IT WASN’T LONG AFTER HE left her that a neat cottage came into view. Nestled between two towering trees in a private corner of the palace grounds, the
stone edifice was all but buried under overgrown moonflower vines, whose circular white blooms released a soft, sweet smell that beckoned as they approached. Warm light shone in the warped windows, a curl of smoke escaping from the chimney stack. It appeared Cyrus had prepared for their arrival.
The five of them had fallen into a tense silence these past few minutes.
Even Huda, who’d returned to Alizeh’s side, was exercising a rare discretion by not demanding to know the details of her conversation with Cyrus. Instead, the young woman sent her sly, questioning looks that Alizeh acknowledged only once, with a wary smile. There was so much to say, and nothing to discuss.
What Alizeh was feeling for Cyrus had begun to frighten her, and she needed to accept that her affection for him was both dangerous and
pointless. She was making a choice, with every step she took this very moment, to perform an irreversible oath that would change both their lives forever; they’d be bound to a morbid ending that could never be undone.
What was the point of continuing on in this vein, torturing herself for glimpses into his heart, for pieces of him he’d never be free to give? In
order to trust him she’d need answers he could never provide – for the devil had forbade him from speaking the truth.
It didn’t matter that she wanted to trust him anyway.
It didn’t matter that he’d given her the coat off his back, that she was warmed even then by the heat of him, her head dizzy with the lingering scent of his skin. It didn’t matter that she watched him now with a longing that was as painful to her as it was confusing.
Alizeh had made a decision, and she would not diverge from the path before her. She’d been born to lead her people to freedom, to protect them from the cruelty of a world that sought to misunderstand and destroy them. Nothing else could matter. She had to accept as fact that sometimes revolution demanded darkness in exchange for light.
Here, tonight, was proof.
Cyrus came to a stop in front of the cottage door, reaching for the
handle when he suddenly hesitated, then turned back to look upon their small party. “Have any of you experienced magic before?”
“Magic?” said Huda drily. “You mean like that nasty trick you pulled that made me lose my voice?”
“Or when you left the prince paralyzed,” Hazan added, “and half-dead in his own home?”
“Bastard,” Kamran muttered.
“I’m referring to organic magic,” Cyrus said impassively. “Have you ever felt it in its pure, unprocessed form?”
“No,” said Alizeh, who felt a prickle of unease. “Why?”
He shook his head, turning back to the cottage. “It can be a little unsettling if you’re not expecting it. Do not be alarmed.”
He turned the handle, pushed open the door, and a wash of warm, marbled light spilled out into the darkness, casting them all in a delicate glow. Cyrus stood aside to let Alizeh pass before him, and as she stepped across the threshold her breath caught with wonder.
They’d entered a room with soaring ceilings supported by heavy wooden beams, the scent of earth and perfume filling her nose. Nature had
pushed inside, climbing vines sprawling from cracks in stone corners and creeping toward the floor, which was covered by a massive, richly colored rug that was threadbare in places, singed in others. A roaring fire blazed in a hearth so large she might stand in it, and Alizeh startled at a sudden pop of a log, darting aside in time to keep her skirts from catching a stray ember. The air was thick as she moved deeper into the space, as if she were wading through thinned water. It wasn’t unpleasant, only disorienting, and once she’d fought back a shiver of unease, she relaxed into the sensation.
Curious, she pressed a finger to the air and felt a thrill of resistance, so soft it recalled the plump cheeks of small children. Alizeh looked around in a daze, possessed by a peculiar feeling that if she let herself fall, she might float.
The walls were lined with mismatched cabinets and wooden shelves heavy with dusty books; tapered candles; an assortment of earthenware; and dozens of sealed jars in various sizes, whose bright and unfamiliar contents brought to mind the storeroom of an apothecary.
Hazan pulled down one such jar from the shelf, turning it over in his
hands as he said, quietly, “I haven’t seen silver ash in years.” He looked up at Cyrus. “What is this place? Is it all yours?”
Cyrus only averted his eyes and said, “I’ll be ready in a minute.” He allowed them to explore the cottage without further comment,
though Alizeh watched him carefully. His eyes were unreadable as he crossed the room to a closed cabinet, pressed his hand against the wood, and stepped back as a series of locks audibly unlatched. The door swung open with a whine, and he quickly withdrew something from its interior, pocketed the item, and closed the compartment. He pressed his hand once more over the wood, resealing the door.
Alizeh watched in awe as he did this, for she realized then, as she turned her eyes again to the room, that she continued to underestimate him. She thought she’d already given Cyrus more credit than he’d rightfully earned, but she saw now that she hadn’t even grasped the full depth of his person.
Indeed the more she learned about Cyrus the less she understood him; he was like a destination in the distance that grew farther away as she approached.
Certainly no ordinary person knew magic like this.
“Wow,” whispered Huda, who stood before a massive worktable that spanned the length of the room. Upon its weathered counter were sundry
tools and objects, among them a cracked mortar and pestle, a stack of moth- eaten books, a sheaf of crumbling papers, and desiccated wells of ink.
Alizeh drew closer to the table and blew away a layer of dust from a rack of glass vials, the glittering, jewel-toned liquids sloshing eagerly inside their containers.
“Ha,” said Kamran, who’d plucked a book of nursery rhymes from a shelf. He turned the aged, leather volume over in his hands with a reluctant smile. “My father used to read me these stories.”
“Really?” Huda went to him as he opened it, standing on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. “But Kamran, these pictures are terrifying.”
“That’s why he liked them,” he said, laughing as he turned a page.
Huda glimpsed the next image and gasped, drawing away from him as she crossed her arms. “I would never read such horrifying books to my
children.”
Kamran snapped the book shut with a scowl, turning to face her. “Are you criticizing my dead father?”
“I suppose I am.”
“And am I to tolerate your impertinence, as if I have any interest in how you might raise your hypothetical children – the acquisition of which, I should note, would first require you to convince a man to part with his mind long enough to spend his days in your infuriating company –”
“Infuriating? You think I’m infuriating? Meanwhile you’ve never so much as unplugged your aristocratic ears long enough to hear the opinions of others, much less the odious sound of your own voice –”
“Would you two please shut up,” said Hazan lazily, plucking another jar off the shelf. He smoothed out the peeling label, squinting at the writing.
“This is hardly the time or the place.”
Huda and Kamran shared a dark look before stalking off in opposite directions, the tension between them so fascinating, Alizeh was briefly distracted from the weight in her chest.
She was experiencing a rising apprehension as the minutes ticked on, knowing she should ask about the task ahead of them even as she preferred to wander this mysterious space. Cyrus might not choose to admit it, but it was clear enough to her that all these magical implements and ingredients had once belonged to him – still belonged to him, in fact – even as it was evident that the cottage had been abandoned. Something had kept him from coming back.
More mysteries.
Still, it was a rare opportunity to peer inside a magical keep such as this, for she didn’t know whether she’d have such an opportunity again. There
was so much here in this one room she’d need weeks to go through it all, and everything she looked upon inspired so many questions she hardly
knew where to start.
Most astonishing, of course, were the crystals.
They were everywhere – sorted by size and color and formation – some heaped in cracked bowls like so much rock candy, others displayed under bell jars with care. One prodigious cluster of blue crystal sat directly on the floor, so vast were its dimensions, and Alizeh moved toward the specimen, reaching out gingerly to trace its edges.
“It’s empty,” said a voice just behind her.
Alizeh turned with a start to discover Cyrus reaching past her; he snapped off a brittle piece of rock, which he held up to the light. “These are very old.”
“What do you mean it’s empty?”
“Its magic has already been extracted. This is but a husk now.” He offered her the hollow bit of crystal, and as she took it from him, her fingers grazed his, this brief contact sending a thrill through her body. She thought she imagined the quiet breath he took then, the way he closed his fist and pocketed his hands.
“Good God, how on earth did you source so much powdered heart?” said Hazan suddenly, turning to search the room for Cyrus. He was holding a glass jar full of something that looked like scarlet sand. “This is illegal in Ardunia.”
Cyrus only stared at him in response, then flicked his wrist as if shooing a fly, and the contents of the room disappeared. The fire in the hearth still blazing, they now stood in an empty cottage, not a stick of furniture in sight. Everything – all the magical impedimenta – was gone.
Hazan gaped at his now-empty hands.
Cyrus approached the center of the room with an eerie calm. “If you’re ready,” he said with a nod to Alizeh, “I’d like to begin.”
Alizeh felt at once a shock of nerves, dropping the small piece of crystal in her haste to steady herself, the dull plink echoing in the newly deserted space. She bent to retrieve it, realizing as she did that it was the only item in
the room that hadn’t disappeared. Alizeh looked up into Cyrus’s heated eyes and knew, without knowing why, that he’d allowed her to keep it.
“Very well,” she said softly, discreetly tucking the bit of crystal into her boot before she straightened. “What do I need to do?”
“Nothing,” said Hazan, who was striding toward Cyrus. “Not yet. This first part will only affect the debtor.”
Cyrus looked at him. “Have you come to chaperone?”
“Joke if you like,” said Hazan gravely, “but I’ll be here to make sure you don’t die in the process.”
“Die?” said Alizeh sharply. “Has that happened before?” “Yes,” they both said at the same time.
“But –”
“There’s nothing for you to do if it comes to that,” Cyrus was saying. “Once the oath is spoken aloud, the magic cannot be stopped.”
“If your skin comes detached from your body, perhaps not, but you won’t speak until later. Should there be any early sign of danger, I’ll
intercede.” Hazan hesitated. “You’re certain you’ll be able to manage the enchantment even as it tortures you? Traditionally, this sort of thing is conducted by a Diviner, as most people wouldn’t be able to endure the pain long enough to complete the oath –”
Cyrus looked irritated. “I’ll be fine.”
“Wait,” said Alizeh, trying to hold on to calm. “I just – Cyrus, is it common for people in Tulan to be so magical?”
He hesitated before saying, “No. Not exactly.”
“Then is it safe, what you’re about to do? If there are so many risks involved, should we not wait, perhaps, for a Diviner? Someone professionally trained?”
He turned his eyes to the floor. “I am professionally trained.” “But you are not a Diviner –”
“No,” he said, lifting his head. “I am not.” “Then –”
“He trained at the temple for almost seventeen years,” Hazan offered
before glancing at Cyrus, who stiffened. “He was enrolled at the temple by age three, and took preliminary vows to join the priesthood when he turned eighteen. He’s as close to a Diviner as a person can be.”
Alizeh experienced a sharp pain in her sternum, so shocked she could hardly find the words. “What?”
“A Diviner?” said Kamran, stunned. “Him?” “Rather a fall from grace, I think,” muttered Huda.
“You wanted to become a Diviner?” Alizeh shook her head. She felt inexplicably heartsick. “Heavens. Your mother once told me you’d been studying magic since you were child. I can’t believe I didn’t understand then what she meant.”
Cyrus returned his gaze to the ground. He sounded angry when he said, “I don’t care to discuss it.”
“Surely we must discuss it,” Huda insisted. “What a fascinating revelation. Oh, how I wish I had a cup of tea –”
“I don’t understand your reticence to speak of it,” said Hazan. “You guard this truth as if it’s a secret, when in fact it’s widely held information. Just earlier I asked your mother whether she knew why you never wore a crown, and she told me right then that you’d refused adornment since the day you decided to take your vows. It took little prompting to come by the rest of the details. Hell, I was offered firsthand accounts from your
otherwise tight-lipped staff – some of whom have worked in the palace
since you were a boy. They heard us discussing your past and offered to tell me the story of your old nursemaid, how you once bounced off the roof –”
“That’s enough.”
“He bounced off the roof?” said Huda, delighted. “Who told you this?
Was it the housekeeper?”
“No,” said Hazan, “though I did ask, then, if any of them knew why he wore black all the time, and the housekeeper said he’d once told her that he was in mourning.”
“What?” Alizeh looked at Cyrus. “In mourning for what?” “Good God.” Cyrus pushed both hands through his hair.
“Hold a moment – this makes no sense,” said Kamran. “You were heir to the throne. How could your parents allow you to pursue a path to
priesthood? No respectable kingdom would allow their firstborn to relinquish a duty to the empire –”
“Oh, also” – Huda lifted a finger – “and forgive me for being so blunt about it – but if you didn’t want to be king, why did you kill your father? You might’ve let him keep his crown if you weren’t keen to follow in his footsteps.”
“He’s not the firstborn, actually,” supplied Hazan. “He’s the spare. It turns out he has an older brother – though, interestingly, it was the one
subject everyone refused to discuss –”
“I said, enough.” Cyrus was furious now. “This is why I don’t speak of it. This is why I detest talking to people. This is why I never host guests at
the palace. I have no interest in explaining my life or my choices to anyone. I will not be interrogated,” he cried. “And I will not answer your questions. Leave me the hell alone.”
Everyone fell suddenly, deathly silent.
Cyrus’s anger was as palpable as the weight of magic in the air, and Alizeh was distraught as she looked at him. It changed nothing to know
these things, and yet, somehow, it changed everything. She longed to know what’d happened – what had shifted in his life to bring him to this moment?
How had he gone from the Diviners to the devil?
Cyrus was fighting to regain his composure. “I’m sick of talking. I’m tired of delaying. I want this wretched night to end. Now.”
Hazan, who appeared uncharacteristically chastened, said quietly, “Let us carry on, then.”
But Alizeh could not be calm. How was she meant to live like this,
always at the edge of a precipice? She needed more information, needed to understand – yet Cyrus would not reveal his secrets, and she certainly couldn’t force him to speak. She only felt, with greater conviction every minute, a burning suspicion that he was not as villainous as he wanted the world to think he was, and this was enough to drive her mad.
“Cyrus,” she said desperately, “I’m so sorry.”
He looked at her, then looked away, his voice rough as he said, “Why are you sorry?”
“I don’t know.” For some unfathomable reason, she felt close to tears. “I just know that I am.”
He lifted his head, meeting her eyes for a moment with unguarded anguish, and she glimpsed inside him then what she’d seen once before: a staggering, breathtaking grief.
A moment of truth, there – then gone.
Alizeh’s heart broke when he looked away from her, and she watched, spellbound, as he tugged up his shirtsleeves to reveal powerful forearms, his golden skin dusted with fine, copper hair. He closed his eyes and held out
his hands, palms up, and soon there came a spine-chilling sound, like a skitter of insects, as a skin of darkness formed slowly along the ceiling.
“Wait – what are you doing?” Kamran asked, alarmed.
Cyrus threw up his arm and, in a move that seemed to require sheer physical strength, he dragged the heaving black shadow down the wall. The strain of this exertion was evident in the lines of his face, the veins in his neck. He pulled at this skin until it finally fell into place beneath their feet, and when it did, Alizeh felt the world tilt.
Then she heard Cyrus scream.
