This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(66)

Five years, and no one had come.

No one had been there to spare her the gallows. No one had arrived to offer her a path to safety upon arrival in each new town; no one had been around to guide her to a gentle river or stream in the unnavigable crush of the city. No one came for her when she’d nearly died of thirst; or later, when she’d taken a desperate drink of sewer water and was poisoned so badly she’d been briefly paralyzed.

For two weeks Alizeh had lain in a frozen gutter, her body wracked by violent seizures. She had only enough energy to make herself invisible—to spare herself the worst harassment. She was certain back then, as she stared up at the silver moon, her lips chapped with frost and dehydration, that she would die there in the street, and die alone.

Long ago she’d ceased living with the hope of being rescued. Even when she was hunted and besieged by the worst of men and women, she no longer cried out for help—not when her many calls had gone unanswered.

Alizeh had learned, instead, to rely on herself.

Hers had been a lonely, agonizing journey of survival. That someone had finally found her seemed impossible, and she was gripped now by both hope and fear, alternating between the two with such frequency she thought she might go mad.

Was it foolish, she wondered, to allow herself to feel happiness for even a moment?

She shifted, then, felt the nosta move against her chest. She’d hidden the orb in the only safe place she could think of: just inside her corset, the polished glass pressed close to her skin. She felt the nosta glow hot and cold as conversations ebbed and flowed around her, every change in temperature a reminder of what had happened the evening prior. The nosta had turned out to be a gift in many ways, for without it she might’ve begun to wonder whether her memories of the night before were, in fact, a dream.

Hazan, he’d said his name was.

Alizeh took a deep breath. It gave her great comfort to know that he remembered her parents, that he had ever been to her childhood home. It made her past life—and his place in her present—feel suddenly real, affirmed by more than her own imaginings. Still, she was plagued; not only by optimism and apprehension, but another, more shameful concern: she wasn’t sure how she felt about being found.

A long time ago, Alizeh had been ready.

From infancy she’d been prepared for the day she’d be called upon to lead, to be a force for change for her own people. To build for them a home, to shepherd them to safety. To peace.

Now Alizeh did not know who she was.

She lifted her bandaged hands, staring at them as if they did not belong to her; as if she’d never seen them before.

What had she become?

She startled, suddenly, at the distant, muffled sounds of voices. Alizeh had been so lost in her own thoughts she’d not noticed the new shift in Duchess Jamilah’s position, nor the sudden commotion in the front hall.

Alizeh crouched impossibly closer to the ground and peered through gaps in the furniture. Duchess Jamilah was the picture of affected indifference: the casual way she held her teacup, the sigh she gave as she faux-perused a column in Setar’s local newspaper, the Daftar. The publication was famous for being printed on dusty green pages and had long been a point of interest for Alizeh, who could rarely spare the coin to purchase a copy. She squinted at it now, trying to read the day’s headline upside down. She’d only ever been able to peek at the articles on occasion, but—

Alizeh started violently.

She heard the prince’s voice, far away at first, and then all at once sharp and clear, the heels of his boots connecting with marble. She covered her mouth with one hand, doubling over so as not to be seen. With her free hand she clutched the floor brush, wondering now at her own foolishness.

How on earth would she escape unnoticed?

The room was without warning swarmed by servants carrying tea trays and cakes; one was collecting the prince’s heavy, moss-colored coat—no cloak today—and a golden mace Alizeh had never before seen him carry. Among the bustling staff was Mrs. Amina, who had no doubt invented an excuse to be present upon the prince’s arrival. If Mrs. Amina caught Alizeh here now—in the presence of the prince—she’d likely beat the girl just to teach her a lesson.

Alizeh swallowed.

There was no chance she’d go unseen. By the time the visit was over, she was certain every servant in the house would’ve fabricated a reason to pass through this room for a glimpse of their royal visitor.

Unfortunately for Alizeh, she could only see his boots.

“Yes, thank you,” he said in response to a query about tea.

Alizeh froze.

The prince’s response came during a chance moment of quiet, his words ringing out so clearly Alizeh thought she might reach out and touch them. His voice was just as rich and complex as she remembered, but he sounded different today. Not unkind, exactly, but neither did he sound pleased.

“I’m afraid I slept poorly last night,” he was explaining to his aunt. “More tea is always good.”

“Oh, my dear,” Duchess Jamilah said breathlessly. “Why should you sleep poorly? Are you not comfortable at the palace? Would you not prefer staying awhile here, in your old room? I’ve got it all prep—”

“My aunt is very kind,” he said quietly. “I thank you, but I’m quite comfortable in my own rooms. Forgive me for speaking thoughtlessly; I meant not to cause you worry.” A pause. “I’m certain I’ll sleep better tonight.”