“WAIT— WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
Hazan charged after the prince, who’d bolted out the door of the war room without warning and was then striding down the hall clutching the strange book with a speed indicative of only one of two things: eagerness or anger.
Kamran wasn’t sure which he felt more powerfully.
That they would go to Tulan now—that he might evade the tedious political route, circumvent the fruitless, circular discussions of the nobles who’d no doubt spend days, if not weeks, debating the merits and demerits of waging war—
This was astonishing to him.
He’d never considered that there might be benefits to the current, nightmarish state of his life.
Kamran had grown so accustomed to the shackles of royalty and the endless rigamarole that defined their international affairs that he’d not realized what freedom he might possess in the wake of all this recent personal devastation. If he were stripped of a title, if he continued to be sidelined by Zahhak, if the nobles refused to include him in their discussions— Well, then, he might become his own master.
He would go to Tulan as a man, not a prince.
He would avenge his grandfather’s murder on a personal mission, not an order. He would finally, after eighteen years of unfailing service to the crown, do whatever he damned well pleased.
Oh, he had plans for Cyrus.
He would not merely kill the young man—he would first destroy him. He would make the southern king pray for death, and only then would he be merciful, fulfilling Cyrus’s wishes by driving a blade through his heart.
“Kamran, you ass— Wait—”
As was his wont, the prince did not wait. Only when Hazan had caught up to him did he answer his friend’s question—but quietly, so they wouldn’t be overheard—
“There are an untold number of things we must do before we can leave,” said Kamran, “and if we don’t start now, we’ll never make it in time.”
“In time?” Hazan stared at the prince. “In time for what?” “I don’t know. I only feel that we’re going to be late.”
“Kamran, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that I ask it sincerely—”
“What?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
The prince laughed at that, the sound hollow. “I lost my mind the moment I met her, Hazan, and you were there to witness my fall from reason, so don’t feign surprise now.”
“I swear, sometimes you scare me.”
“Sometimes, Hazan, I scare myself.” Kamran continued moving at a steady clip, even as he glanced down at the book in his hands. “We’ll set sail tonight, at midnight, under the cover of darkness.”
“Sail?” Hazan’s eyes widened, nearly missing a step as he kept pace. “You mean to enter Tulan via the Mashti River? We might not survive such a journey in daylight, much less—”
“Our dragons are under heavy guard in Fesht province,” Kamran said, “which you know as well as I do is a month’s journey by coach. I can’t summon the beasts without drawing unwanted attention, and there’s no faster way to get to Tulan. Our fleet, however, have the benefit of being bolstered by magic; water journeys often take months, not only because of the amount of work required at every stage but also because of the immense cargo we haul. Without the added weight of metric tons of water, we’ll move much faster—and by the time anyone notices our absence in the morning, we’ll be gone. I’ve done enough water journeys to know the way well enough; and I can sail any ship myself. So long as we avoid major delays or turbulent weather, we might be able to clear the distance in under a week.”
Hazan fell silent at that, even as his eyes were troubled. “Very well,” he said finally. “What will you tell the boy?”
“Omid?” Kamran frowned. “Nothing. The fewer people who know of our whereabouts, the better.”
“And why must we keep our journey a secret?”
“Because I’d rather they didn’t know where to find me.”
“Who?” Hazan said, brows furrowing. “I didn’t realize you were being hunted.”
“No, but I soon will be.” Kamran rounded the corner and rushed up the grand marble staircase, the staccato knock of his boots echoing in the massive hall. “I intend to empty out the treasure houses before we go, and
I’d rather not leave an easily followed trail, else the nobles will sort out my execution with impressive speed.”
“Wait”—Hazan hurried up the stairs alongside him—“what need do you have of the treasure houses?”
“Gold. Weapons. Horses.” Kamran came to an abrupt stop at the landing and turned sharply to face Hazan. “This task I leave to you: open our stores while we still have access and take a great deal more than you think we’ll require. If I’m to be ousted from the palace, I’ll need a place to land upon our return. Find us somewhere safe—purchase property from an unsuspecting farmer if you must—then organize a team of the finest riders and fighters, and compensate them handsomely for a period of six months. We will require our own armed force.”
“Tell me you jest.”
“You are more than capable.”
Hazan stared at him in stupefaction. “You want me to raid the coffers of the crown, travel north to the country, chase down a farmer, buy his broken home, scour the empire for its best mercenaries, and form a covert militia— all in the same day?”
“You are possessed of supernatural speed, strength, and invisibility, Hazan. I grant you full permission to use your powers for good.”
“And if I’m stopped by a magistrate?”
Kamran reached into his pocket, retrieved a coin, and flipped it in the air, watching as Hazan easily caught the piece in one hand.
“Show them this,” said the prince. “It has my seal upon it.” “Which they will believe is forged.”
“I feel confident you will figure it out,” Kamran said with some finality. Hazan shot him a dark look, but still he gave Kamran a deferential nod.
“You are very lucky, then, that I already have a trusted team upon whom I rely. They’ll make a fine militia.”
Kamran, who’d been about to resume his walk, turned fully to face his friend. He was unable to leach the surprise from his voice when he said, “You have a team?”
“I’ve never worked alone,” said Hazan quietly. “I’m not the only one who’s been searching for her, you know.”
The prince looked away at that, subdued. For over a year he’d been reading about small revolts in Jinn communities throughout Ardunia. He’d thought they were merely unhappy—seeking change—he’d not known then
that they might’ve sought solace in the idea of a lost empire, that some might’ve even been searching for an unknown leader around whom they might rally.
“No,” he said finally. “I suspect you’re not.” “Kamran.”
The prince looked up, the question in his eyes.
“What will you do?” Hazan asked, watching him closely. “When you see her?”
At the mere suggestion, Kamran’s heart reacted. Until this very moment he’d managed to avoid visualizing this part; some protective instinct in his brain had prevented him from focusing too much on the aspect of the journey that might injure him most. But that he might see her again—speak with her again so soon—
It was almost too much.
He felt the grip of a terrible anxiety close around his throat, experiencing an inexplicable pain in the aftermath, a searing heat along his breastbone he could not fathom into words. She’d betrayed him, punched through his sternum with the heft of it, and he didn’t know what he’d do when he saw her again, for he couldn’t know what he’d uncover in Tulan. Either he’d discover he’d been a faithless jackass to have doubted her, or he’d be dealt a final, obliterating blow he feared would break him. He might fall to his knees before her; or he might be forced to kill her.
The possibility left him sick.
His voice was an unrecognizable rasp when he said, finally answering Hazan’s question: “I don’t know.”
“For what it’s worth, sire, I don’t believe she betrayed any of us.”
“Enough,” Kamran said, turning away. “We’ve much to do. You will meet me at the docks at midnight.”
Hazan stared at him a beat.
Then, with a nod, his former minister was gone, and in his wake, Kamran found he could not move. He stared into the middle distance, clutching the book in his hand ever more tightly. Her handkerchief he’d tucked into his pocket much earlier, telling himself he’d deliver it to her himself one day, not knowing then how soon he might face her.
Kamran had never known how muddy grief might be; it had never occurred to him that the death of a loved one might prove difficult to mourn, or that a heart might continue to beat long after it was broken. He’d
not been taught to navigate this misty, middle track of uncertainty; no, Kamran had lived always with the luxury of absolutes. Even in childhood he’d known the delineated position he was meant to occupy in the world, had known the rules that corralled his life. He’d stepped from one gilded milestone to another with a confidence so complete it had never occurred to him, not until Alizeh tore open his life, to doubt the course laid before him.
Now he stood at the mouth of an indistinct, untraveled path; his role, his title, his tomorrow—all unknown.
“Hejjan? Hejjan—” Sire? Sire—
Very slowly, Kamran turned toward the desperate sound, catching sight of the long-legged child struggling up the stairs, two at a time. Kamran had been on his way back to his rooms to manage a bit of correspondence; he meant to send a letter to his aunt Jamilah—whose conspicuous silence in the aftermath of Zaal’s death had struck him as deeply unusual—and ask if she’d welcome a visit from him on the morrow. He did not intend, of course, to actually pay the dear woman a visit; he was only hoping to leave a paper trail that might convolute the details of his disappearance.
It seemed this would have to wait.
When Omid finally reached the landing, he doubled over almost at once, bracing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he panted, “everywhere—”
“Yes, and what took you so long?” Kamran said quietly. “Are they here yet?”
Omid tried to stand up and nearly made it, squinting one eye as he breathed, reinforcing the effort to be vertical with one hand placed firmly on his hip. “They won’t come, sire,” he said, gasping in Feshtoon. “They don’t believe me when I say they’ve been summoned by the crown.”
Kamran closed his eyes and sighed.
This morning—grieving, delirious, and, admittedly, not quite in possession of his faculties—Kamran had thought he’d no one else to trust. In the wake of one heroic act, the boy had seemed an obvious choice for a role meant to prioritize the prince’s safety and protection above all else. Now Kamran was beginning to wonder whether Hazan had been right.
This had perhaps been a terrible idea.
“We should’ve gotten you a new wardrobe,” Kamran said, opening his eyes to study the boy’s oversized, ill-fitting clothes anew. “Of course they don’t believe you; you don’t look as if you come from a royal household.”
He looked askance at the child. “Why did you not take the carriage as I instructed? The royal seal would’ve been proof enough for anyone.”
Omid shook his head, hard. “I tried, sire, honest I did. But he wouldn’t let me take the carriage.”
Now Kamran frowned. “Who wouldn’t let you take the carriage?”
“The coachman. He told me he’d whip me if I so much as touched one of the coaches, so I been runnin’ round on foot, you see, which is why it took me so long—”
“Dear God.”
The boy flushed a bright red. “I am terribly sorry. And these”—he stared down at himself, tugging at the hem of his too-long tunic—“well, these are all the clothes I’ve got, sire, and I don’t know what to do about them, but I’d hate to toss them because they were gifts from”—his eyes filled with tears—“well, from the Diviners, see, and they were ever so kind to me—”
Kamran held up a hand to stop the boy from blubbering.
He himself had not shed a single tear since the night prior, and while there was an aspect of his consciousness that suspected, on some base level, that this was probably strange, there was a much larger, louder, and unhealthier part of him that took pride in his ability to keep his emotions constrained.
“This is my fault,” Kamran said to the child. “I should’ve seen to your clothes before sending you off on an errand. And it didn’t occur to me that I might have to make introductions to the staff. You are not to blame on these counts.” He sighed. “In fact, I see now that I made a larger mistake in giving you so much responsibility. You’re clearly a poor fit for this role—”
“No, sire—” The boy threw out a hand as if to stop Kamran from speaking, realized too late that he’d nearly touched the prince, and recoiled in horror. “I’m sorry—I mean, forgive me—”
“Omid—”
“Please,” the boy said, wiping desperately now at his damp face and straightening to his full height. “I can do it, sire, I promise I can. I want this job more than anything—my ma and pa would be so proud if they could see how I’d turned things around—and I promise I’ll show you what I can do. On my parents’ graves, sire, I swear it.”
Kamran narrowed his eyes at the boy, who was standing now at attention, his red-rimmed eyes no longer leaking. In any other situation,
Kamran would’ve dismissed the child without question. But the stakes were admittedly low at this juncture; come tomorrow morning, Kamran would be gone. Too, he was anticipating trouble from the nobles, taking for granted that the distorted magic snaking along his body would all but guarantee his expulsion. He felt uncertain only about when he’d be asked to leave, for he’d so far managed to evade what seemed an inevitable encounter with Zahhak himself—
As if he’d conjured the man with his mind, Kamran saw out of the corner of his eye the slinky retreat of the defense minister, who’d appeared down the hall as if out of the ether. He was moving with some haste in the direction of the king’s wing of the palace—though what Zahhak hoped to do in his grandfather’s rooms was a mystery, one Kamran was eager to unravel. If the defense minister’s darting eyes were any indication, the answers were bound to be bleak.
“Sire?”
Kamran returned his gaze to the boy, his mind working double-time, assessing the situation from all possible angles in the space of a millisecond. As Zahhak’s treacherous figure grew fainter in the distance, Kamran grew certain he’d know more about his fate in the palace very, very soon.
In which case there was little point, he reasoned, in breaking the boy’s heart. He might as well let the child dream a day more.
“Very well,” Kamran said stiffly, lowering his voice. “But if they’re not here by nightfall, I’m placing you elsewhere in the palace. I’m sure we could use a new stable boy.” He paused, assessing the child. “Are you any good with horses?”
Omid was shaking his head so hard Kamran feared he might shift things around in there permanently. “I don’t like horses, sire, and they don’t like me. I’ll get it done—you won’t need to place me elsewhere. They’ll be here by nightfall, I swear it.”
And as Omid darted away, dashing down the staircase at a dangerous clip, Kamran changed course, too, following Zahhak’s trail toward his grandfather’s rooms.
