“GOOD GOD,” DEEN BREATHED.
“Is he dead?” asked Miss Huda, peering at the king out of the corner of her eye, as if she were afraid to look at him.
Omid ventured a bit closer, leaning down to inspect the cretin’s face. “I don’t know,” he said softly.
“And what of Alizeh?” Miss Huda said with a cry. At the sound of her name, Kamran experienced a familiar shock of pain.
“What’s happened to her?” the girl went on. “Where do you think she’s gone? That madman probably shipped her off to a dungeon somewhere –”
“That seems unlikely.” Hazan was stone-faced. “The dragon was heading west.”
“A-And?” Miss Huda faltered. “Are there no dungeons in the west?” “Don’t worry, miss,” said Omid reassuringly. “It’ll be all right. I’m sure
we’ll find her. I’m not sure how, exactly” – he dimmed – “if the king is dead. He’s probably the only one who knows where she went.”
Deen dragged both hands down his face. “Do you really think he’s
dead? I feel terrible for the poor girl, but perhaps we should we run for our lives? Surely we’ll be executed for this?”
“Executed?” Omid turned to the prince, his eyes wide with fear. “Sire?”
They all turned to face him, and finally, Kamran spoke. “It won’t come to that,” he said irritably.
“Can you be sure, sire?” Deen again. “Because historically –” “Oh!” the boy exclaimed. “Oh, I think he’s breathing!”
Deen went slack. “Thank heavens.”
“It does seem curious,” Miss Huda mused, “that, despite the many faces pressed to the window, not a soul has stepped outside. I think if we were going to be tossed in the dungeons it might’ve happened already.”
Hazan was studying the palace windows, the many wide eyes peering down at them. “Yes, very curious,” he said quietly. “Where on earth is the royal guard to defend their king?”
He walked over to Cyrus’s fallen body, crouching to get a better look.
After a moment, he said gravely: “He’s certainly not dead, though his health has deteriorated with astonishing speed – which is strange, as his wounds aren’t terribly severe. His leg has stopped bleeding and the damage to his hand, while grotesque, is not enough to kill him. I can’t imagine why he’s lost consciousness.”
“Maybe he fainted,” offered Omid.
“I doubt that,” Kamran said darkly. “He doesn’t seem the type to lose his head over a little mutilation.”
“Blood loss, perhaps?” suggested Deen.
Hazan, who was still inspecting Cyrus, said, “Not quite enough blood lost, I would say. Though it’s certainly possible.”
“Did you see the way he used magic?” asked Miss Huda, who was stepping cautiously closer to the king. “The way he made some of those
arrows just… disappear?” A pause, while her brow furrowed. “Speaking of which: Has anyone else noticed that he seems to be rather frighteningly
magical? How do you think he’s able to cast spells so easily?”
“The devil,” said Kamran. “No doubt he and Iblees are fast friends. I’m sure his power is a consequence of selling his soul to darkness.”
“If that’s true” – her frown deepened – “I wonder why he didn’t use magic to spare himself of this moment now. He’s in a horribly vulnerable position. Just think: anyone at all might come along and” – she made a
dramatic slicing motion with one hand – “chop off his head.”
Omid giggled at that, and she giggled back, as if it were entirely the
etiquette to be making jokes at such a moment. Kamran turned away from the infantile pair, grimacing against the sharp blade of a fresh headache.
“It’s possible he was dealt a blow to the head in the descent,” Hazan said quietly. “If he’s suffering from an internal injury he’ll need assistance at once. His situation is growing more uncertain by the moment.”
“Shall we let him die naturally, then?” More from the excruciating Miss Huda. “Or do you still intend to kill him?” This she asked as she whipped around to look at Kamran. Three other sets of eyes turned in his direction.
“Don’t you dare,” came Hazan’s low warning. Kamran shot his old friend a hateful look.
The insipid king had fallen to the ground at his feet almost as if he were offering himself up to be killed. How easy it would’ve been to drive a dagger through his throat; indeed Kamran should’ve been thrilled – and yet he was nothing less than furious. He wanted the blackguard to get up and fight; what satisfaction could there be in impaling a corpse? Then again, the entire morning had been a tragic disappointment. First, Simorgh had abandoned them almost immediately after alighting; then, Alizeh had been discovered unconscious. Kamran had only just digested the revelation that she hadn’t betrayed him when Cyrus came into view, and it had been the perfect opportunity. He’d been inches from victory. Inches from exacting
revenge upon the person responsible for the nightmare his life had recently become.
That Alizeh had tried to save the blighted king was hard enough to understand – but that Kamran had shot her instead –
For a terrible moment he thought he’d killed her. It would’ve been a tragedy – he knew that, knew it in his soul – but he was nursing a quiet anger toward her, too. Anger that she’d intruded upon a private matter, anger that she’d taken the side of his oppressor, anger that she’d foiled his plans. To make matters worse, she’d now complicated things horribly: she was injured and missing, and would require a second rescue. Lord knew what Cyrus had done to her, sending her off on the back of yet another blasted dragon to some godforsaken place.
“Why shouldn’t I kill him?” said the prince ominously.
“The simple answer,” said Hazan, “is that Alizeh begged you not to.”
Kamran’s expression grew only stormier. “Is that all? You think I should’ve let him live simply because she wanted me to?”
“Is that not enough? You did as you pleased and nearly killed her in the process –”
“A terrible accident!”
“And where is your remorse?” Hazan demanded. “Why do you express no concern for her well-being – why do you remain preoccupied only with your own disappointments, when we came here with the express purpose of saving her –”
“I came here with one purpose.” Kamran cut him off, his eyes flashing. “And that was to avenge my grandfather.”
Hazan fell silent a moment. “Even now?” he said. “Even after discovering your grandfather was wrong about her? Can you not relinquish your anger long enough to realize that Alizeh needs our help –”
Kamran flinched. “Stop saying her name!”
“My humble opinion?” Deen cleared his throat and lifted a finger. “You might consider killing the king now, Your Highness. It does seem a good opportunity. You could finish up, and we could fly straight home.” He picked up a fallen arrow and offered it to Kamran as if he needed it – as if he didn’t have any number of weapons concealed on his body. “If we move quickly, we might even be back in time for supper.”
“But Simorgh and her children are gone,” said Miss Huda. “And I suppose we haven’t any way of knowing whether they’ll return –”
“Alizeh did not betray you!” Hazan insisted, ignoring all this. “She was wrongly accused by both your grandfather and yourself. You had proof of
this today and still you persist in this attitude. Our focus now should be finding her – saving her – not wallowing in personal vendettas. How can you not see the damage you’re doing?” He shook his head. “Your thirst for revenge has blinded you, Kamran.”
The prince clenched his jaw, darkness settling inside him. “I am sorry
she was injured. I’m sorrier to have been the one to cause her harm. But she had no business interfering, and I’m no longer certain she needs saving.”
“She was just carried off on the back of a dragon!”
“She chose to protect him!” Kamran shot back. “She took an arrow in the back for the bastard who nearly killed me! Perhaps you can imagine why I’m struggling to feel sympathy.”
“I trust that she had good reason for acting as she did.” “And your blind faith is going to get you killed.”
“Watch yourself.” Hazan’s eyes had gone flinty. “You speak of her as if she’s some capricious girl, and not the prophesied savior of my people. If
she didn’t want you to kill him, I’m certain she had justification. She felt so
strongly that she pleaded with you – she physically turned down your bow and still you defied her wishes –”
“Her wishes?” Kamran all but exploded. “And what of mine? What of my dead grandfather, my dead Diviners, my broken empire, my disfigured face –”
“Oh, it’s really not that bad, sire,” Deen assured him. “Truly, I’ve seen quite a number of disfigurations, and yours –”
“ – doesn’t diminish your beauty at all,” finished Miss Huda, nodding eagerly. “In fact, I think it suits you nicely –”
“Well I think he looks ugly,” Omid countered. “And I don’t think it’s good to lie to him –”
“Are you raving idiots incapable of shutting your mouths for a single, bloody second?” Kamran cried, his chest heaving with fury.
Both he and Hazan turned to look upon their audience, all members chastened save Miss Huda, who was staring slack-jawed at Kamran with a disappointment so severe it bore a resemblance to heartbreak.
She didn’t move except to blink her devastated eyes at him, and in the proceeding silence Kamran realized she was waiting for an apology – an expectation so absurd it cemented in his mind the unnerving fear that the young miss was, in fact, delusional. He witnessed the moment her light went out – naive hope extinguished – before she finally spoke.
“Come along, Omid,” she said tightly, taking the boy by the hand. “I’m beginning to realize that princes aren’t nearly as charming as I’d been led to believe.” Then, more quietly: “This one, in particular, has fallen well beneath my expectations – which I fear were great, indeed.”
Kamran reeled at that, his chest heating once more with indignation. He was clearly in the throes of a wretchedness that encompassed his very soul – and this ridiculous girl had the audacity to focus only on her own feelings, and the temerity to accuse him of incivility? If only she knew the number of times honor alone had kept him from acknowledging aloud the many
indignities of her character. She’d no idea the self-restraint he’d already employed in her presence, and for his efforts he was granted no credit, only condemnation –
“It’s clear we’re not wanted here,” she added with an arch of her brow. “Perhaps we should see about procuring some breakfast.”
Omid frowned, even as he allowed the young woman to steer him away. “I don’t understand your meaning, miss – I’m sure the prince doesn’t want
us to leave – but breakfast would be great, if I’m speaking honest. I’m starving.”
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Deen piped up, joining the others eagerly. “You were too harsh,” Hazan said quietly to the prince. “They didn’t
deserve to receive the brunt of your misdirected anger –”
“They should learn to hold their tongues,” Kamran snapped. “They talk too much. All of them.”
Hazan, too reasonable to deny a proven fact, only sighed in response.
A cool breeze pushed through the grounds then, morning sun recasting the grim scene in a dazzling flare of light. Kamran turned his face up to the sky, exhaustion and uncertainty plaguing him in equal measure. He felt no remorse for his earlier speech. He would not allow Miss Huda’s unwarranted feelings to affect his conscience. In fact, should the aforementioned idiots finally abandon him, he would be delighted.
He turned his head to witness the three walking off with great conviction in no particular direction, Deen’s voice carrying when he said –
“Do you think it’s all right to leave the king lying there?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care!” sang Miss Huda. “I’m no longer interested in the lives, deaths, and bloated heads of royalty. I’ve put up with enough snobbery in my life, I think, and I’ve just decided I’m quite done with it. Besides, I didn’t come all this way to manage the tantrums of an overgrown child, I came here to help Alizeh – who, despite her apparent crown, never once spoke to me in such an insulting manner.” She turned to her companions. “Did Alizeh ever speak to either of you in such an insulting manner?”
Kamran flinched at the repeated sound of Alizeh’s name, even as he listened to this exchange in mute astonishment.
“No, miss,” said Omid with an eager shake of his head.
“No, miss,” said Deen with an uncertain glance back at the prince.
He couldn’t believe – The nerve of her – He never tolerated such
insolence from anyone, much less an ill-tempered, illegitimate miss of no distinction. Even Omid, who’d once tested his patience to the hilt, had quickly learned deference. That she would dare insult him and speak of him with such condescension, as if he were beneath her – and he, the impending king to the greatest empire on earth – Hell, it was his prerogative to have her banished from Ardunia forevermore should he choose to do so, and yet,
somehow, his bafflement was so complete he was unable to form the words necessary to express this outrage.
Very well.
His eyes narrowed. If this was how she wanted to proceed, he would
more than match her ire. Kamran was nothing if not masterful in the pursuit of vanquishing his rivals.
“Ah, there’s a fine lady coming toward us now,” announced Huda. “Perhaps she’ll know where we might find something to eat.”
At once Hazan took advantage of his stupor to step forward, shielding Cyrus’s crumpled body from view. “A final warning, Kamran,” he said quietly. “I don’t take orders from you anymore. My queen issued a command to keep this fool alive and I will honor that, even if I don’t understand it. Try to kill him, and you’ll have to go through me.”
It was a moment before Kamran recovered himself, tearing his mind away from the horrors of Huda to this, the more present catastrophe, and when he did, disappointment dampened his fervor. “Of all the scenarios I might’ve imagined,” he said finally, “I never thought you’d stand against me in this. That you would defend him.”
“I never imagined I would, either,” Hazan said with a long-suffering sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair before glancing again at the prone body of the southern king. “At the very least, I need him alive long enough to discover what happened to Alizeh – and what he did with her. Until such a time, he will remain under my protection.”
“You would really fight me?” Kamran said, regaining a shade of his earlier temper. “If I challenged you now – you’d be willing to die for him?”
“For her,” Hazan corrected. “Without hesitation. Though you flatter yourself if you think you could best me in a fight. You’ve never truly known me, Kamran, and I’d hate for you to make my acquaintance only as you draw your final breath.”
The prince raised his eyebrows.
It was the way Hazan had said it – without arrogance or swagger – that gave him pause. In fact, Hazan seemed to mean the words sincerely, as if he’d indeed regret a bloody conclusion to their friendship. Except –
“If that’s true,” said the prince, “why didn’t you fight back when the
guards dragged you away at the ball? If you’re as capable as you claim, you might’ve saved your queen then.”
Hazan looked away. “I should have.”
“And yet?”
“My greatest failing that night,” he said gravely, “was that I didn’t anticipate Cyrus. I’d no idea another plan for her had been hatched
alongside my own; hell, I didn’t even know Cyrus was in possession of her name, much less a scheme to spirit her away. My own plans for the evening had been compromised; all I wanted was her safety and anonymity, and I’d hoped the distraction of my betrayal would afford her an opportunity to run.
Never did I imagine that in my absence she’d take her exit through the
palace wall, on the back of a Tulanian dragon. Never did I imagine she’d end up here, in this godforsaken hell,” he added angrily, meeting the prince’s eyes. “I’ve gone through it in my mind dozens of times, hating myself more each time for failing her. Understand me now: I refuse to fail her again.”
The prince was silent as he appraised Hazan a moment more: the set to his jaw, the grim resolve in his gaze. “I see that you’re determined,” he said finally. “And I’ll grant you this one concession, Hazan, but never again.
You may keep him alive until your queen is found, but when the time comes for him to die, be certain that I will set the terms.”
“So that’s it, then?”
Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice. Kamran was surprised to discover a regal, older woman drawing carefully toward them. Her fiery hair color and glittering diadem left little doubt as to her identity, and though Kamran knew he should bow, or at least incline his head, he refused.
He only stared, stonily.
She nodded at him, unbothered by his silent disrespect, then at the others who’d circled back from their breakfast search, now frozen in various states of debasement. Omid had attempted a curtsy.
“I am Queen Sarra,” she said with a strange smile. “And you must be Prince Kamran, of Ardunia.” Carefully she cataloged his fresh scar, the
glittering vein of gold that split through his left eye. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, of course. My condolences.”
Kamran maintained his silence, though he was resisting an urge then to destroy something. That she might stand there and offer him condolences as if she were remarking upon the weather – and her own child responsible –
“Are you quite certain,” she said delicately, “that you’re not going to kill my son?”
“There was a serious misunderstanding, Your Majesty,” said Hazan, stepping forward. “The king appears to be unwell.”
She glanced at Cyrus’s collapsed, bleeding body. “I can see that.”
At this cold reaction, even Kamran frowned. The woman’s son was half-dead on the ground, and she inspected him as if he were diseased. She was either demented or dangerously malicious; Kamran hadn’t yet decided. When she continued to smile at him, he found himself leaning toward the former.
“Well,” she said, and took a sharp breath. “I suppose you must all be tired from your journey. Do come inside. Breakfast is well underway.”
“Breakfast?” Hazan echoed.
“Breakfast,” Omid said eagerly, then hesitated. “Wait” – he stepped back – “you’re not going to throw us in the dungeons, are you?”
Sarra tilted her head at the boy, then responded to him in his native tongue. “You speak Feshtoon, how lovely. And where are you from?”
Omid straightened to his full height. “I’m from Yent, of Fesht province, miss. I mean, Your Ladyship.” Huda elbowed him and he squeaked. “I mean – Your Majesty.”
The woman’s eyes softened. “My mother was from Fesht,” she said. “I haven’t been back since I was a little girl.”
“Forgive me,” Hazan interjected. “But the king requires swift medical attention. Perhaps we should send for a surgeon, or a Diviner –”
“Are your parents still in Fesht?” Sarra went on. “Or did you move to the royal city with your family?”
Omid shot a nervous look at Hazan before answering the woman’s question. “My parents are dead,” he said, and in a gesture of respect for the deceased, he touched two fingers to his forehead, then to the air. “Inta sana zorgana le pav wi saam.” May their souls be elevated to the highest peace.
“As are mine,” she said softly, mirroring the motion. “Inta ghama
spekana le luc nipaam.” May their sorrows be sent to an unknown place.
“I – Thank you, miss.” Omid ducked his head in acknowledgment and, after another nudge from Huda he added: “I mean – Your Highness,
ma’am.”
Sarra appraised Omid a moment longer, her expression not unkind, then studied each of them with a shrewdness that sent Kamran’s instincts into high alert. “Welcome, all of you,” she said. “What an unexpected – but delightful – surprise. Please do join me –”
“I’m afraid we must decline,” said Kamran, issuing his first words to the woman. He was now certain beyond a doubt that she was mad; there was no chance he’d be accompanying her anywhere.
“But, sire,” said Omid, “she said there was breakfast –”
“I know the situation is unusual,” said Sarra, her eyes sharp as she turned to Kamran, the smile on her face belying her next words. “But if you don’t accompany me inside, there will be hell to pay. As you may recall, you came here this morning with the intention of murdering my son –”
“It was not as it seemed, Your Majesty,” Deen said nervously. “Most of us meant no harm –”
“– and, having been unsuccessful, you think you might cut your losses and head home. You’ve failed to realize that you stand here now only
because of me, because of the amnesty I am willing to provide. You need not understand my motivations, but you should understand this: your
actions have been witnessed by all in the palace. Did you really think no
one would note the appearance of five legendary, magical birds in our sky? That no one would observe them alighting upon our land?”
Deen made a strangled sound.
“Very clever of you, I should say,” she added softly. “There’s only one creature alive to whom dragons show such deference, else you never
would’ve survived your descent onto the palace grounds. Though how you managed to secure the protection of Simorgh is a mystery I should dearly
like to solve.” She narrowed her eyes at Kamran. “I presume it has something to do with the fabled tale of your grandfather.”
“Oh, yes, miss,” said Omid, “it really is an amazing story –”
Five heads swiveled at once in his direction, and Huda quickly clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth. Kamran nearly swore aloud.
“I see,” said Sarra, whose anger appeared to spike in the silence that followed. “You intend to cling to your secrets until the grisly end. How unwise. But then I suspect you have no idea what kind of mayhem befell our home just last night, nor what devastation might befall us all if word
spreads that the Ardunian prince stormed our palace in an attempt to kill the king.”
“When she puts it like that,” Huda whispered, her hand falling away from Omid’s face, “it does sound awful.”
“Hells,” Deen breathed. “I just wanted to meet Simorgh.”
“Hated as he might be in Ardunia,” Sarra pressed on, “the Tulanian king is rather beloved at home. So unless you hope for our empires to go to war – or you wish to be murdered in the street – you will join me,” she said through gritted teeth, “for breakfast.”
Kamran was still contemplating this shocking speech, and still contemplating his response, when Hazan interrupted angrily –
“How can you stand there and monologue while your son lies bleeding on the ground? Your actions are so baffling as to confound the mind!
Ma’am, the king is dying. I am asking you to call for help at once – before it is too late.”
To this outburst Sarra showed no reaction, never even glancing at Hazan. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the prince, her strange smile now bordering on manic. As he met her gaze, Kamran felt a bolt of dread move through him.
It was true: he had no idea what they’d just walked into. He had no idea what Alizeh had experienced during her time here; he didn’t know who this woman was, what her intentions were, or where the devil Simorgh had gone. Heavens, but he needed her badly now.
More than that, he needed his grandfather. He’d even settle for a kind word from his mother.
With a start, Kamran remembered the envelope in his pocket – the one Hazan had earlier pressed into his hand. It suddenly seemed more important than ever that he make sense of the communication from his mother, and he resolved to find an excuse to be alone at the first opportunity.
“Very well,” he said, discreetly locking eyes with Hazan. It took this single look to confirm what they both understood: there was something deeply the matter with Sarra, and they should tread cautiously where she was concerned. “We’d be honored to join you for breakfast.”
“Wonderful!” she cried, clapping her hands together. Then, turning to Huda: “Some things should be illegal for their offenses against the human eye, darling, and if you’re to enter my home, I’m afraid you’ll have to burn that frock.” She appraised the girl a moment more, her brow wrinkling in distaste. “If you wear that abomination to dinner tonight, I might set it on
fire myself, and with you still in it.”
“Dinner?” said Kamran, alarmed. “When we’ve yet to endure breakfast?”
“I don’t – But it’s the only dress I have –” attempted Huda, who was blushing fiercely.
“Your Majesty, please –” Hazan tried again.
“I think you look real pretty, miss,” insisted Omid, inching closer to the girl as if he might protect her. “Don’t listen to her –”
“Dinner, of course,” Sarra said, baring her teeth at Kamran in an unnatural smile. “Needless to say, you will all stay at the palace for the duration of your visit. What a fine show you’ve put on just now, what a lavish gift it was for the royal household to glimpse the glorious Simorgh and her children! It was the viewing of a lifetime, one even the youngest
members of our staff will cherish forever. I should like to thank you for this spectacular performance – and for this unmistakable overture of friendship. How thoughtless of my son to try to catch a ceremonial arrow in his hand! And to think, most of our visitors merely offer us jewels.”
“Oh, for the love of –” Hazan cut himself off with a foul oath. He shot a final, disgusted look at the Queen Mother, stomped over to Cyrus, gathered up the king’s body, and hoisted him over his shoulders.
Kamran watched this happen with no small amount of astonishment. Cyrus was taller and broader than even he was – the deadweight of such a man would be extraordinary. He knew Hazan possessed immense Jinn
strength, but this was still a fairly new revelation, and Kamran marveled at the ease with which his old minister carried Cyrus now. Hazan pushed past
their small crowd, circumventing Sarra to hurry toward the closest entrance.
He tried the handle and, finding it was locked, bellowed a brief warning before kicking down the door.
It collapsed with an earsplitting crash.
Omid and Huda screamed. Deen muttered a faint dear God under his breath. Even Kamran was stunned. He glanced at Sarra for a reaction, and she revealed nothing more than irritation.
“Your king is injured!” Hazan cried as he stepped over the threshold, and he was swarmed at once by harried servants. “He needs medical attention immediately –”
“King Cyrus!” a snoda cried.
“I thought she said it was all a show –” “Do you think –?”
“– been injured by accident –” “But the king never gets injured –”
“Where is the surgeon?”
“Someone call for a Diviner!”
“– said to never call for the Diviners –” “Hurry! Hurry!”
Kamran and the others hastened toward the scene, and the prince watched, transfixed, as Hazan was mobbed, many hands reaching up to
relieve him of the king’s weight. They carefully transferred Cyrus’s body into their own arms before dashing off into the belly of the castle, a woman who was ostensibly the housekeeper trailing after them all, looking as if she might burst into tears.
Kamran couldn’t help but compare this moment to one of his own: the night his grandfather had been murdered, when he’d been bested by Cyrus and left broken and dying. When his mother had finally freed him from the binds of magical paralysis, she’d disappeared – and he’d fallen to the floor. Not even a servant had been willing to step out of the shadows to come to his aid. In the end, only Omid had come to him; somehow, miraculously,
despite receiving nothing but unkindness from the prince, the former street child had saved his life. It had been an enormous gift – one Kamran still struggled to appreciate – but it was nothing like the reception Cyrus received now. The hated king’s servants appeared to truly care for him, which was so foreign a concept to Kamran it was difficult to accept as fact. It was also entirely at odds with the reaction the young man had received from Sarra, his own mother.
Kamran was studying the woman carefully now, sizing her up as he might an opponent on the battlefield. She was watching the scene unfold as if it were a great disappointment. Kamran’s mother, for all her faults, had at least tried to help him in her strange way; Cyrus’s parent, meanwhile, had done everything she could to avoid assisting her own child.
She shook her head, offered a fleeting smile to the prince, and said, “Well, there’s always tomorrow,” before stepping inside.
Kamran remained frozen in the doorway.
Indeed, he knew not what new horrors awaited him here.
