All This Twisted Glory, page 10
“Dinner?” said Kamran, alarmed. “When we’ve yet to endure breakfast?”
“I don’t— But it’s the only dress I have—” attempted Huda, who was blushing fiercely.
“Your Majesty, please—” Hazan tried again.
“I think you look real pretty, miss,” insisted Omid, inching closer to the girl as if he might protect her. “Don’t listen to her—”
“Dinner, of course,” Sarra said, baring her teeth at Kamran in an unnatural smile. “Needless to say, you will all stay at the palace for the duration of your visit. What a fine show you’ve put on just now, what a lavish gift it was for the royal household to glimpse the glorious Simorgh and her children! It was the viewing of a lifetime, one even the youngest members of our staff will cherish forever. I should like to thank you for this spectacular performance—and for this unmistakable overture of friendship. How thoughtless of my son to try to catch a ceremonial arrow in his hand! And to think, most of our visitors merely offer us jewels.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Hazan cut himself off with a foul oath. He shot a final, disgusted look at the Queen Mother, stomped over to Cyrus, gathered up the king’s body, and hoisted him over his shoulders.
Kamran watched this happen with no small amount of astonishment. Cyrus was taller and broader than even he was—the deadweight of such a man would be extraordinary. He knew Hazan possessed immense Jinn strength, but this was still a fairly new revelation, and Kamran marveled at the ease with which his old minister carried Cyrus now. Hazan pushed past their small crowd, circumventing Sarra to hurry toward the closest entrance. He tried the handle and, finding it was locked, bellowed a brief warning before kicking down the door.
It collapsed with an earsplitting crash.
Omid and Huda screamed. Deen muttered a faint dear God under his breath. Even Kamran was stunned. He glanced at Sarra for a reaction, and she revealed nothing more than irritation.
“Your king is injured!” Hazan cried as he stepped over the threshold, and he was swarmed at once by harried servants. “He needs medical attention immediately—”
“King Cyrus!” a snoda cried.
“I thought she said it was all a show—”
“Do you think—?”
“—been injured by accident—”
“But the king never gets injured—”
“Where is the surgeon?”
“Someone call for a Diviner!”
“—said to never call for the Diviners—”
“Hurry! Hurry!”
Kamran and the others hastened toward the scene, and the prince watched, transfixed, as Hazan was mobbed, many hands reaching up to relieve him of the king’s weight. They carefully transferred Cyrus’s body into their own arms before dashing off into the belly of the castle, a woman who was ostensibly the housekeeper trailing after them all, looking as if she might burst into tears.
Kamran couldn’t help but compare this moment to one of his own: the night his grandfather had been murdered, when he’d been bested by Cyrus and left broken and dying. When his mother had finally freed him from the binds of magical paralysis, she’d disappeared—and he’d fallen to the floor. Not even a servant had been willing to step out of the shadows to come to his aid. In the end, only Omid had come to him; somehow, miraculously, despite receiving nothing but unkindness from the prince, the former street child had saved his life. It had been an enormous gift—one Kamran still struggled to appreciate—but it was nothing like the reception Cyrus received now. The hated king’s servants appeared to truly care for him, which was so foreign a concept to Kamran it was difficult to accept as fact. It was also entirely at odds with the reaction the young man had received from Sarra, his own mother.
Kamran was studying the woman carefully now, sizing her up as he might an opponent on the battlefield. She was watching the scene unfold as if it were a great disappointment. Kamran’s mother, for all her faults, had at least tried to help him in her strange way; Cyrus’s parent, meanwhile, had done everything she could to avoid assisting her own child.
She shook her head, offered a fleeting smile to the prince, and said, “Well, there’s always tomorrow,” before stepping inside.
Kamran remained frozen in the doorway.
Indeed, he knew not what new horrors awaited him here.
Thirteen
IN A COORDINATED EXHALATION OF fabric, the six of them were seated. Chair legs shuddered over a plush rug as footmen nudged the breakfast guests closer to the table—and then there was stillness. An awkward silence descended over the lushly appointed room, curious snodas peeping through the open doorway, heads bobbing in and out like so many chickens pecking. Sarra was seated at the head of the table, from where she watched them all with that unsettling smile. She seemed about to speak when there came a sudden jangle of silver; Omid had gathered up his flatware in one hand, inspecting the bunch as if it were a bouquet of flowers.
“Put those down,” Deen hissed from across the table.
Huda, who was seated next to Omid, pressed nervously on the boy’s arm, and he dropped the utensils to the table with a clatter.
Kamran closed his eyes in irritation.
“Why are there so many spoons?” he heard the child say. “And where is the food?”
Hazan shook his head at the boy, hard.
“But I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he whispered loudly. “And she said there’d be breakfast.”
“An interesting selection of companions you have,” said Sarra, subjecting Kamran to another uncomfortable inspection. “I imagine you’d only bring the finest entourage on such an . . . important journey. I expect they were the best Ardunia had to offer.”
The prince clenched his jaw. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the members of this ridiculous ensemble. He’d been mad with grief—with fear—when he’d made the ill-formed decisions to allow them into his life, and he was paying dearly for the oversight.
“Quite,” he replied coldly.
“Do you really mean that, sire?” said Omid, his head lifting. “Because I’ve always thought that you—”
Kamran shot him an ominous look and the boy sat back, his mouth snapping shut. Hells, it was like corralling cows.
Sarra turned her gaze to Omid. “What is your name, dear?”
The child startled, upsetting his silverware again. “I’m Omid Shekarzadeh, ma’am. I’m from Fesht province.”
“Yes, so you said.”
He nodded.
“How old are you, Omid?”
“I’m twelve years old, ma’am.”
“And what is your business with the crown prince of Ardunia?”
Kamran visibly winced.
“Oh,” said Omid, puffing out his chest. “I’m the home minister, ma’am. It’s my job to keep the prince safe at all times.”
Sarra lit up as if struck by lightning, eyes gleaming with pleasure. She then projected the full force of this pleasure at Kamran, who, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to burst into flames.
“Indeed?” she said softly, eyes on the prince. “Twelve years old, far too many spoons, and your job is to keep His Highness safe. Of all the candidates the grand empire of Ardunia might’ve considered for such a position”—she turned again toward Omid—“the role was given to you. Goodness, you must be so proud.”
“Oh, I am.” He nodded eagerly. “Very proud, ma’am.”
Kamran pinched the bridge of his nose and very nearly groaned.
“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me,” Hazan muttered under his breath. “Idiot.”
The prince glared at him.
“And what is your duty here?” Sarra turned her cloying smile on Deen, who seemed to shrink under her attention.
“I’m—I’m an apothecarist, Your Majesty.”
When she continued to stare, he grew nervous and began to ramble.
“I own and operate an apothecary in the royal square. In Setar. That is, in Ardunia. I learned the trade from my mother. Started when I was a boy. I come h-highly recommended. Excellent reviews. Customers are pleased.”
Sarra drew back, hmming as she considering this, and seemed to decide he was a sensible choice for a royal retinue.
“You,” she said to Huda. “What purpose do you serve?”
Huda blanched.
She looked around uncertainly, her brown eyes wide with fear, and for the first time, Kamran studied her in earnest. Her hideous yellow gown was travel-worn and dusty, streaks of dirt visible along the frilly sleeves and high ruff, which was presently choking her throat. She appeared to have no neck. She wore no jewels save a small, glittering stud of an earring, and only in one ear. Her hair was scraped back from her face in an unadorned knot that did her no favors, and, in fact, gave her head the unfortunate appearance of an egg. Kamran had never spent long considering Huda, for he’d never felt there was much to consider. He was not surprised, however, to find himself observing her now, for it was his practice to form a thorough assessment of his adversaries—and it was safe to say that this infuriating chit had recently made an enemy of him.
She had some charms, however.
On a different occasion in her acquaintance he’d noted her elegant bone structure, but he noticed now that she had deep, inky eyes that looked perpetually languid, ready for bed. It was the kind of half-lidded gaze that reminded him, with a twinge of awareness, that her birth mother was a courtesan.
“Well?” Sarra snapped.
Huda flinched.
It was negligible—the way she jolted, briefly squeezing her eyes shut—and Kamran would’ve missed it had he not been staring at her directly. Yet he frowned at this, for it had seemed an involuntarily reaction of one bracing for violence. It made him wonder whether she’d been struck as a child, and he was shocked by the spark of anger he experienced at the thought. Huda clasped her trembling hands before tucking them out of sight; he watched as she drew breath before she smiled, as if she were summoning courage.
“I—well, that is—I’m not sure a person should be reduced to a single purpose,” she said, “for the human heart is known to contain such diversity of feeling and expression—”
“She’s here for the queen,” Hazan flatly supplied.
Kamran glanced at him.
“Miss Huda is lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty.”
Huda sank back in her seat with relief, staring gratefully at Hazan.
“Lady-in-waiting to the queen?” Sarra was saying, intrigued. She sat up straighter, then steepled her hands under her chin. “Is it she who requires you to wear such hideous clothes, darling? Has she demanded you diminish your beauty in her presence?”
Kamran almost choked. As if Alizeh’s otherworldly beauty could ever be threatened by Huda, who continued to resemble an egg swaddled in the implausible scramble of its own yolk. He made a great effort to suppress a laugh, only for Huda to level him a glare so murderous it was practically treason. By the angels, Kamran was going to be a bloody king.
Men had been executed for lesser offenses.
He returned her glare with a furious glower of his own, briefly blinded by an outrageous desire to throw her over his shoulder, toss her in a boat, and send her out to sea.
“A terrible shame,” Sarra went on. “You look about as absurd as a court jester. And that ghastly shade of yellow, with your complexion! It’s very nearly criminal. Then again”—she smiled—“royalty can be odiously self-important. I would know.”
“Forgive me, ma’am, but you’re quite mistaken,” said Huda, her face ablaze with heat. “This gown was selected by my mother.”
“Your mother?” Sarra stared. “Good heavens. Does the woman hate you?”
Huda ignored this question with a thin smile. “Alizeh—that is, Queen Alizeh—”
Kamran winced.
“—is tremendously kind. I can’t imagine she’d ever force me to wear an ugly garment. In fact,” said Huda, warming to the idea, “in fact, she’s an exceptional seamstress. Just days ago I’d commissioned her to make me a rather beautiful gown, but sadly there wasn’t time to finish the job, and I’d no choice but to wear one of my older frocks on this journey.”
Hazan swore under his breath again and Kamran was tempted to do the same. Sarra had gone still, staring at Huda as if she’d lost her mind.
“You commissioned her?” the woman echoed. “You commissioned a queen, you mean, to make you a gown? Are you daft, girl? Tell me you aren’t serious.”
Huda looked around nervously before biting her lip. “No?” At the warning look from Hazan, she cleared her throat. “N-No. Certainly not,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t at all serious.”
Sarra lost her patience then.
“You,” she barked, turning to Hazan. “You seem to be the piece most likely to finish this puzzle. Tell me what you know of the girl.”
“What I know of her is none of your business.”
Omid gasped; Deen paled. Kamran almost cracked a smile.
The Queen Mother straightened in her chair, appraising Hazan now as if she might eat him. She sent a fleeting look at the footmen lining the back wall, made a gesture with her fingers, and the footmen were at once dispersed. There was the snick of a door closing before she pasted on an angry smile.
“None of my business?” she said, her eyes glittering with fury. “I know nothing of her origins, nothing of her parents— The girl is to be my daughter-in-law, and I’ve only recently learned of her title—”
“Your daughter-in-law?” Kamran cut her off, alarmed. He nearly stood from the table. Hell, he nearly lost his head. “You mean— It’s true? They are to be married—”
“No,” Hazan said sharply. “It’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true,” Sarra countered. “That’s why you’re here, of course. To attend the impending nuptials as guests of my son’s bride. To forge peace between our empires after all the recent ugliness. To prevent war.” She shot a loaded look at Kamran. “Certainly not for any other reason.”
The prince’s heart was pounding too fast. “This is intolerable,” he said, turning to Hazan. “She’s going to marry him? Did you know about this?”
“She’s consented to wed that foul man?” said Huda, looking ill. “That can’t be right.”
“No.” Omid was shaking his head. “Alizeh is a good lady, and he’s an awful, horrible, murdering, OW—” The boy frowned at Deen. “Why’d you kick me?”
“You can’t insult the king in his own castle, boy—”
“Kamran—listen to me—it’s not true, she hasn’t accepted him yet—”
“Yet?” he exploded. “What do you mean, she hasn’t accepted him yet?”
For a moment, Kamran could’ve sworn he heard Sarra laughing; but when he looked at her, she appeared entirely composed.
“Here I was thinking I understood the motivations for your visit,” she said to him, her smile growing wider. “Now I see why you’ve truly come.”
“You spread unsubstantiated lies,” Hazan protested.
“Lies?” Sarra’s eyes widened. “Ask any servant in the palace what’s preoccupied their time lately; they’ll tell you they’ve been preparing for the arrival of the king’s bride.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s going to marry him—”
“Then why, pray tell, did I intercept her leaving my son’s bedchamber just last night?”
Pain shot through Kamran’s chest at that, radiating up his throat. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
“You amuse yourself, ma’am,” Hazan said angrily, “by planting seeds of discord. Her Majesty has no understanding with the king. Entering a bedchamber is proof of nothing.”
“It’s fairly damning,” Huda said, biting her lip. “Much as I hate to admit it. What other reason could she—”
“You would stoop to assume the worst of her based on an unsupported claim from a woman clearly delighting in our destruction?” Hazan was furious. “Where is your good sense?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Huda, shaking her head quickly. “Truly, I didn’t—I just— Oh, please, I’m so very tired—”
“She lies, Kamran. I asked Alizeh this morning whether she was betrothed to the Tulanian king, and she told me emphatically that she was not. Despite having received an offer of marriage, she’s still considering her options—”
“Considering her options? That she would even consider marriage to the man who killed my grandfather—who nearly killed me—who murdered our Diviners—”
“And who are you,” Sarra said to Hazan, her eyes hardening, “to call me a liar? What purpose do you serve here in this royal court of misfits?” She held up a finger. “No, wait—let me guess. Things are becoming clearer, I see it now. At first I’d assumed that you, the boldest of these simpletons—”
“Simpletons?” Deen drew back, offended. “I was trained at the Royal Academy—my shop has been exalted in The Daftar numerous times—”
“—had traveled here in service to the prince. The only capable companion, the only one with a working brain—”
“I beg your pardon—”
“I took you for a knight. I realize only now that your allegiance is, in fact, with the girl—and I’d love to know why. Who are you?” She tilted her head at Hazan. “So fiercely impassioned. So loyal. Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, too?”
Huda drew a sharp breath.
“Good heavens,” Deen said softly, then looked at Omid, who was shaking his head in horror.
Kamran, who’d never before considered this possibility, was entirely rattled. Slowly, he turned to face his friend.
It was a long, torturous moment before Hazan said, in a lethal whisper, “How dare you.”
At that, the room seemed to exhale, and Sarra appeared to blossom.
“Oh, I think I like you,” she said. “I suppose I’ll let your troupe live long enough to see the bride in all her glory.”
“But I thought”—Huda gaped—“I thought you’d already decided to let us live. In fact, I thought we’d come here to have breakfast.”
