These Infinite Threads, page 19
She felt bolted to the ground.
“Alizeh?” said Cyrus urgently. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“You can’t hear that,” she managed to whisper, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. “Can you?”
“Hear what?”
The woman in the street was still screaming, sobbing hysterically and shrieking.
“Alizeh?”
“Cyrus.” She was breathing hard, and reached for his arm without looking, clenching a fistful of his shirtsleeve. “Why didn’t you tell me that Jinn in Tulan were allowed to use their strengths openly?”
“You”—he looked down, confused, at her death grip—“you never asked. And we’ve had a number of other things to . . .”
Cyrus inhaled sharply.
His eyes went wide as—Alizeh could only imagine—the screaming girl came suddenly into view. The young woman had likely lost control of her invisibility in the furor, and her screams echoed through the avenue now, as people of all kinds came running from every direction. They tried to help the girl up, but she wouldn’t be moved. She shook off their assistance, alternately pointing at Alizeh and dragging her hands down her face.
Alizeh could feel Cyrus panic.
“Let’s go,” he said, “right now—”
“No— I can’t— I can’t just leave her—”
A crowd was gathering now, eyes following the direction of the young woman’s outstretched finger, and as the shouts and whispers reached a stunning crescendo, the screaming woman broke somehow further, a tortured expression overtaking her face—a mix of something like joy and grief—tears still streaking down her cheeks. She finally managed intelligible speech.
“It’s true,” she cried. “They said you were here— I didn’t believe— But it’s true—”
“Who?” someone else called out. “Who is she?”
“The servant boy from the palace,” a man shouted, “he said—”
“No— It can’t be—”
“Alizeh,” Cyrus said urgently, “I know you asked me not to use magic on you, but please, let me get you out of here—”
“In the Ardunian newspaper, from last night—”
“No, long before that, we’ve been hearing whispers for days—”
“I can’t leave,” Alizeh said desperately, her pulse skyrocketing. “Can I? These people, they’re—they’re my responsibility—”
Cyrus tugged her sharply back as the crowd surged forward, and her hat fell to the ground with a dull thud. There was no time to retrieve it. The mass wasted no time swarming her as one, trying to get a better look.
“Her eyes!”
“And her hair! She wears a crown!”
“It’s just as they said—”
“My wife’s cousin in Setar sent her a letter, swore it was her, said it had to be—”
“Heard she was in hiding all this time—”
“I remember those rumors—nearly twenty years ago—”
“Angels above, I heard it, too, but I didn’t believe—”
“Our prayers have been answered!” cried an older woman, who was weeping into her hands. “It’s finally happened, and in my lifetime—I never dared to hope, even as my brother has been jailed in Forina for seventeen years—”
“And my mother, in Stol province, they cut off her feet—”
“Justice!” someone screamed. “Justice will come to this rotting earth!”
Alizeh lost her footing then, nearly falling over until Cyrus caught her and turned her firmly in his arms, hiding her face in his chest.
“Please,” he whispered against her hair. “Please let me get you out of here— You’re not ready for this, and they’re not ready for you—”
“You must start with the prisons, Your Majesty!” another woman cried. “Our brothers and sisters are treated worse than animals in the Soroot empire—”
“And in Zeldan—”
“They still bury the children in Sheffat—”
Alizeh absorbed each blow, each statement gutting her, every sentence cutting deeper, these reminders of her purpose, her duty, snatching the breath from her lungs.
“Does she not speak? I don’t understand—”
“The snoda from the castle, he said she’d spoken to him—smiled at him—”
“I thought he said she was here to marry the king—”
Alizeh gasped, her chest heaving.
“Our king? King Cyrus?”
“For months he’s been preparing rooms for a bride—he’s made no secret of it—”
“But you’re sure it’s her?”
“Servants said she arrived this morning! That she moved into the palace—”
“Who’s she with, then? I can’t see his face—”
“Is that the king, you think?”
“The king? In the middle of broad daylight?” Someone laughed. “I think not—”
“Hear he killed Zaal? In his own home?”
“Yes, and I heard the depraved monster deserved it—”
“Long live King Cyrus!” a voice rang out. “Long live our queen!”
Alizeh’s heart was beating too hard in her chest. She felt dangerously light-headed. She was dizzy with emotion, with panic, and plagued by a disorienting suspicion that she might be dreaming.
“Alizeh, please, stand up— Alizeh—”
“Why do they like you?” she whispered, her lips moving against his throat, even as her head filled with static. “I thought they would hate you—”
“Please, Your Highness,” a man shouted. “Say something—we beg you to speak—”
“Forgive me,” Cyrus whispered, holding her tighter. “I know you didn’t want me to, but I won’t wait any longer—”
“Cyrus,” she breathed, closing her eyes against the spinning world. “I think I’m going to faint.”
“My queen!” screamed the first woman, whose voice Alizeh suspected she’d remember for the rest of her life. “My queen, you’ve finally”—she gasped, still sobbing hysterically—“you’ve finally come for us, after all this time—”
Quite suddenly, they disappeared.
Twenty
THEY’D SHIFTED THROUGH SPACE SO smoothly that Alizeh hadn’t even realized they’d left the chaotic avenue until they materialized, a moment later, in the middle of an expansive flower field. Neither had she realized she was silently crying, not until she felt the wet of Cyrus’s sweater under her cheek.
With painstaking care he let go of her, drawing away in cautious movements before helping her to the ground, where she sank with a grateful sigh for only a moment before tipping slowly over. She curled onto her side, crushing a bed of tulips under her body, and experiencing all the while a physical reaction she didn’t understand. Her limbs felt dead and leaden. She was colder than she’d ever been, more exhausted than she’d ever felt, and her head seemed impossible to hold upright. Her numb fingers could hardly manage to unclasp the heavy collar from around her neck, which felt now like it was choking her, and with a final, exhausting effort, she tore it away from her throat and tossed the glittering piece to the ground.
She took a deep, shaky breath.
Alizeh could still feel those people—she still heard their voices—her lungs compressing under the weight of their hopes, her ribs cracking under the heft of their dreams.
She’d never longed for her parents more than she did in that very moment, wishing for guidance, for someone to tell her that she was strong enough, that she was worthy. That she should rise, now, more than ever.
That she would not fail if she did.
“Alizeh,” he whispered. “You’re scaring me.”
She heard his familiar voice and opened her eyes at the sound, searching for his face. Instead, everywhere she looked were flowers. She smelled grass, the welcome scent of overturned soil, the freshness of dew. Her wet cheek was pressed against the velvet petals of many tulips; a trio of bees were buzzing near her nose. She felt she might live here forever, might rest her weary head upon this flower bed and pretend, for a moment, that she was still a child.
“Please,” said Cyrus. “At least tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said, sniffing softly. She closed her eyes again, let the flowers dry her tears.
“What do you mean?” he said, alarmed. “Why impossible?”
“Well,” she said, “because I’ve recently deduced that you’re quite charmingly pathetic.”
He sighed. “Really? You’re choosing this moment to insult me?”
“And I have a theory,” she went on, “that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?”
He went silent.
He was silent so long Alizeh had time enough to watch a drop of dew drip off a glossy green leaf.
“True or false, Cyrus?”
She heard his uneven exhale, the raw edge to his voice when he said, irritably, “False.”
The nosta flashed cold.
“Liar,” she whispered.
“I don’t care for this game.”
“Where are we, by the way?” she asked, her eyes landing on a particularly purple tulip, the color so vivid it seemed imagined.
In response, Cyrus did not say what was obvious, which was that they were in a flower field; instead he answered the more specific question she’d failed to ask, and said simply, “Somewhere safe.”
“Safe?” she said, managing a small smile. “Even with you here?”
It was a moment before he said, quietly, “Yes.”
The nosta warmed.
Alizeh still hadn’t seen him. She couldn’t see him. The tulips were tall, her head was heavy, and she felt no inclination to move. She wondered whether Cyrus was sitting just to the side of her, and tried to picture him in his austere black clothes, perched in a sea of flowers, his long legs pulled up to his chest like a boy. His hair, she thought, would look very nice against all the green.
“And is there magic here, too?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Alizeh reached a tired hand toward a wilted bloom, stroking its broken neck and sleepy petals, and the flower wriggled under her touch, straining to stand upright. She realized then that the blooms would pop straight back up once she left.
“Someone would have to walk for miles to find you here,” he said, answering another question she hadn’t asked. “There’s no direct path to this field.”
“Then what purpose does it serve?”
“What do you mean?”
“The flower field,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a wild field—for it seems planted intentionally—but you say there’s no way to access it. And if it’s been enchanted to bloom always, I have to assume the stems aren’t meant to be sold at market. So why is it here? Who put it here?”
“The field exists simply to exist. There are thousands of different types of flowers here,” he explained. “It’s meant to be a kind of living painting; an experience with beauty meant to invigorate the tired senses.”
Alizeh nearly lifted her head, she was so surprised. “That’s why you brought me here?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“You mean, you were trying to console me?”
“Bloody hell, Alizeh, knock it off.”
“All right, okay,” she said with a sigh.
“Good.”
“Me?” she said again. “You were trying to console me?”
“You know what, you can walk back to the castle—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise I’m really done this time.” She bit the inside of her cheek, and then—very, very softly—she said, “I do hope you know how grateful I am that you brought me here. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Yes, well,” he said, taking a sharp breath. “You strike me as precisely the sort of maudlin person who would appreciate the company of flowers while crying.”
She sat with that for a moment, trying to decode it. “Do you know,” she said finally, “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I think it was.”
He laughed quietly at that and she did, too, and the two of them fell into a companionable silence, studiously avoiding the most obvious topic of conversation. Alizeh didn’t know what Cyrus was doing where he sat, but if he had any idea how ardently she was now mulling over the prospect of taking over his empire, he said nothing about it.
Alizeh, for her part, was tickling the stems of tired flowers, watching them squirm while she deliberated. She was grateful for the moment of quiet, for her mind was a distorted mess.
If ever she’d doubted her place in the world before, she knew now unequivocally that there were people waiting for her—people who would follow her—and to whom she was tethered by birth and fate, duty-bound to lead and unify.
And yet, for years this had seemed impossible.
It had been easy to tell herself that she could do nothing about so large a problem when she lacked a crown to make her queen, an empire over which to rule, and resources to help her people. But now—how could she willingly walk away from her responsibilities when an easy answer was sitting right there next to her, offering up his castle, his title, his land, and his people?
She’d be a fool to say no.
Then again, the obvious answer to so many of her problems was also entangled in the wishes of Iblees, who’d orchestrated this circus from its inception. He’d likely nudged her into this exact moment through devious means, having found ways to bend her emotions to his will without ever saying a word. Her parents had once warned her that her heart, if tuned precisely to compassion, would become a two-pronged tool: it would be her greatest strength and her greatest weakness.
She’d never really understood what they’d meant, for it had been difficult to imagine how empathy, so necessary in an emotional arsenal, might prove a weapon of destruction. But now she knew—now it was clear to her that the devil, who was a master of pinpointing and exploiting a person’s greatest weakness, had struck her target straight and true, and would use her compassion against her until she broke.
What would happen, she wondered, if she accepted Cyrus’s proposal—if she fulfilled her destiny?
How might the devil intervene?
She sighed and the sound carried, awakening a rustle of movement in her neighbor.
“Cyrus?” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
She could almost feel him stiffen in response. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Yes, I realize that, but may I ask anyway?”
He sighed.
“Why do you always wear black?” she said. “It doesn’t suit your coloring at all.”
“Pass.”
“You’re not going to answer?” said Alizeh, taken aback. “But it’s such a gentle question.”
“Oh, and you have less gentle questions for me, do you?” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“A great deal, in fact.”
“Once again, I’ll pass.”
“Cyrus,” she said patiently, “you can’t just ask a girl to marry you and then decline to answer a single question about yourself.”
“Try me.”
“Fine. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
He cleared his throat and said, quietly, “Pass.”
“You do have siblings? Really? Where do—”
“Next question.”
She hesitated, feeling dejected, and resolved to ask him something a bit meaner. “All right, then. Maybe you can explain to me why the people of Tulan don’t seem to hate you.”
“Hate me?” He laughed at that. “Why should they hate me?”
“You’re surprised,” she said, more a statement than question. “That’s interesting. But you took the throne in such a bloody, violent manner— It was in fact so brutal a takeover it was talked about all over the world. There was also a great deal of speculation as to your mental state and your ability to rule—”
“I was not the first in history to claim a crown in an unsavory manner,” he said coldly, “and I will not be the last. In the end, citizens care most about clean water, fair wages, good harvests, and a carefully managed treasury. I take care of my people. I give them no reason to hate me.”
“But people in Ardunia really seem to hate you,” she pointed out quietly. “A lot.”
He laughed again, this time with some anger. “They hate me only because they fear me.”
“Should they fear you?”
“Yes.”
The nosta warmed at that, and Alizeh’s heart beat a little faster. “Very well,” she said, bracing herself. “I’m going to ask you possibly the harshest question now.”
“What?” he said sharply.
Alizeh held her breath and waited, just until she heard him sigh.
Gently, he said, “What is it?”
“Was your father— Was he a terrible man? Is that why you killed him?”
Cyrus fell silent for so long that the sounds of the world around them came into brighter focus. The hush of a restless wind grew fiercer, the chirps of busy birds grew louder; flowers swayed as clouds parted and passed, making paths for the setting sun to glimmer through leaves and branches, dappling all in a heavy, golden light. She heard crickets and bees, parted her lips to draw breath, tasted the chill before it pressed against her skin.
Most of all, she could hear him breathing.
“Cyrus,” she said finally. “Will you not answer me?”
“I don’t want to talk about my father.”
“But—”
“I won’t discuss it.”
“How am I supposed to trust you,” she said, “if I can’t understand why you did such a gruesome thing?”
“You don’t have to trust me.”
“Of course I do.” She frowned. “You’re making me enormous promises, and I have to believe that you mean them—that you’ll fulfill your end of the bargain—”
“I’ll make you a blood oath.”
Alizeh went very, very still. “No,” she said, exhaling the word. “Absolutely not.”
