“THAT’S NO WAY TO SPEAK to our guests,” said his mother, her composure unraveling. Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the foul prince, and she moved briskly to the side of the room, just out of reach.
As if he would hurt her.
No matter her many steely performances, it had always been clear to Cyrus that his mother was afraid of him. Afraid of her own son. When this
knowledge wasn’t driving a stake through his heart, it made him want to put his head through a wall. He understood her reasons, of course, but understanding did little to diminish the pain. It was no easy feat for him to
compartmentalize as he did, living every day with the knowledge that his mother wanted him dead.
“They’ve come for the wedding,” she was saying. “You must invite them to stay at least through the Wintrose Festival.”
“You celebrate Wintrose here, as well?” Deen perked up. “When I was a boy it was always my favorite time of the year.”
“They will not be staying,” Cyrus said thunderously. “There will be no festival –”
“When my parents were alive, we’d sleep outside in the rose drifts,”
Omid added dreamily. “The petals piled three feet high. Smelled like heaven.”
“Oh, yes!” cried Huda. “My sisters and I would often travel to the rose fields in the third week of the festival – when the blooms are most fragrant – we’d pack a basket and steal away from Mother, and they’d actually be nice to me –”
“What is wrong with you people?” Cyrus said angrily. His chest was heaving. His hands were shaking. “Get. Out.”
“Forgive me,” came a solemn voice. “But I will be leaving these
premises under two conditions only: with my queen or with your head, and not a moment sooner.”
This brazen pronouncement came from the young man adjacent to the prince, who’d risen to his feet only to pin Cyrus with a threatening glare. In response, the king narrowed his eyes.
This, of course, was Hazan. The one Alizeh had called her friend. Cyrus spared a moment to look carefully at the unwelcome visitor,
realizing now that this was a character more important than he once considered. The densely freckled face; the trio of crystal daggers slung from a belt at his waist. His posture, too, was of interest: he affected a casual stance, but Cyrus was not fooled. He was like a panther in wait; if provoked, the young man would certainly attempt to kill him.
“More to the point: how are you awake so soon?” Hazan pressed on. “You were practically dead when I delivered you inside, and that was just over an hour ago.”
“And we were promised breakfast,” added the child.
“Yes.” Cyrus swallowed, hating the reminder that he’d been carried inside by one of these imbeciles. “I heard I owe you my gratitude.”
Hazan stared at him. Cyrus stared back.
The Jinn crossed his arms. “Are you not going to thank me, then?” “No.”
Hazan did not laugh, though a shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Softly, Cyrus said, “Now get out of my sight.”
“Not without my queen.”
“She is not beholden to you,” Cyrus replied. “And you are not welcome here.”
“You vile creature.” The prince stood slowly from the table. “You would hold her here against her will?”
A flicker of amusement briefly animated Cyrus’s eyes, and he turned, with pleasure, to face the idiot. “She is not here against her will. She has chosen to stay.”
“That’s a lie!” Kamran cried.
“Believe what you like,” said Cyrus, his chest spasming suddenly as he spoke. He felt for the wall behind him and, finding purchase, leaned his back against its support. He was fighting to stay awake, hating the
weakness in his limbs, the tortured emotion roiling in his gut. Like intermittent electrocutions, he was experiencing flashes of sensation from his nightmare: the sound of her crying out; the sight of her washing his body; the taste of her, God, the taste of her –
It was astonishing to him that he stood now on his own feet, alive and awake. He’d never before been able to stir himself from his nightmares; had he known such a thing was possible, he might’ve tried harder, sooner. That he’d awoken in his bed with a violent start – the sight of so many faces swarming around him like amorphous ghouls – was nothing short of a miracle.
It had been both touching and perplexing to see members of his staff gathered around him in concern, and though the king was mystified by their attentions, he’d thanked them for their care before swinging unsteadily upright. There was a brief outcry as they insisted he return to bed, but when he refused – falsely claiming his health was in perfect order – they took that as permission to pelt him with questions. They’d wanted to know what, precisely, had happened to him, what was going on, who the guests were, and –
“Was it really all for show, sire? Such a strange morning –”
“– tried to catch an arrow in your hand, sire? Might I be so bold as to ask why?”
“I once heard of a king who tried to catch a dagger between his teeth!
He never said a word after that –”
“Shame you were injured, sire, terrible luck –”
“– my whole life, never dreamed I’d see Simorgh –”
“Heavens, their prince is frightful handsome, isn’t he? It’ll be work just to keep the maids from swooning at the sight of him –”
“Should we start preparing rooms, sire?”
“Cook will want to know –”
“What a spectacle it was! We’re ever so grateful!”
“– be fighting each other for the chance to serve him, that’s for certain!” “Simorgh’s children, too! I’ve still got gooseflesh, sire, look –”
“If I may – where has your bride gone, sire? She was out even earlier than the servants this morning –”
“Is it true they’ve come for peace talks? Do you imagine things will be different –”
“– then they just flew away! Five of them – in a shot of light!” “Sire?”
“Sire?”
“Where are you going, sire?” “Oh, sire, you really shouldn’t –”
It had been an effort, politely evading their questions while synthesizing the pertinent revelations. How Kamran’s unworthy team had managed to acquire, as transportation, the legendary Simorgh and her family was truly a wonder, but the knowledge was a gift, too, for it was comforting to know that only a literal miracle had allowed the Ardunians to breach their borders.
Cyrus had thanked his staff once more, promising answers before the end of the day. His injured hand and leg, he’d noticed, had been washed and bound; the cool salve under his bandages offering him considerable relief.
He’d meant to tend to these wounds straightaway with magic, but when the butler informed him that his mother was breakfasting with the foreigners in the dining room, he knew his injuries would have to wait.
Now Cyrus felt himself sag a little more against the priceless wall paneling, its fabric woven with gold and lotus silk, a gift received nearly a hundred years ago from the Shon empire. He felt as if his brain was lurching in his skull, as if he were surviving a succession of small heart attacks.
“If you do not leave here of your own volition,” he said with difficulty, “I will have you all forcibly removed. Should any of you refuse removal, you’ll be thrown in the dungeons, to be executed shortly thereafter. You will, however, be allowed to choose your preferred method of execution –”
“Are you such a coward,” interrupted the prince, “that you would leave my death to another? Are you so afraid to fight me yourself?”
Miss Huda gasped. Sarra’s eyes widened.
Cyrus knew better. He knew better and still he rose to this weak bait, angrily shoving away from the wall as a burst of adrenaline blurred his better reasoning skills.
“No, you’re right,” said Cyrus, reaching for the scabbard still slung at his waist. “Best if I kill you now, isn’t it? Best to do what I should’ve done the other night, and spare this world the heft of your useless, pathetic
weight.”
Another flare of remembered sound, of sensation – Alizeh laughing, smiling at him – and Cyrus flinched, looking up in time to see Kamran bolt out of his chair. Hazan threw out an arm to hold back the prince, catching him around the chest with painful force – but Kamran shook him off, breathing hard. He was staring furiously at Cyrus.
“What motivation do you claim for such blatant malice? You act as if
we’ve ever been acquainted, as if you have any reason to harbor such hatred toward me, when it was you who murdered my grandfather –”
“I have my reasons,” Cyrus exploded.
Kamran tried again to lunge at him and, once more, Hazan grappled with the prince, wrenching him back. “You have no reason,” Kamran practically roared. “You’re just a demented scion of the devil –”
“I don’t need a reason to detest you,” Cyrus said, making an effort to rein in his anger. “Nor do I need a reason to kill you, for it’s provocation enough that you exist. Still, I need only to recall the events of this morning to fan the flames of my contempt –”
“You would deny me the right to revenge? After all that you’ve –”
“I speak of your actions toward Alizeh!” Cyrus cried. “I refer to your unmitigated arrogance! You expect to be king of the largest empire on earth, responsible for the countless needs and protections of innumerable citizens, and yet over and over you exercise that imperious, self-satisfied speck of a brain only in the service of yourself, putting the lives of your dependents –
innocents – at risk, in order to slake the thirst of your revenge, meanwhile you needed only to ask if I would face you in a duel, for I would have readily accepted –”
“And who are you,” Kamran thundered, “murderous, barbaric king that you are, to educate me on caring for the lives of innocents?”
Cyrus stilled, the familiar burn of fury scorching him from within. “King Zaal was no innocent.”
Kamran began to speak before thinking better of it, his jaw visibly clenching as he sent a furtive glance at the former street child. Omid was sitting stock-still in his seat, his big eyes wide with manifest fear.
How many young orphans had the late king murdered in order to keep himself unnaturally alive? How many skulls had he shattered for the brain matter within? How many years had the man spent feeding the serpents at his shoulders in exchange for more time to rule upon this decaying earth? Killing Zaal had been the one task Cyrus had performed with pleasure.
“You admired your grandfather a great deal,” he said finally, softly,
“despite the horrors owned by his soul. If you would receive guidance from such a man, surely you might listen to a word of advice from me.” Cyrus looked him in the eye. “Your thickheaded, self-righteous behavior has no
place on the throne. If you do not learn to set yourself aside in the service of others, you will never deserve your crown.”
Kamran recoiled at that, the anger in his eyes dissolving into something like alarm. He glanced at Hazan before saying urgently: “Why did you say that?”
Cyrus frowned. “I thought I made my reasons clear.”
“Who told you to say that?” insisted the prince. “What do you know of my crown –”
“Kamran.” Hazan shook his head sharply.
The southern king looked between the two – from the prince’s wild eyes to the unspoken warning in Hazan’s – and did not understand. Kamran appeared deeply unsettled, genuine confusion unmasked in his expression when he finally turned to Cyrus and said:
“Why didn’t you kill me? The night of the ball – you had every opportunity to be rid of me. Why leave yourself open to the consequences of your actions, to the retribution you must’ve known to anticipate?”
In response Cyrus only turned away.
At intervals, he continued to feel Alizeh flare to life behind his eyes; and the truthful answer to the prince’s question was horribly enmeshed with this weakness. Worse, the prince’s earlier accusations weren’t unfounded:
Cyrus had reason to dislike the prince, yes, but there was little logic to support his unchecked hatred of the Ardunian.
In fact, what intelligence he’d gathered of Kamran had been generally favorable; by all accounts he was a decent royal and a formidable soldier, and when Cyrus had first encountered the young man at the ball he’d felt no
ill will toward him. It wasn’t until he realized Kamran had won Alizeh’s affections – that they’d known each other with some intimacy, that she’d cared for him enough to protect him –
Only then had he grown to hate the prince.
Somehow it didn’t matter that Alizeh had been but a conjuring of his imagination. It didn’t matter that they’d never known each other outside of the delusions of his mind. It didn’t matter that she owed him nothing.
He’d loved her.
It was a hallucination, a fantasy. He knew that, and yet he could not reason with his emotions. Fiction or not, she’d embedded inside him, replaced the air in his lungs. That she’d proven to be real – more exquisite than he’d dreamed – and entirely ignorant of him, had been more than he could bear. To then discover that she’d given her heart to another – that he’d known her in ways Cyrus never would – had been nearly unsurvivable. And yet, it was the only reason he hadn’t killed Kamran that night.
Because he suspected she cared for him.
In response to Cyrus’s protracted silence, the prince made a sound of disbelief. “Do you know, I’m beginning to think you might be entirely
unhinged,” he said. “You should be locked in a tower, your eyes devoured by scarabs –”
Without fanfare Cyrus drew his sword, the slicing sound of steel halting the prince’s speech as the room around them gasped; Deen released a faint, withering breath; and the southern king, who felt his heart was slowly atrophying inside his chest, couldn’t bring himself to care about anything beyond this moment.
“Insult me again,” he said, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper, “and I will not be merciful.”
Kamran’s eyes flashed with fury, and Cyrus almost respected him for standing his ground. The prince was reaching for his own weapon when Hazan shoved him, hard, against the wall.
“Enough,” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of you two idiots!” Then, turning, he focused his wrath on Cyrus:
“I don’t understand why you dragged Alizeh here, nor do I understand your apparent need to marry her, but I do know that you went to great
lengths to orchestrate this mess. The fact that you’ve allowed her a choice in the matter of wedlock tells me that you care, at the very least, whether she’s forced to take her vows, so let me make something very clear, you
blundering fool: if Alizeh finds out you’ve murdered her friends you may be certain she’ll refuse to marry you.”
Cyrus stilled, this obvious fact neutralizing his anger in an instant. He blinked, sheathed his sword and, his chest still heaving, reached once more for the wall behind him.
He was, regardless, in no condition to murder anyone.
And then he heard her again, her voice breathless with desire –
Do you know what I love most about you?
Cyrus felt his knees buckle before he caught himself. He couldn’t remember if it had been this bad before; perhaps it was worse now that he actually knew her, that just last night she’d been in his bedchamber, that he’d glimpsed something like real affection in her eyes.
Perhaps this episode would finally drive him to madness.
“How easily managed you are,” Kamran said acidly. “How desperate you must be.”
Slowly, Cyrus lifted his head. “You have no idea.”
This admission seemed to surprise the prince, whose glower slowly faded. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why must you marry her?”
“An insightful question,” Cyrus mused. “I hadn’t realized you were capable of intelligent thought.”
The glower returned. The prince opened his mouth, no doubt to make a scathing remark, when Cyrus’s mother spoke instead.
“Shall I tell them?” she said to him, her smile saccharine. “Or would you like to explain it all yourself?”
Cyrus closed his eyes and scowled.
“He claims he’s being forced to marry her,” his mother announced, addressing the room. “He says that Iblees has demanded this of him.”
He heard the boy gasp, then opened his eyes to see that the girl had covered her mouth with both hands while the apothecarist slid back in his seat in astonishment. Kamran’s horror was so complete he looked positively ill, and the sight of this discomfort was so enjoyable Cyrus nearly missed
the fury on Hazan’s face.
“How can this be true?” Hazan demanded. “Many terrible things are true.”
“But why? Why would he want her to marry you –”
“So this is what you meant,” the prince said slowly, the tension in his eyes cleared by understanding. “The night of the ball. I heard you tell her
that Iblees wants her to rule. You said, ‘A Jinn queen to rule the world. The perfect revenge.’”
“You didn’t tell me this.” Hazan turned to Kamran, alarmed. “Why would you not tell me this?”
“I forgot.” Kamran shook his head, as if in a daze. “In all the chaos of that night – So much happened, I could hardly keep it all straight –”
“So she has to marry you?” The child now. “She has to marry you because the devil wants her to marry you? But why does she have to do what the devil wants? I don’t understand.”
“Me neither,” said Huda and Deen at the same time.
“She doesn’t have to do what the devil wants,” Cyrus said irritably. “I do.”
“Why?” said the boy.
“Because I owe the devil a debt.”
“So you have, in fact, made a deal with the devil,” Hazan said quietly, eyeing the king with renewed suspicion. “And this is what he wants in
exchange?”
“In part.”
“And what does he stand to gain from her rule? She would never act in his interests, or acquiesce to his demands.”
Cyrus’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. Iblees, as you can imagine, has not confided in me the full extent of his hopes and dreams.”
“Then she might be putting herself in danger,” Hazan pointed out, “if she married you.”
“And what incentive does she have to enter into such an arrangement,” Huda added, “when the only person who stands to gain anything from this is you?”
“An excellent question,” Deen said, nodding at her.
“Good God.” Cyrus sighed angrily. He stared the lot of them in the eye. “Enough of this. Show of hands, who here wants me dead?”
“Is this some kind of joke to you –” Kamran began angrily, cutting himself off as the boy, the girl, and the older one began slowly raising their hands.
“You,” Cyrus said, nodding at the prince, “need not cast your vote, given that you’ve already tried to kill me twice today.” Then, to his mother,
“And your feelings on the subject have never been subtle.” To her credit, Sarra looked appalled.
“But you,” Cyrus said, turning to Hazan. “What reason did you have for helping me?”
“You mean why did I save your life?”
“You hardly saved my life,” Cyrus snapped. “I would’ve sorted things out eventually.”
Hazan’s eyes were flinty. “You’re deluded.” “And you haven’t answered my question.”
“Alizeh did not wish for you to die” was his cold response.
At the reminder of Alizeh’s sacrifice for him, Cyrus experienced a painful cratering in his chest, and he grit his teeth against the feeling.
“Excellent,” he said to Hazan, the word hollow. “That is your only reason?” “Yes.”
“And you wouldn’t mourn the loss of me were I to unceremoniously drop dead at your feet?”
Hazan sent him a scornful look. “Certainly not.”
“Then you all have reason to rejoice.” Cyrus took an unsteady breath before addressing the room. “Fear not a union between myself and your
queen. The underlying reason she’s deigned to consider my proposal is that, as incentive for accepting, I’ve offered her my kingdom.”
“That is not news,” Kamran said irritably. “By taking the throne, she would naturally have influence in the empire –”
“I mean to say,” Cyrus bit out, “that I’ve offered her my kingdom
without my involvement. She would be the sole ruler.” “What?” Sarra nearly screamed.
“What?” echoed the prince, who couldn’t hide his shock. “Oh my goodness,” breathed Huda, blinking fast.
“But how?” asked the apothecarist. “You can’t simply recuse yourself. At best, you’d be cast out of society, stripped of your titles – at worst you could be tried for treason –”
“By the angels,” Hazan said softly, shock and awe burning in his eyes. “You’re willing to die for this.”
“Once my debt to the devil has been fulfilled,” Cyrus said flatly, “Alizeh would be free to kill me at her leisure. My empire would become hers, to rule over as she wishes.”
“So this is why she wanted you to live,” said the Jinn, subdued. “This is why she tried to save you.”
“Cyrus,” his mother gasped, looking at him with something like real feeling. “What are you thinking? You would simply hand over our empire to this girl? Have you well and truly lost your mind?”
“I still don’t understand,” said Hazan, his brows furrowing. “What would motivate you to act so recklessly –”
Cyrus turned away from this noise. He was most interested in the reaction of the prince, who regarded him now with steady silence.
“You cannot be trusted,” Kamran said finally. “What’s to stop you from reneging on such a deal as soon as your vows are spoken?”
“I offered to perform a blood oath.” Everyone, except the child, inhaled sharply.
“Cyrus!” his mother cried once more. “You cannot be serious!” “That sounds disgusting,” Omid muttered.
“It is,” said Hazan, who looked troubled. “Blood oaths were outlawed in Ardunia centuries ago.”
“Why?” asked the boy.
It was the prince who said, quietly, “It’s a violent, dangerous magic.” “For as long as he remains in debt to her,” Hazan explained, his eyes on
Cyrus, “he will be physically bound to her. He’ll have almost no free will. Blood oaths were responsible for long stretches of darkness throughout our history.” He hesitated. “They’re everlasting oaths. They cannot be broken.”
“Are you really so desperate?” Kamran was studying Cyrus, too, though he appeared unbothered by the cruel limitations of the blood oath. “You would hand over your birthright for a single night as her husband?”
“No,” said Cyrus. “Not a single night. She’d not be free to dispose of me until the devil releases me from my contract.”
“This is outrageous,” cried Hazan. “Kamran, you cannot consider it –
It’s nothing more than a scheme, and he’d doubtless force her to consummate the marriage –”
“I would never,” Cyrus cut in viciously. “Think what you will of me in all other aspects, but even I am not so unworthy as that. She is entirely safe from me.”
“You would put that in the oath?” Hazan was livid. “That you’re not to lay a finger on her?”
Cyrus tamped down his anger. Condemned as he was, he knew it unreasonable to expect others to assume he possessed even a shred of
decency, but the accusation still rankled. “Yes. I’ll make it clear I won’t touch her unless she wants me to.”
Hazan looked disgusted. “As if such a scenario could ever exist.” “Miss,” whispered the boy. “What does consummate mean?”
“Oh,” said Huda, her color heightening. “You need not worry about that for now. I’ll explain later.”
“But –”
Meanwhile, Kamran was studying Cyrus, his eyes shrewd and calculating. “What bargain did you make with the devil?”
Cyrus only glared at him.
“He refuses to say,” Sarra supplied. “I’ve asked him thousands of times, and he’s never admitted the truth.”
“I see.” Kamran did not look away from the southern king. “And how long would it take for you to be released from your contract?”
“I can’t be certain,” Cyrus answered. “A matter of months, perhaps.”
The prince took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he processed this last statement. “Interesting.”
“No.” Hazan was shaking his head. “Absolutely not. This is a dangerous, open-ended ploy –”
“I disagree,” said the prince with immaculate calm. “In fact, I think it will do nicely for revenge.” He met Cyrus’s eyes. “You will die, she will inherit your empire, and then – I shall marry her.”
Hazan shrank back, so severe was his astonishment.
The others, too, were making various sounds of bafflement, but Cyrus was somehow deaf to this, blind to all but the chaos flaring inside his body.
The statement had struck him like a whip.
Unmoored, it took every bit of Cyrus’s self-possession to keep from displaying his horror. He’d not considered such a manipulative tactic on the part of the prince, and he should have.
“It will require significant patience on my part,” Kamran was saying, his eyes bright with triumph as he studied the king. “But then, I’m capable of extraordinary forbearance, especially for so great a reward.”
A great reward, indeed.
What a master stroke it would be – what victory – for the Ardunian to inherit the Tulanian empire. The northern and southern kingdoms had
fought many historic wars over access to resources – and in particular, the Mashti River. Cyrus knew how desperate Ardunia had been for a direct line to fresh water, and this would resolve the empire’s greatest weakness in a single, peaceful move. No lives need be lost, no wars waged; Kamran would marry her and in the process marry the two nations, inheriting Tulan’s every valuable natural resource, including the riches of their densely magical mountains.
It would make Ardunia, as an empire, nearly invincible.
His heart pounding madly in his chest, Cyrus couldn’t believe he’d
made such a misstep, and he couldn’t see how to fix it. Even with this grand offer on the table, Alizeh hadn’t committed to marrying him; if he were to retract his promise of Tulan, she’d surely refuse him.
It was a risk he couldn’t take.
Horrible as it was to think of losing his empire, Cyrus had comforted himself with the knowledge that he’d be handing it over to one such as Alizeh; he felt certain that, in his absence, she’d care for his people with unimpeachable compassion and justice. But to think that the Ardunian might benefit – might absorb his land only to plunder it, to use their
precious resources in the pursuit of further expanding their empire – “What makes you so certain she’ll marry you?”
Cyrus looked up sharply, shocked to discover that, of all people, it was his mother who’d come to his defense.
“Why would the girl choose to share a crown, when she could lead her own nation?” Sarra said, glaring at Kamran. “What need does she have of you?”
Kamran narrowed his eyes, preparing to respond, but it was Hazan who spoke, who appeared both distressed and confused. He shook his head lightly. “Need would not motivate her,” he said. “Duty might. For the sake of the prophecy, for the good of the people – Yes, I believe she could be convinced that a union with the Ardunian empire –”
“What prophecy?” said Huda, looking around. “There’s a prophecy?” “She is Ardunian, after all,” added Deen. “Perhaps she’d like to go
home –”
“What prophecy?” Huda asked again.
Kamran was looking at Cyrus when he answered, darkly: “Melt the ice in salt, braid the thrones at sea. In this woven kingdom, clay and fire shall be.”
Cyrus stiffened.
This was too much. He reached once more for the wall behind him, his condition deteriorating by the second. Kamran had quoted the inscription from the Book of Arya, an ancient tome known to hold the map to an extraordinary power. He’d been struggling for days to convince the book to reveal its secrets, all to no avail.
No one but Alizeh was even supposed to know of the book. Cyrus had only heard of its existence through Iblees; it was one of his tasks to discover the nature of Alizeh’s purported magic, and he’d been commanded to steal
the relic from her small room at Baz House.
“Where did you learn that?” Cyrus asked, struggling to suppress his panic.
Kamran only smiled. “She must already suspect her empire is to be woven with another – and we know it won’t be yours,” he said ruthlessly. “In fact, it’s become clear to me now, more than ever, that she and I were fated to be together. It’s been all but foretold.”
“Where did you learn that?” Cyrus repeated, this time losing his self- possession. He felt he might choke on his own fury, so unraveled was his mind. That the devil had summoned him this morning to celebrate this loss, that it seemed obvious now it was all going to fall apart – He was too weak, too injured, too exhausted to endure it.
“It’s from the Book of Arya,” said Hazan, who was looking now at the king with some concern. “We found it among Alizeh’s possessions.”
“Fucking hell,” breathed Cyrus. He closed his eyes, his body sliding slowly down the wall. He finally sat, heavily, on the thick rug, and dragged his hands down his face. “You found the decoy.”
“Decoy?” Kamran demanded. “What decoy?”
“What you discovered was an imitation of the real thing,” said Cyrus, lifting his head. “It’s physically identical – on the outside, at least – to the original.”
“Where is the original?” Hazan asked urgently. “I have it.”
“What? Why? How –”
“No,” said Cyrus vehemently, shaking his head. “I will bear no more of this. I began my morning by being shot nearly to death, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve earned a reprieve from the many delights of your
company.” He looked them over. Then, with a sigh: “If I can’t kill you, and you’re all refusing to leave –”
“We finally get breakfast?” Omid brightened.
“I’ll have you all settled into rooms!” Sarra clapped her hands together. “Oh, we haven’t had guests in ages! It’ll be such a nice change.” She was smiling with such warmth that, for a moment, Cyrus wondered whether his mother’s enthusiasm was genuine. “You’ll be quite comfortable, I’ll see to it personally.”
Omid opened his mouth again to speak, and Cyrus muttered an oath
before saying, “Yes, for the love of God, we’ll give you breakfast –” just as there was a sharp knock at the dining room door.
“Come in,” Cyrus said angrily.
The butler, Nima, entered and hastily bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said. “A trio of Diviners has arrived to see you.”
Cyrus’s head jerked upright, and at once, his adrenaline spiked. “What?”
“They’ve requested a meeting at once, sire.”
Cyrus hauled himself up off the floor. He felt dazed; the Diviners had months ago refused to speak with him ever again. In fact, it had been so long since he’d communicated with one of his old teachers that his heart filled now with both joy and dread. The news must be dire indeed if they’d come to deliver it themselves.
Cyrus was paralyzed, struggling to process this, when he looked up to find Hazan standing at his side.
“If this is about my queen,” said the Jinn, “I’m coming with you.”
