This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(69)

“. . . thinking of wearing my lavender silk,” his aunt was saying, “but there’s a darling cream satin I’ve not yet worn, and I might . . .”

The king was beyond persuasion: the girl had been prophesied to have powerful allies, and as a result Zaal firmly believed she’d received assistance during the previous night’s attack. He now wanted a lead on these unknown allies. If she was working with a team of spies or rebels, his grandfather argued, it was essential that they know immediately.

“We’d hoped to dispose of her with absolute discretion,” the king had said. “The events of last night have instead set us back quite a bit, for if she is indeed connected to a larger plan—or a private army—her allies are now aware that an organized attempt was made on her life.

“Should we succeed in our mission upon a second attempt, details of her death might then spread across the empire, inspiring vicious rumors that would cause strife between Jinn and Clay. We cannot afford civil war,” his grandfather had insisted. “We must wait to proceed, then, until we know exactly who she’s working with, and what they’re capable of. We cannot, however, wait too long.”

The prince did not know how to undo what he himself had first set in motion. This servant girl seemed fated to be the death of him, and much as he longed to blame others for the position he was in, he could not.

He experienced only unceasing torment.

Kamran took an unsteady breath and startled, suddenly, at the unexpected figure of his aunt, who stood before him holding a teapot. Understanding dawned, but too slowly.

She gave him a strange look.

The prince murmured his thanks, held out his empty cup for a pour, and made himself conjure a smile.

“I’m certain you’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said to her. “Everything suits you.”

His aunt beamed.

King Zaal’s men, it turned out, had trailed the girl relentlessly for nearly two days, and in doing so had gleaned a great deal—but had not found evidence of a more nefarious connection.

“We need access to the girl’s quarters,” the king had explained. “Any sensitive information is doubtless hidden therein. But as she occupies her room at night, the best time to infiltrate is during the day, when she is working.”

“I see,” Kamran had said quietly. “And you cannot send mercenaries into Baz House in the light of day.”

“Then you understand. It is of the utmost importance to keep the crown’s interests—and concerns—as quiet as possible. Already we have risked a great deal by having her followed. If it gets out that the empire is worried about demon-like Jinn hiding in plain sight, the people will scare and turn on each other. But your visit to your aunt’s house will arouse no suspicion; in fact, she has long been expecting you.”

“Yes,” the prince had said. “I am in possession of my dear aunt’s letters.”

“Very good. Your task is simple. Find an excuse to wander the house on your own and search the girl’s quarters extensively. Should you discover anything that seems even remotely unusual, I want to know.”

It was a strange predicament.

If Kamran could manage to be both smart and lucky, he might be able to fulfill this service to the king while sparing the girl a second attack on her life. He only needed proof that she was working with a formidable ally. The problem was, the prince did not agree with his grandfather’s conspiracy. Kamran did not think the girl had received help in dispatching the hired thugs, and as a result he did not know if he could help her. His only hope was to find something—no matter how tenuous the evidence—that might give the king pause.

Kamran heard the sharp trill of silver and china, a spoon stirring in a cup. He forced himself, once again, back to the present moment.

Duchess Jamilah was smiling.

She reached out without warning, placing her hand overtop Kamran’s. It was no small miracle that he managed not to flinch.

“I see that there is a great deal on your mind,” his aunt said kindly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you would visit even with so much to preoccupy your thoughts.”

“It’s always a pleasure to see my dear aunt,” Kamran said automatically. “I only hope you will forgive me for not coming by sooner.”

“I will forgive you as long as you promise to visit more often from here on out,” she said triumphantly, sitting back in her seat. “I have dearly missed having you here.”

Kamran smiled at his aunt.

It was a rare, genuine smile, stirred up by ancient affection. His aunt Jamilah was his father’s older cousin, and had been more of a mother figure to him than his own ever had. The prince had spent countless days—months, even—at Baz House during his life, and it was not a lie to say that he was happy to see his aunt now.

But then, it was not the same, either.

“As I have missed being here,” he said, staring, unseeing, at a glossy bowl of orange persimmons. He looked up. “How have you been? Are your knees still troubling you?”

“You remember your poor aunt’s ailments, do you?” She very nearly glowed with happiness. “What a thoughtful prince you are.”

Kamran denied himself the laugh building in his chest; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the effect he had on his aunt—though she required so little encouragement to praise him that it sometimes left him feeling ashamed.