“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” ALIZEH blinked at Cyrus. “You want to show me Tulan?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Very,” she said. “It’s only that I didn’t think you’d let me leave the palace.”
Cyrus laughed at that, then frowned. “Why wouldn’t I let you leave the palace?”
She matched his look of confusion. “Because,” she said slowly. “I would run away, you see. And you need me to remain here and do your bidding, or else the devil is going to kill you.”
“Ah.” He grimaced. “Right. Well. In that case, I must get on. I suppose I’ll see you at dinner, should you choose to join me.” He gave her a nod, turned on his heel and, with a purposeful stride, headed to the door.
Alizeh watched this happen with undisguised disappointment. “Wait,” she called out, crestfallen. “Are you really leaving? Are we really not going to see Tulan?”
Cyrus hesitated, but didn’t turn to face her. She saw only the tense back of him, his copper hair a brilliant contrast to his simple black coat. She was again struck by the cut of him, the space he commanded even now, when she couldn’t see his face.
He said softly, “It was rather foolish of you to mention the bit about running away.”
“I know.” Alizeh bit her lip. “I’m quite sorry for it now.”
Slowly, he turned around. “Are you saying you’re not going to run away, then?”
Alizeh prevaricated.
She was torn but also distracted; the sun had changed positions in the last hour, and shafts of golden luminescence were flooding the room through the glass doors and open windows, anointing all in their path. Even Cyrus was caught in this tempest of light, the hard lines of his body limned around the edges, a diffuse glow dancing across his face, painting his eyes. He squinted against the brightness, his pupils contracting to pinpoints, blowing out the blue of his irises; she watched him watch her a moment, his confusion apparent.
Alizeh didn’t mind.
She let her gaze wander as she mulled over her warring emotions. She felt less inclined to flee this castle than she had upon arrival, not only
because she’d been made two rather robust offers in that time, but also because— Well, the truth was, she had nowhere else to go. Here, at least, her favor was being courted by both mother and child; and Alizeh, who’d been forced to sleep too many brutal nights in the gutter, her cheek pressed to the filth of a city street, did not take for granted the luxury of a warm bed. She could not deny that this was a lovely place to rest awhile—and to sort through the myriad disasters strewn before her. In fact, she could still hear the birds chirping outside; the hush of the waterfalls in the distance; the efforts of the wind pushing apart branches, rattling leaves. It was, in a word, lovely.
And she did dearly wish to see Tulan.
Unfamiliar as she was with the manipulation of magic, Alizeh was aware enough to understand that there was some kind of enchantment in the air here, for the season was entirely wrong. True, Tulan was farther south than Ardunia—which was in the midst of a ruthless winter—but the two empires shared a border; some variation in temperature would not have been amiss, but this was practically summer.
Alizeh would be lying if she said she didn’t prefer it.
She lifted her eyes, finally meeting Cyrus’s impatient gaze. Hesitantly, she said, “Perhaps I won’t run away today.”
His agitation gave way to visible bemusement. “Is that so? Having a good time, then, are you? Enjoying my hospitality?”
Quietly, Alizeh cleared her throat.
“You may choose to poke fun,” she said, clasping and unclasping her hands. “But I am deciding, after all, whether or not to marry you, and I think I should be allowed to see the land you intend to leave me before I make my choice.”
Cyrus stiffened at that.
He stared at her, unblinking, the light dying in his eyes as he turned slowly away, lapsing into silence. In fact, he said nothing for so long that Alizeh felt forced, in the mounting discomfort of the moment, to speak.
“Cyrus?” she said uneasily. “Are you all right?” He looked up. “Ever?”
She frowned.
“You know,” he said attempting a laugh, “I realize you might not believe this, but I never dreamed I’d one day be forced to take a wife in this manner.” He shook his head, turned away again. “I’m trying to give you
Tulan—a jewel among empires, a land that is my home. I stand here begging you to marry me—to kill me and take my nation, my crown, my legacy—and you won’t even say yes.” He closed his eyes and swore. “I really thought I’d already hit rock bottom, but this— This is a shade of wretchedness I’ve never known.”
The nosta warmed at this sad speech, and Alizeh’s pliable heart felt a rush of pity, which she hated. She hated that she could not unceremoniously loathe him, hated that she could not shift the levers that ruled her emotions, hated that she was unable to power off compassion when the feeling was inappropriate.
With a sigh, Alizeh approached him.
Cyrus’s head shot up at her advance like he was being hunted, and he watched her with increasing wariness until she met him where he stood, halfway across the room. She then surprised herself by doing something that was either stupid or bold; she couldn’t decide.
She touched his arm.
Or at least, she tried. Cyrus caught her hand before she even made contact, his reflexes so fast she hardly realized what’d happened until she saw, with some astonishment, that he held her limb upright before her eyes. His hand enveloped hers in both size and warmth as he studied her, his own eyes wild and wondering. Alizeh felt she couldn’t move; she was still as stone, marveling that she could perceive slight calluses against his skin when his fingers slid, in a stuttering pattern, down the undersides of her knuckles, inspiring a slow burn of sensation so unexpected she nearly gasped.
Awareness quickened through her.
He drew his hand slowly downward, grazing her palm until he’d clasped her wrist like a bracelet, his fingers pressing tenderly against her racing pulse. She wondered if he was counting the beats there, cataloging her reaction.
“Alizeh,” he said, his voice low, heavy. He was looking at her like she might’ve been about to stab him through the heart. “What are you doing?”
“I wasn’t”—she shook her head, found her voice—“I swear I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
Cyrus dropped her hand like it had burned him, stepping farther away from her. He was breathing just a touch too fast, his eyes heavily guarded. “Then what were you going to do?”
She hesitated, deliberating over whether to admit the truth, and then feeling too stupid to do so. Again, she shook her head. “Nothing, I swear
—”
“Alizeh.” He sounded angry now. “Why did you try to touch me? What is your game?”
“I was just”—she sighed—“oh this is ridiculous,” she said in a frustrated burst. “I was only trying to be sympathetic.”
He blinked at her, even as tension visibly fled his body. “You were trying to be sympathetic?” he echoed, his incomprehension palpable. “You mean—you were trying to console me?”
“Yes.”
He pointed at himself. “Me.”
“You know what?” An angry blush burned across her cheeks. “Never mind.”
Cyrus stared at her for a full second before he finally broke, and laughed out loud. “I tell you a single sad story and your defenses weaken that easily? Against me? You lovely little fool, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Oh, shut up.” She crossed her arms.
He shook his head slowly, closing the distance between them again, his eyes analyzing her carefully, lingering along the lines of her face. For a moment he almost looked as if he might touch her, though he never did.
“Humor me,” he whispered. “What were you going to say? How did you intend to comfort me?”
“I don’t— I wasn’t going to say anything—”
“Were you going to tell me not to worry?” he said, still smiling. “Were you going to remind me that, though my life is essentially worthless, I should keep my chin up and look on the bright side?”
“No,” she said, hearing the breathless sound of her voice and hating it. “I had no intention of feeding you such nonsense. I don’t see any bright side to this.”
He took a deep breath, his chest lifting with the effort. It was a long moment before he said, “You know, neither did I.”
Alizeh’s heart was pounding too hard. She didn’t know how the two of them kept finding themselves in these charged moments, and as a result she didn’t know how to escape them. There was something decidedly fascinating about Cyrus; something potent and complex, and prodding him
for truth felt a lot like prodding a sore muscle; the results were both painful and pleasant. She pitied him even as she detested him, understood him even as she scorned him. He was a series of mystery boxes she wasn’t certain she wanted to open, and whose hidden depths tempted her even as they scared her.
She didn’t know what she wanted from him—or whether she wanted anything at all—
And then he touched her.
He lowered his eyes and touched her, breaking the trance between them so abruptly Alizeh drew a sharp, unsteady breath. She watched him smile at the sound she’d made, laughing quietly to himself as he dragged his fingers lightly down the front of her gown, from just under her breasts to the apex of her navel.
She tore away, but too late.
“What are you doing?” she said, trying to call upon anger and struggling. Her head grew cloudy when he stood near, and she made a silent note to herself to keep distance between their bodies.
“I was fixing your dress,” he said, taking a step back. “I didn’t think you’d want to keep the stain.”
Alizeh looked at herself as if emerging from a dream, absently patting down the bodice of her frock. The brown spatter of tea that’d so thoroughly soiled the gossamer layers was now gone. Her dress was restored entirely.
“How did you do that?” she whispered, staring up at him with wide eyes. “How do you cast spells so easily?”
“Aren’t you meant to wield great power?” he asked, brows furrowing in confusion. “How is it you’re so unschooled in the workings of magic?”
She flushed lightly under his questioning, feeling self-conscious. “My magic, should I ever possess it, is meant to come to me without formal education. It’s meant to be intuitive.”
“Fascinating,” he said, his frown only deepening. “And you know nothing else? You don’t know what it is?”
“No,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She couldn’t tell whether his was an honest, casual question, or whether he was deftly mining her for information. Either way, she proceeded with caution. “As far as I’m aware, no one does.”
“Why not?”
“Because in all of recorded history, it’s never before been accessed,” she said briskly, then changed the subject. “As to more ordinary enchantments, I know only rudimentary things. Ardunia is too large an empire to rely upon magic to thrive. For us it is a very limited resource, and thus it’s used only sparingly. It’s also owned and regulated entirely by the crown. We’re not allowed to use it as we wish.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard that Ardunians teach magic only to those interested in joining the priesthood.”
She nodded. “The same isn’t true in Tulan, though, is it? Your mother told me you’ve been studying divination and sorcery since you were a child, and it takes but one working eye to deduce there’s nothing even remotely priest-like about you.”
He froze, briefly surprised by the insult, and then laughed with his whole body, his shoulders shaking, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Heavens,” he said. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Take care, Cyrus,” she chided him. “If you keep laughing like that, I’m liable to think you have a heart.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” he said, his smile fading. “I most certainly don’t.”
The nosta went cold.
Alizeh’s own smile faltered at that, some essential armor crumbling inside her. She suddenly didn’t know what to say.
“Come along, then,” he said, quite literally moving past the moment as he strode to the door. “If you’re really so uninformed, I’ll show you how it works.”
“How what works?” She stared at him, unmoving. “And where do you mean to take me? Are we going into Tulan now?”
Alizeh saw only the back of his head when he said, “Yes.”
“Really?” She hurried after him. “And you’re no longer worried I’ll run away?”
“No.”
“Wait— Why not?” Alizeh stopped in place. “You should be a little worried, at the very least.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said, finally turning around to face her. “For I’ve recently deduced that you’re quite charmingly pathetic.”
Alizeh stiffened, shock and outrage awakening in her body. “How dare you,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, her fists clenching. “I
am not pathetic—”
“I have a theory,” he said, cutting her off as he walked backward to the door, “that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?”
“False.”
His smile widened. “Liar.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said ruthlessly. “I’d leave you there and run for my life.”
He was fighting a massive grin now, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed delight. “You would save me.”
“I’d absolutely let you die.”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me behind.” “I would, too,” she insisted.
“You certainly should,” he said softly. “For it’d be terribly stupid to save me, and I didn’t think you were stupid.”
She couldn’t believe she’d ever felt sorry for him. She wanted to pummel him now. “I’m not stupid,” she said angrily.
“I never said you were stupid.” Cyrus was at the door, gripping the handle. “I’m merely pointing out that all signs seem to indicate you might be.”
“Oh, you’re truly awful,” she said, glaring at him even as she stalked to the door. “You’re mean and awful and I regret ever feeling bad for you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Your first mistake was ever feeling bad for me.”
“It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
He stared in silent amusement as she pushed him aside, turned the knob, took a single step over the threshold—and screamed.
There was no ground beyond the door.
Alizeh pinwheeled backward, teetering violently until Cyrus caught her, steadying her flailing body against his chest. She’d plummeted from the sky too many times in the last twenty-four hours to stomach another such fall so soon.
Her poor nerves were frayed.
“Why is there nothing out there?” she practically cried. “Why is this castle so strange?”
“Alizeh—”
“Is this actually a prison?” Her panic was escalating now. “Have you locked me in a tower? Am I never meant to leave?”
“Alizeh—”
“No”—she pushed at him, pushed at him until he let go of her, until he stumbled a few steps away from her—“I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you and I wouldn’t save you, you despicable, good-for-nothing, unprincipled reprobate—”
He grabbed hold of her shoulders anyway, tried to look her in the eye. “Alizeh, you infuriating girl, listen to me—”
“I certainly will not listen to you— And how dare you call me stupid
and infuriating—”
“The stairs are made of glass.”
Alizeh went suddenly still. She reanimated by degrees, mustering what was left of her dignity as she adjusted her dress and stepped gingerly away from him, after which she peered through the open door and over the threshold, this time looking more closely.
“Well,” she said, taking a sharp breath. “I suppose they are made of glass.” She crossed her arms, unable to look at him. “But that’s a foolish idea, you know, having stairs made of glass. It’s quite dangerous.”
Cyrus was silent for so long she eventually dared to look up at him, and found him staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. He appeared both pained and confused; she couldn’t quite define it, and she didn’t know what it meant.
Feeling sheepish, she lowered her eyes again, wondering whether he’d changed his mind about showing her magic and seeing Tulan.
“Alizeh,” he said finally.
She did not look up, choosing to stare instead at her feet, which she’d earlier tucked into a very pretty pair of boots. “I do realize I just called you a fair amount of terrible names, but I’d still very much like to see Tulan.”
“Why are you refusing to look at me?”
“Why should I?” she said quietly. “I’ve already seen your face.” “Alizeh—”
“You know, you say my name a lot.”
“I say your name,” he said tersely, “a perfectly normal amount.”
“Do you really think so?” She peeked up at him, and he looked mad about it.
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose that might be true,” she said. “It’s been so long since anyone has spoken to me in earnest that I fear I’ve lost perspective.”
He hesitated. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head, wincing as grief caught her, the way it always did, at the most inopportune moments. It had been years and years since her parents died, and for so long since then she’d only ever been commanded, never acknowledged. Mrs. Amina had never even asked her name.
“Nothing,” she said brightly, even as she sniffed, suddenly, against a swell of feeling.
“What are you— Oh, for heaven’s sake, are you going to cry again? I’ll take you to see the blasted city, Alizeh, I’ll show you the bloody magic, you don’t have to cry about everything—”
“I’m not crying,” she said irritably. “I’m thinking. Sometimes I get emotional when I’m thinking—”
“When you’re thinking? You mean all the time, then?” He pushed his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. “The devil really is trying to kill me.”
She wiped at her eyes. “I thought you already knew that.”
“All right, that’s quite enough out of you,” he said, and then he took her hand without warning, and tugged her out the door.
