KAMRAN STARED, UNBLINKING, AS THE girl was half dragged, half shoved down the hall. As if the bandages around her hands and neck weren’t evidence enough, he’d noted with a modicum of fear that he’d begun to recognize her now merely from her movements, from the lines of her figure, from her glossy black curls.
Kamran murmured a vacant thanks to his aunt, who’d said something he did not hear, and allowed her to lead him to another room, the details of which he did not notice. He could hardly focus on his aunt as she spoke, nodding only when it seemed appropriate, and offering brief, monosyllabic responses when prompted.
Inside, he was in turmoil.
Why do you not fight back? he’d wanted to cry.
In the privacy of his own mind, Kamran would not cease shouting at the girl. She was capable of killing five men in cold blood but allowed this monstrous housekeeper to treat her thus? Why? Was she really left no recourse but to work here as the lowest servant, allowing her lessers to treat her like trash? To abuse her? Why did she not seek employment elsewhere?
Why?
With that, the fight left his body.
This was the true agony: that Kamran understood why she stayed. Not only had it recently occurred to him how difficult it might be for a Jinn to find employment in a noble house, but as the days wore on his imagination expanded even to understand precisely why she sought work in such a grand home. He’d begun to discern as much when she hesitated to remove her mask even in the midst of a rainstorm; he’d understood fully only when he realized how fraught her life was with danger. Kamran had known the
girl but a matter of days, but in that short time he’d already been privy to three different attacks on her life.
Three.
It had been made clear to him, then, not only that she wished to live her life unseen—but that she did not feel safe enough in the city to live alone.
These were two desires directly opposed.
Her work as a servant, Kamran had realized, provided her with more than the basic needs of coin and shelter. The snoda itself offered her a measure of anonymity, but there was safety, too, in the walls of a grand estate. Guaranteed protection. Guards stationed at all access points.
A faceless servant in a busy, heavily secured house— It was, for a young woman in her position, a brilliant cover. Doubtless she accepted as incidental the regular abuse she suffered in exchange for security.
It was a situation Kamran despised.
The tea he sipped turned to acid in his gut, the casual position of his limbs hiding an interior tension coiling him taut from the inside out. He felt as if his muscles were atrophying slowly in the suit of his skin, a silent litany of epithets perched in his mouth even when he smiled.
He murmured, “Yes, thank you,” and accepted a second puffed pastry from his aunt’s proffered dish. He tucked one pastry next to its sibling, then placed the dessert plate on a low table. He’d no appetite.
“. . . much excitement about the ball this evening,” his aunt was saying. “The daughter of a dear friend of mine shall be attending, and I was hoping to introduce . . .”
Why Kamran felt this overwhelming need always to protect this nameless girl, he could not explain, for she was not at all helpless, and she was not his responsibility.
“Hmm?” his aunt prompted. “What do you say, dear? You would not mind terribly, would you?”
“Not at all,” the prince said, staring into his teacup. “I’d be happy to meet anyone you respect so highly.”
“Oh,” his aunt cried, clapping her hands together. “What a lovely young man you are, how . . .”
Still, Kamran thought it must be exhausting to live such a life as hers; to know in your soul your own strength and intelligence and yet live each day insulted and berated. The girl went every minute overlooked unless she was being hunted. And devils above, he was tired of hunting her.
The prince had been sent to Baz House as a spy.
It was not the first time he’d done covert work for the empire, and he knew it would not be the last. What he detested now was not the work itself, but the nature of the directive he’d been given.
Though Kamran doubted the anger and animosity he now felt toward his grandfather would abate, he also knew he was doomed to bury the feelings regardless, carrying on forever as if nothing untoward had transpired between them. Kamran could neither condemn the king nor disregard his duties; he’d no choice but to persist even in his current dilemma, loathsome though it was.
“. . . thinking of wearing my lavender silk,” his aunt was saying, “but there’s a darling cream satin I’ve not yet worn, and I might . . .”
The king was beyond persuasion: the girl had been prophesied to have powerful allies, and as a result Zaal firmly believed she’d received assistance during the previous night’s attack. He now wanted a lead on these unknown allies. If she was working with a team of spies or rebels, his grandfather argued, it was essential that they know immediately.
“We’d hoped to dispose of her with absolute discretion,” the king had said. “The events of last night have instead set us back quite a bit, for if she is indeed connected to a larger plan—or a private army—her allies are now aware that an organized attempt was made on her life.
“Should we succeed in our mission upon a second attempt, details of her death might then spread across the empire, inspiring vicious rumors that would cause strife between Jinn and Clay. We cannot afford civil war,” his grandfather had insisted. “We must wait to proceed, then, until we know exactly who she’s working with, and what they’re capable of. We cannot, however, wait too long.”
The prince did not know how to undo what he himself had first set in motion. This servant girl seemed fated to be the death of him, and much as he longed to blame others for the position he was in, he could not.
He experienced only unceasing torment.
Kamran took an unsteady breath and startled, suddenly, at the unexpected figure of his aunt, who stood before him holding a teapot. Understanding dawned, but too slowly.
She gave him a strange look.
The prince murmured his thanks, held out his empty cup for a pour, and made himself conjure a smile.
“I’m certain you’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said to her. “Everything suits you.”
His aunt beamed.
King Zaal’s men, it turned out, had trailed the girl relentlessly for nearly two days, and in doing so had gleaned a great deal—but had not found evidence of a more nefarious connection.
“We need access to the girl’s quarters,” the king had explained. “Any sensitive information is doubtless hidden therein. But as she occupies her room at night, the best time to infiltrate is during the day, when she is working.”
“I see,” Kamran had said quietly. “And you cannot send mercenaries into Baz House in the light of day.”
“Then you understand. It is of the utmost importance to keep the crown’s interests—and concerns—as quiet as possible. Already we have risked a great deal by having her followed. If it gets out that the empire is worried about demon-like Jinn hiding in plain sight, the people will scare and turn on each other. But your visit to your aunt’s house will arouse no suspicion; in fact, she has long been expecting you.”
“Yes,” the prince had said. “I am in possession of my dear aunt’s letters.”
“Very good. Your task is simple. Find an excuse to wander the house on your own and search the girl’s quarters extensively. Should you discover anything that seems even remotely unusual, I want to know.”
It was a strange predicament.
If Kamran could manage to be both smart and lucky, he might be able to fulfill this service to the king while sparing the girl a second attack on her life. He only needed proof that she was working with a formidable ally. The problem was, the prince did not agree with his grandfather’s conspiracy. Kamran did not think the girl had received help in dispatching the hired thugs, and as a result he did not know if he could help her. His only hope was to find something—no matter how tenuous the evidence—that might give the king pause.
Kamran heard the sharp trill of silver and china, a spoon stirring in a cup. He forced himself, once again, back to the present moment.
Duchess Jamilah was smiling.
She reached out without warning, placing her hand overtop Kamran’s. It was no small miracle that he managed not to flinch.
“I see that there is a great deal on your mind,” his aunt said kindly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you would visit even with so much to preoccupy your thoughts.”
“It’s always a pleasure to see my dear aunt,” Kamran said automatically. “I only hope you will forgive me for not coming by sooner.”
“I will forgive you as long as you promise to visit more often from here on out,” she said triumphantly, sitting back in her seat. “I have dearly missed having you here.”
Kamran smiled at his aunt.
It was a rare, genuine smile, stirred up by ancient affection. His aunt Jamilah was his father’s older cousin, and had been more of a mother figure to him than his own ever had. The prince had spent countless days— months, even—at Baz House during his life, and it was not a lie to say that he was happy to see his aunt now.
But then, it was not the same, either.
“As I have missed being here,” he said, staring, unseeing, at a glossy bowl of orange persimmons. He looked up. “How have you been? Are your knees still troubling you?”
“You remember your poor aunt’s ailments, do you?” She very nearly glowed with happiness. “What a thoughtful prince you are.”
Kamran denied himself the laugh building in his chest; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the effect he had on his aunt—though she required so little encouragement to praise him that it sometimes left him feeling ashamed.
“My knees are old,” she said simply. “Things begin to fall apart when they get old enough. Not much to be done about it. In any case, you need not worry about me when I’m so busy worrying about you.” A pause. “Are you merely preoccupied with your regular comings and goings? Or is there something troubling you, my dear?”
Kamran did not answer at first, choosing instead to study the filigree of his teacup. “Are you quite certain,” he said finally, “that it is age alone that accounts for our steady decline? If so, I am forced to wonder. Perhaps you and I are the same age, aunt, for I fear I may be falling apart, too.”
His aunt’s expression grew suddenly mournful; she squeezed his hand. “Oh, my dear. I do so wish—”
“Forgive me. Would you be so kind as to indulge me a brief interlude? I’d love to wander the house a short while, and clear away my nostalgia
with fresh memories of your beautiful home.”
“Of course, dear child!” Duchess Jamilah placed her teacup down with a bit too much force. “This is your home as much as it is mine. Though I hope you will forgive me, as I cannot join you on your tour. My knees, as you know, cannot bear all the stairs unless absolutely necessary.”
“Not at all.” He stood and bowed his head. “Please remain here at your leisure, and I will rejoin you directly.”
She beamed somehow brighter. “Very good. I will see to luncheon in your absence. All will be ready for you when you’re finished with your wander.”
Kamran nodded. “I’ll not be long.”
