This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(89)
Kamran hesitated.
A shot of uncertainty disordered him a moment; he needed the single second necessary to review his memories, to consider and dismiss absolutely the premise of Alizeh’s duplicity, which, had Kamran been granted but an instant more, he would have gathered enough evidence to deny. Instead, his pause for reflection cost him his credibility.
“You disappoint me,” said the king. “How malleable of mind you have been made by such an obvious enemy. I can no longer pretend I’m not wholly disturbed. Tell me, is she very beautiful? And you—are you so easily brought to your knees?”
The prince’s hand tightened around the throat of his mace. “How quickly you slander my character, Your Highness. Did you imagine I’d quietly accept such defamation of my person—that I would not challenge accusations so steeped in the ridiculous, so deviated from truth that they could not possibly signify—”
“No, Kamran, no, I expected from the first that you would affect outrage, as you do now.”
“I cannot st—”
“Enough, child. Enough.” The king closed his eyes, gripped the brass railing of the drawbridge. “This world seeks in every moment to relinquish me, and I find I lack the time and resources necessary to punish you for your foolishness. It is good, at least, that you have such ready excuses. Your explanations are sturdy, the details are well considered.”
King Zaal opened his eyes, studied his grandson.
“I take comfort,” said the king quietly, “in knowing that you make the effort now to conceal your unworthy actions, for your lies indicate, at the very least, that you possess a necessary awareness of your failings. I can only pray that your better judgment rules victorious, in the end.”
“Your Majesty—”
“The Tulanian king will be attending the ball tonight, as you no doubt have heard.”
With great effort, Kamran swallowed back the epithets in his throat, bade himself be calm. “Yes,” he bit out.
King Zaal nodded. “Their young king, Cyrus, is not to be trifled with. He murdered his own father, as you well know, for his seat at the throne, and his attendance at the ball tonight, while not an outright portent of war, is no doubt an unfriendliness we should approach with caution.”
“I fully agree.”
“Good. Very g—” His grandfather took a sharp breath, losing his balance for an alarming moment. Kamran caught King Zaal’s arms, steadying him even as the prince’s own heart raced now with fear. It did not matter how much he raged against his grandfather or how much he pretended to detest the older man; the truth was always here, in the terror that quietly gripped him at the prospect of his loss.
“Are you quite all right, Your Majesty?”
“My dear child,” said the king, his eyes briefly closing. He reached out, clasped the prince’s shoulder. “You must prepare yourself. I will soon be unable to spare you the sight of a blood-soaked countryside, though Lord knows I’ve tried, these last seven years.”
Kamran stilled at that; his mind grasping at a frightening supposition.
All his life he’d wondered why, after the brutal murder of his father, the king had not avenged the death of his son, had not unleashed the fury of seven hells upon the southern empire. It had never made sense to the young prince, and yet, he’d never questioned it, for Kamran had feared, for so long after his father’s death, that revenge would mean he’d lose his grandfather, too.
“I don’t understand,” Kamran said, his voice charged now with emotion. “Do you mean to say that you made peace with Tulan—for my sake?”
The king smiled a mournful smile. His weathered hand fell away from the prince’s shoulder.
“Does it shock you,” he said, “to discover that I, too, possess a fragile heart? A weak mind? That I, too, have been unwise? Indeed, I’ve been selfish. I’ve made decisions—decisions that would affect the lives of millions—that were motivated not by the wisdom of my mind, but by the desires of my heart. Yes, child,” he said softly. “I did it for you. I could not bear to see you suffer, even as I knew that suffering was inevitable.
“I tried, in the early hours of the morning,” the king went on, “to take control of my own failings, to punish you the way a king should punish any man who proves disloyal. It was an overcorrection, you see. Compensation for a lifetime of restraint.”
“Your Majesty.” Kamran’s heart was pounding. “I still don’t understand.”
Now King Zaal smiled wider, his eyes shining with feeling. “My greatest weakness, Kamran, has always been you. I wanted always to shelter you. To protect you. After your father”—he hesitated, took an unsteady breath—“afterward, I could not bear to part from you. For seven years I managed to delay the inevitable, to convince our leaders to set down their swords and make peace. Instead, as I stand now at the finish of my life, I see I’ve only added to your burden. I ignored my own instincts in exchange for an illusion of relief.
“War is coming,” he whispered. “It has been a long time coming. I only hope I’ve not left you unprepared to face it.”
Thirty-Two
ALIZEH DROPPED HER CARPET BAG to the ground outside the servants’ entrance to Follad Place, all too eager to relinquish the luggage for a moment. The large box that held her gown, however, she only readjusted in her tired arms, unwilling to set it down unless absolutely necessary.