ALIZEH HAD SPIRALED AS SHE fell, plummeting through layers of night, nearing a death that grazed her skin without claiming her soul. She thought she’d heard herself scream as she tumbled, but she’d wondered, too, in a flickering moment, whether she might actually be dreaming, whether her whole life was not some strange, shimmering tapestry, infinite threads of nonsense.
She’d felt her feet hit the ground first, the impact shuddering up her legs, her hips, rattling her teeth. When she opened her eyes she’d crashed against him, braced herself against his chest. Music roared in her ears as she reared back, her head spinning, the din of chatter and laughter piercing the fog of her mind, the smell of sugar in her nose, the crush of bodies against her skin.
There was heat and sweat, sound and sensation—too much of everything. Still, she realized at once where she was, and worried right away for Miss Huda. She pushed away from the stranger and began to search for her new friend, wondering whether the girl had made it through, wondering whether she’d lost forever the ability to speak.
Alizeh trusted the stranger no longer.
She didn’t care if he was an ally of Hazan’s. How could she now believe anything he said? He’d proven both cruel and capricious, and she would never again le—
Someone took her hand and Alizeh spun, startled, to discover the very same blue-eyed, capricious stranger. She stared at their clasped hands, then at his face, wondering whether she imagined the terror that flitted in and out of his eyes.
“Where are you going?” He sounded different; the antithesis of the impassive young man she’d first met. “You don’t intend to run away, do you?”
Alizeh was so surprised by the fear in his eyes that she laughed. “No, I’m not running away, you ridiculous creature. I’m searching for Miss Huda. She is doubtless terrified somewhere and unable to call for help— because of what you did to her.”
Alizeh tugged her hand free from his and pushed on through the crowd, grateful for the protections offered her by the gown—and then frowned, biting her lip as she remembered who’d given her the garment.
He’d not lied to her about this, at least. The dress really was a miracle.
People seemed to pass by her as if she did not exist, their gazes never quite touching her face. It was unsettling to think so many strangers did not wish her well, but it was a comfort, too, not to worry about her eyes or her snoda. There was no one here to spit at her, no one to shove her out of the way, no one to order her to scrub feces out of porous stonework.
Still, Alizeh was made uneasy by the knowledge that she owed this peculiar stranger any thanks for her safety, for everything about him seemed suddenly traitorous. If he had the ability to render Miss Huda mute, what might he do to Alizeh if she crossed him? In fact, it was possible the dress and shoes were a trap. What if they’d been bewitched to carry her somewhere unsafe? What if she followed her feet to her own demise? Perhaps she should discard the gown—or destroy it. But then what about the shoes? What would she wear instead?
How would she escape?
“I have undone it,” the stranger called, trailing close behind. Alizeh started, turned back. “You’ve undone what?”
“The other girl. The loud one,” he said. “She will be able to speak again.” He made no effort to lower his voice even as he closed the gap between them, evincing no apparent worry for being overheard.
It made Alizeh wonder whether he carried magical protections on his own garments, too.
“You’ve undone it, just like that?” Alizeh said, staring at him as he approached. His was a disconcertingly fickle character.
“Yes,” he said. Up close, his eyes were a truly shocking shade of blue, all the more so under the refracted light of so many chandeliers. “In
exchange, I ask for your word that you will not run away, no matter what happens.”
“My word?” she said, surprised. “But why are you so worried I might try to run away?”
“Because this night will be difficult. I was sent here to collect you, which is my primary goal, but while I’m here I intend to complete certain tasks, in return for which I will be absolved of some rather large debts.” A pause. “Do you frighten easily?”
Alizeh bristled at this. “You insult me even by asking the question.” “Good. Then I ask for your word.”
“You will not have it.”
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I will only grant such a request if you first swear you won’t harm her.” “Who? The loud girl?”
“Swear you won’t hurt her, or use magic on her—” “Oh, come now, you ask for too much.”
“You want my word I will not run away?” Alizeh said. “Well, I need to be able to trust you. Give me your word that you will not harm her. That is my condition.”
“Very well,” he said bitterly. “But I must warn you—if you go back on your promise, there will be repercussions.”
“What kinds of repercussions?” “I will not be nice to you.”
Alizeh laughed. “Do you mean to imply that you are being nice to me now?”
“I will come find you at half past the hour,” he said, scowling. “I must escort you to our transport before midnight, else our ride will fall asleep, and getting things running again will cost us a great deal of time.”
“Our ride will fall asleep? Don’t you mean the driver?”
He ignored this. “Do fetch the girl, and quickly, for I fear she will be difficult to corral.”
Alizeh frowned. “And what will you be doing?”
“As I mentioned, I’ve a bit of business to settle. It shouldn’t take long.” “A bit of business?” Alizeh felt a flutter of nerves at that. “With Hazan,
you mean?”
The stranger blinked. “Hazan?”
“Yes—I have a great many questions for him. Where is he now, do you know? Will he make it to the ball?”
The stranger’s eyes widened, then narrowed, not unlike the focus on a telescope. “I don’t know.”
“Oh.” Alizeh bit her lip. “Well, will y—”
“For now, just fix upon finding that girl. If you need help getting anywhere, your shoes will deliver you where you need to go.”
“If that’s true, why must you be the one to take me to my transport?”
“Because it’s my transport,” he said in a flash of anger, “and you’re only meant to borrow it.”
She recoiled at that, at the venom in his voice.
“And I’ll have you know,” he said, “that while you’re so busy wondering whether I’m reliable, I’m wondering the same about you. I can assure you, Your Highness, that I do not want to be here, either. I am forced into your company only by the order of a merciless master, and I’m not at all pleased about it.”
Alizeh opened her mouth to protest but the stranger turned abruptly away—and left.
She watched him push through the crowd, disappearing into a sea of bodies with ease. How he moved so quickly among so many was both surprising and confusing, though not nearly as much as his last words.
He was forced into her company by a merciless master? That didn’t sound like Hazan, but then, what did she really know of him? Of anyone?
Alizeh stared at the broad back of the stranger as he retreated, at the simple lines of his black ensemble, the peculiar hat he carried in one hand.
She could not take the measure of him, and it worried her. How could she reliably place her life in the hands of someone she could not trust?
With a sigh, Alizeh turned to go, stopping only when she saw her blue- eyed companion intercepted by Hazan himself, the back of his dusty-blond head a stark contrast to the rich amber of the stranger’s copper.
Alizeh nearly cried for relief.
So they did know each other; they had indeed planned her escape together. A crashing wave of calm overcame her nerves, soothing her many worries. The stranger’s methods were unorthodox, yes, but she’d been wrong; he was not untrustworthy. He had undone his hex on Miss Huda, he’d given his word he’d not hurt the young woman, and now she had proof that he’d not lied to her. All this time Alizeh had trusted the nosta to guide
her, but there was great comfort to be derived from the kind of proof only her own eyes might provide.
Finally, Alizeh felt as if she could breathe.
He and Hazan were speaking quickly now, and Alizeh was torn between searching for Miss Huda and joining their small party. She had so many questions for Hazan she was eager to ask, and perhaps—
Perhaps if she did not search for Miss Huda, she might not find the girl, and could then safely allow the young woman to return to her life. After all, what difference would it really make if Miss Huda told people what she’d seen? Alizeh would be long gone by then.
Though it was possible the gossip would not hurt her, but her blue-eyed companion. Knowing now that he was not a wretch made it harder for her to be careless with his life, especially as she considered all he’d done to spare hers.
Alizeh bit her lip, her eyes darting back and forth between the room at large, and the tall forms of the two young men.
Oh, dash it all.
She would let Miss Huda go. She needed to speak with Hazan; there was too much uncertainty.
Alizeh began forcing her way back through the crush, weaving between bodies to catch up with the gentlemen, who’d begun moving quickly in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” she called out. “Where are y—”
The copper-headed stranger turned around at that, catching her eyes with a narrowing of his own. He gave her a single, firm headshake.
Danger, he seemed to say. Do not follow.
Alizeh felt the nosta warm, and she gasped in surprise. How had the nosta understood an unspoken warning?
She stood in place, struck still by the many curiosities of the evening, when she felt the dregs of a familiar, silky whisper flood her head, fill her with dread.
A crawling fear overtook her heart, shattered across her skin, filled her mouth with heat.
Blindly, she ran.
It was panic that propelled her jerky movements, panic that sought irrational escape, as if she could ever outrun the devil. She knew the futility
of retreat even as she pushed desperately through the densely packed room, even as she knew her efforts were in vain.
Like vapor, his whisper filled her head. Beware the gold, the crown, the eye “No,” she cried as she ran. “No, n—”
Beware the gold, the crown, the eye One is a king who is loath to die
“Stop,” Alizeh shouted, clapping her hands around her ears. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed air, needed to flee the crush of the crowd. “Get out, get out of my head—”
Beware the gold, the crown, the eye One is a king who is loath to die
Ford the darkness, scale the wall Two have a friend who is foe to all
“Leave me alone! Please, just leave me alone—”
The serpent, the saber, the fiery light Three will storm and rage and fight
Alizeh caught a marble column around the middle and sagged against it, pressing her uncommonly overheated cheek to its cool skin. “Please,” she gasped. “I beg you— Leave me be—”
Always the jester will interfere
For there cannot be three sovereigns here
Something broke, smoke unclenching from around her throat, and just like that, he was gone.
Alizeh felt dizzy in the aftermath, breathless with fear. She pressed herself against the glossy marble, felt the cold penetrate her skin through her gauzy gown. She’d been so certain she’d freeze in this dress, but she’d
not anticipated the crush of bodies, their collective heat, the unusual warmth she’d feel this night.
Alizeh closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing.
She didn’t know where she was and she didn’t care; she could hardly hear her own thoughts over the sound of her heart, beating wildly in her chest.
She’d not even been able to decode the first riddle she’d received from the devil—how was she supposed to understand this second one?
Worse, so much worse: his visits had proven over and over to be an omen. It was just days ago that he’d filled her head with whispers of misery, and oh, how she’d suffered the consequences. How dramatically had her life changed and collapsed since she last heard his voice in her head? What did that mean for her now? Would she lose every crumb of hope she’d recently collected?
There was no precedent for this precipitous visit from Iblees. Alizeh usually experienced months, not days, of a reprieve before his torturous voice infected her mind again, bringing with it all manner of calamity and unrest.
How, now, would she be tortured? “Alizeh.”
She stiffened, turning to face an altogether different torment even as she grasped for purchase at the cool column. Alizeh’s heart pounded now in an entirely new fashion, her pulse fluttering dangerously at her throat.
Kamran stood before her, magnificently turned out in a heavy green coat, the open, buttonless front cinched closed with a complex emerald harness, his neck wrapped up to his chin in more gleaming jewels. His eyes were made impossibly darker with kohl, more devastating as they searched her now. But it was the glint of the circlet in his hair that sent a terrifying bolt through her heart.
He was a prince. She’d nearly forgotten.
“Alizeh,” he said again, though he whispered it now, staring at her with a longing he did nothing to conceal. The infinite darkness that was his eyes took in every detail of her face, her hair, even her gown. Alizeh felt weak standing this close to him, disjointed in her mind. Nothing was going according to plan.
How had he even spotted her in the melee?
She’d glimpsed him, briefly, from afar, watched him coolly receive a long line of guests she’d been certain would distract him through the night. Surely he had responsibilities he could not abandon—surely someone would soon be along to collect him—
The prince made a sound of distress that startled her, sharpening her instincts; Alizeh drew closer without thinking, stopping just short of touching him. She watched as Kamran winced a second time, gently tugging the collar away from his neck, doing his best to find relief without disturbing the artfully constructed ensemble.
“What is it?” Alizeh asked softly. “Are you in pain?”
He shook his head, attempting a brief laugh that did little to deny his obvious discomfort. “No, it’s nothing. It’s only that I find these costumes suffocating. This coat is supposed to be made of silk, but it’s frightfully stiff and coarse. It was uncomfortable before, but now I swear it feels as if it’s full of needles.” He grimaced again, pulling at the lapel of his coat.
“Needles?” Alizeh frowned. Tentatively, she touched him, felt him stiffen as she drew her hand along the emerald brocade, its raised embroidery. “Do you— Do you have a sensitivity to gold?”
His brows furrowed. “To gold?”
“This is silk, yes,” she explained, “but it’s silk woven with a gold-spun weft. The threads are, in some places, wrapped with gold fibers. And here”—she grazed the raised embroidery at the collar, at the lapels—“here it’s overlaid with yet more goldwork. These are real gold threads, did you not know?”
“No,” he said, but he was staring at her strangely; for a moment his gaze dropped to her mouth. “I didn’t know one might weave gold into fabric.”
Alizeh took a breath, stole back her hand.
“Yes,” she said. “The garment should feel heavy, and perhaps a bit rough against the skin, but it shouldn’t hurt you. It certainly shouldn’t feel like needles.”
“How do you know this?”
“Never mind that,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “What’s more important is that you are in pain.”
“Yes.” He took a step closer. “A great deal of it.”
“I’m—I’m sorry to hear it,” she said, nervous now. She began to ramble. “It’s quite rare, but I think you might have an aversion to gold. You should perhaps avoid wearing such textiles in future, and if you want a
softer fabric, you might be more specific and ask your seamstress for silk charmeuse, or satin, and avoid georgette and certain types of, of taffeta or— or even—”
She stopped breathing when he touched her, when his hands landed at her waist, then moved down her hips, his fingers grazing her skin through the layers of sheer fabric. She gasped, felt her back sink against the marble column.
He was so close.
He smelled like orange blossoms and something else, heat and musk, leather—
“Why did you come tonight?” he asked. “How? And your injuries— This dress—”
“Kamran—”
“Say you came back for me,” he whispered. There was a thread of desire in his voice that threatened the good sense in her head, her very composure. “Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind.”
“How—how can you even say such things,” she said, her hands beginning to tremble, “on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?”
“I choose you,” he said simply. “I want you.”
“We— Kamran, you cannot— You know it would be madness.”
“I see.” He bowed his head and drew away, leaving her cold. “So you’ve come for another reason entirely. Will you not share that reason with me now?”
Alizeh said nothing. She could think of nothing. She heard him sigh.
It was a moment before he said, “Then may I ask you a different question?”
“Yes,” she said, desperate to say something. “Yes, of course.”
He looked up, met her eyes. “How, precisely, do you know the Tulanian king?”
