some unnamed liquid beat the ground between them, the smell of rot and wet filling his nose.

He had stepped into a nightmare.

Finally, King Zaal turned to face his grandson, and the prince, who even now should have bowed before his sovereign, remained standing.

Neither did he sheath his sword.

King Zaal stared at that sword now, studied the insolence of the young man with whom he shared these shadows. Kamran saw the barely restrained anger in his grandfather’s eyes, the outrage he did little to hide.

No doubt similar feelings were mirrored upon Kamran’s own face.

“As your king,” the older man said coldly, “I charge you presently with the crime of treason—”