“WHAT ON EARTH,” SHE SAID, blinking, “could be worth both your life and
your kingdom?”
“Alizeh,” said Cyrus quietly, and for a moment he looked quite desperate. “Please.”
Oh, she was not made of stone.
She was not unaffected by the sound of his voice nor the tragedy in his eyes. She understood, rationally, that Cyrus was a shameless brute, but she also knew the devil too well to dismiss the terror that accompanied his whispers, the way his riddles pierced a soul and lingered, clawing at a mind until one could think of nothing else.
She couldn’t help it; she pitied him.
“Cyrus,” she said, shaking her head. “What am I to do with your kingdom?”
A flicker of irritation animated his features. “You might do the obvious thing and fulfill your destiny. You are meant to lead your people, are you not?”
“Yes,” she said, subdued. “In theory.”
“Well, if you take my kingdom, you might put that theory into practice,” he said. “You saw our fireflies— You must realize that Tulan is home to one of the largest populations of Jinn. Our numbers aren’t huge, but it could be the start of something.”
“But isn’t that exactly what the devil wants?”
“Isn’t it what you want?” he countered. “As far as I can tell, you’ve never bartered with Iblees, so any power you attain will be yours to do with what you will. He can only manipulate you through the will and actions of others.”
“As he is now,” she said wryly. “Through you.”
“Right. Well.” Cyrus cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the devil’s wishes are a great deal more complex than this, in any case.”
“And I suspect you’re not allowed to tell me more?”
He laughed; the sound was bleak. “I will only say that arranging our unhappy marriage is but a fraction of what I’ve been commanded to do, and yet it’s the scheme he cares most about. He wants me to help you attain power first and foremost, and I’d be surprised indeed if he isn’t making deals with other unsuspecting fools, tethering their freedom to your ascension much as he has with mine. I pity them all,” he said sullenly.
“Dealing with you has been the simplest and by far the most punishing of all his demands.”
“By far the most punishing?” Alizeh echoed, almost smiling. “Come now, you don’t really find me that unbearable.”
“You think I exaggerate?” he said tersely. “Being forced into your company ranks high on the list of the most abhorrent experiences I’ve ever had.”
The nosta flared hot at that, and Alizeh was thrown by the heft of the insult. “You really mean that,” she said, astonished. “But what crimes have I committed to earn your unyielding censure?”
“Are you giving me permission to insult you?”
She felt a flash of anger. “I didn’t realize you needed permission.”
“Alizeh,” he said, his expression both grave and impatient. “Do you have any idea how many people would leap at the opportunity to overtake my kingdom and kill me? Your hesitation is unnerving.”
“But what if I don’t want to kill you? What if I can’t bring myself to do
it?”
“What on earth would prevent you?” he shot back. “My overwhelming
charm and charisma? You’ve been so eager to off me all this time, but now, suddenly, when I ask you to do the godforsaken deed, you refuse to take direction?”
“Heavens. You talk almost as if you want to die.”
“And you would judge me?” He took an alarming step closer. “For relishing an exit from this brutal consciousness we call life?”
“Not really,” she answered honestly, inching backward. On more than one bleak occasion she, too, had wished for a fast finish to her life—for an escape from the agonies that oppressed her—but she’d never dreamed of saying so out loud, much less to another person. “But you’re terribly morbid.”
“I fear your presence inspires me.”
Alizeh’s anger sharpened; she was growing tired of his childish jabs at her pride. “If you’re so keen to die,” she said, “why not let the devil do it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, attempting a smile. “I watched you kill five mercenaries with an assortment of sewing supplies. I think I prefer your creativity.”
“Wait— What?” She blinked, alarm awakening her pulse, which fluttered fast now against her throat. “You were there?”
“I was there to protect the devil’s darling,” said Cyrus, his eyes darkening. “Clearly, he underestimated you.”
“But—if you’d seen me,” she said, her mind buzzing, “why did you later mistake me for Miss Huda?”
At the mention of Miss Huda, Cyrus’s expression soured only further. “You were always wearing your snoda,” he said. “And I never saw you in daylight. I stood watch that night, but only from afar. Had I been able to get closer without exposing myself, I might’ve been able to better hear the scandalous whispers of your next assignation; but then, I saw enough of your meeting with Hazan to piece together the more unsavory aspects of your life.”
Alizeh was too astonished—too outraged—even to speak.
“Tell me one thing,” Cyrus said bitterly. “Just how many men do you have wrapped around your finger?”
“None,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Why—why do you continue to misjudge me? Why would you assume the worst of me based on a single scene you witnessed without context—”
“You stunning little hypocrite,” he said angrily, “I might ask you the same question.”
She looked up at him then, rendered briefly speechless, for she knew not how to respond. It was true: most of what she knew of Cyrus—even the shocking tale of his father’s murder—had been pieced together entirely by hearsay and speculation. It was just that so many people seemed to agree that he was a vile person, and the story of his rise to king was so incontrovertibly horrific that she—
Alizeh hesitated, then frowned.
“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Cyrus, you murdered your own father for your crown.”
His face cleared of expression at that, his eyes going vacant and cold. “That wasn’t a question,” he said.
“You committed patricide,” she went on, “in the pursuit of domination and glory, for control of a formidable empire. You went to such lengths for power! It couldn’t have been a small thing to kill your own parent. So why would you then toss your spoils at my feet, as if your title means nothing to you?”
Cyrus visibly swallowed. It was a long moment before he said: “I’m quite desperate.”
The nosta warmed at this, but Alizeh’s irritation only intensified. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t follow reason. There’s something you haven’t told me.”
“There are all kinds of things I haven’t told you.” “What kinds of things?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. “I didn’t say a word until I was three years old. I don’t like eggplant. And you have a single little freckle in the hollow at the base of your throat.”
Alizeh clasped a hand involuntarily against her neck, almost surprised when her fingers met with the heavy gold collar of her dress, which all but obscured her throat from view. “How did you know that?”
“I have eyes,” he said flatly. “You’re lying to me.”
“About my eyes? I assure you, they’re quite firmly affixed to my skull.” “Cyrus—”
“Even if I could— You think I’d tell you, of all people, my sorrows?” he said, turning away. He sounded suddenly bored. “Did you think I brought you here against your will because I was in want of a sympathetic ear?”
“No.”
He looked up at her, a strange emotion flitting across his face. “No,” he echoed softly. “And you should take care to remember that. Should you marry me, it would be in title only. I have no interest in your companionship.”
The nosta went cold.
Alizeh fought both her shock and the impulse to flinch against the icy spark, her heart thrumming in her chest as she held Cyrus’s gaze, her alarm escalating. Was he lying about having no interest in her companionship? Or was he lying about their marriage being in title only?
“You won’t”—she swallowed—“that is, we won’t— I mean, it’s understood, isn’t it, that in the off chance I agree to this arrangement, there won’t be any physical aspect to the relationship—”
“No,” he said sharply. “I won’t touch you.” The nosta warmed.
Breathing a little easier, she said, “Very good. But there’s still one thing I must know. Before I can make any decision, you must tell me, once and for all—”
“Ah, here we are,” he said darkly. “I was wondering when you’d bring this up again. You want to know whether I’ve killed your melancholy king.”
“Why do you continue to press this point? He’s not mine.” “I have a hard time believing that.”
“Truly, he isn’t,” she said, irritated. “It was— What transpired between us was so brief, and we never— That is, he did try to make me some promises, but it was never clear, really, and I did tell him that it couldn’t— that he and I—”
“Never mind.” Cyrus cut her off. “I don’t care to know the dizzying particulars of your relationship with the idiot heir of Ardunia.”
This made her angry. “What reason could you possibly have to malign him, when you’re the cretin who barged into his home and killed his grandfather?”
His eyebrows went high. “Don’t say you mourn the loss of the heinous King Zaal?”
“Oh, just answer the question, you infuriating fool—”
“Which question? About whether he’s dead, or why I hate him?”
“I don’t care if you hate him,” she said. “I only want to know whether he’s alive.”
“And will you cry,” Cyrus said quietly, “if I tell you he’s not?”
Alizeh felt the blood drain from her face at that, horror forcing her voice to a whisper. “Did you kill him?”
“No.”
At the flash of heat from the nosta, Alizeh nearly lost her footing. She closed her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath, involuntarily clasping a hand to her chest. Her eyes pricked with feeling and she fought it, not recognizing until just that moment how much tension she’d been holding in her body—nor how much hope she’d held that Kamran might still be alive. Only then did she see how thoroughly she’d compartmentalized her feelings on the subject.
“I must say, I find your reaction shocking,” said Cyrus, who affected a look of surprise. “It’s hard to believe you truly cared for him when you were all the while going behind his back with his home minister.”
“Hazan is my friend, you terrible halfwit!” she cried, and then looked sharply away, emotion threatening to disorder her. “Was my friend. Hazan was my friend.”
“I warn you,” said Cyrus. “If you weep, I might vomit.”
Alizeh managed a watery laugh even as her heart broke, as the nosta warmed, as her vanity was wounded. The reminder of Hazan—of his sacrifice for her—made her think of her own resolution to step out of the dark, to rise up and be more for all the others who’d maintained a silent faith in her.
After all, she’d been born for this.
She’d been raised from infancy to lead her people, to free them from the half-lives they’d been forced to live, to fight against the injustices they’d been served for so long.
She wondered then, in a moment of inspiration, what her parents would say—and when she heard a responding whisper in her heart, she felt closer to an answer.
She looked up, studying Cyrus with a renewed appreciation. “You will willingly die? Cede the throne?”
“Only,” he said sharply, “after the devil releases me from my arrangement.”
“And how long will that take?” “I don’t know.”
Alizeh took a steadying breath, and considered him a moment. “Cyrus, there’s something I still don’t understand.”
“What?” he said with disdain.
“If you’re so unafraid of death, why does it matter what the devil wants you to do? Why suffer under his command, carrying out his orders, only to be murdered regardless?”
Cyrus’s cold expression grew somehow icier. It was a long moment before he said, finally, “I must die on my own terms.”
“Why?”
He smiled, and there was anger in it. “If you’re unable to imagine why I can’t risk an untimely death,” he said, “then you, like all others, have built your understanding of me upon a faulty foundation.”
“What nonsense.” Alizeh felt a flash of irritation. “Are you being intentionally cryptic?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Her irritation vanished. “Because of Iblees?”
“There’s precious little I can say on this matter,” he said with a swift shake of his head. “So I will say only this: if I’m careful with my life now, it’s because I must live long enough to accomplish something crucial.
Beyond that, my beating heart is of no consequence.” He hesitated. “You have no idea what’s at stake. My life is the least of it.”
The nosta warmed at this admission, and Alizeh felt a spike of fear.
“I see,” she said softly. “So you mean to imply that you act now not in your own self-interest but for the benefit of other—”
“Do not speculate.” He cut her off, his voice taking on a note of panic. “Do not theorize out loud.”
“Okay,” she said, and swallowed. “All right.”
Heavens. This confusing web grew only more tangled by the moment. Alizeh could not then even wonder at what might be motivating Cyrus’s actions. She didn’t know enough about his life, his weaknesses, or his wants to hazard a guess.
“You appear to be in quite a predicament,” she said quietly. “Will you not tell me what you received in exchange for your bargain with the devil?”
He laughed in response, but the sound was soulless. “I will take that as a no,” she said, and frowned.
Cyrus sighed. “And I take it you will not accept the terms of my offer.”
She lifted her head, meeting his heated eyes. “No,” she said. “But I can promise you this: I will sincerely consider it.”
Cyrus went briefly still.
Relief hit him slowly, then suddenly, so much so that he looked as if he’d been knocked back a step. He closed his eyes as he exhaled, reaching unsteadily for the wall to support his weight.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“I’ve not promised you anything yet,” she said, approaching him with some caution. When still he didn’t move, she gently prodded his chest with one finger. “You shouldn’t be so pleased.”
Cyrus opened his eyes, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked almost happy. It turned back time on his face, made him look more youthful. His eyes were bluer, brighter. He smiled, and it was real.
She had to fight the urge to smile back.
“Come with me,” he said, straightening, and held out his hand.
Alizeh eyed his outstretched hand warily, biting her lip as she hesitated. “Why? Are you going to throw me off a cliff again?”
“Maybe later,” he said lightly. “Then what?”
“I thought you might like to see Tulan.”
