Page 15 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Fourteen

ALIZEH FOUGHT TO COLLECT HERSELF as Omid crossed the threshold, discreetly applying a length of her veil to her heated eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

The boy practically toppled over in the process of entering, the effort to turn the handle while holding onto a rather lopsided-looking Deen proving to be nearly too much to manage.

The apothecarist appeared tired as Omid dragged him into the room, but it was not otherwise obvious to Alizeh that anything was amiss.

She ran forward to help.

“Begging your pardon,” said Omid in breathless Feshtoon, and he kicked the door shut behind him with a cruelty the wood did not deserve. “I didn’t know where else to take him. I went to your rooms first, but when I got there the sheets were stripped and all your clothes were gone—”

“What?” Alizeh was alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“They said you don’t live there anymore, miss. I ran into a snoda in the hall, and she said they’d moved all your things into his room”—he nodded at Cyrus—“since you’re, you know, married now—”

She stiffened.

“—and I know you’re busy and I didn’t mean to interrupt your wedding night, but I heard you two shouting at each other, and I thought it might be okay to barge in because it didn’t sound like that other kind of shouting, and I see now that I was right, miss, because you’re still wearing all your clothes—”

“ Omid. ” Alizeh felt herself heat.

“—and Hazan said to get Deen out of the ballroom straightaway, and I couldn’t think who else I should take him to, and I would’ve been here sooner except it took me ages to find this place.

” He paused to take a breath, adjust his shirt, and frown at Cyrus.

“Why don’t you live in the king’s quarters, sir?

It was terrible confusing to get here, I got all turned around, and Deen has only been getting worse—”

“These are the king’s quarters,” said Alizeh patiently.

“No, they’re not,” said Omid.

Alizeh’s head swiveled to Cyrus, then back to Omid, then back to Cyrus, who’d retreated a few feet away, where he braced himself against a reading chair. She wished he would say something. “Of course they are.”

“No they’re not,” said Omid again. “We’re in the family’s section of the castle, miss, but not the king’s rooms—”

“But that’s absurd,” she insisted, expecting Cyrus to refute the statement. “You do live in the king’s quarters,” she said to him. “Don’t you?”

When Cyrus finally spoke, it was only to step forward and nod at Deen. “What’s wrong with the man?” he said. “He appears to be inebriated.”

This was perhaps more unfathomable than the situation with Cyrus’s rooms. Alizeh had never seen Deen imbibe; he did not seem the sort to enjoy relinquishing control.

Alizeh looked closer.

Upon further inspection, Deen did appear a little glassy and giddy, and he grew suddenly aware of everyone staring in his direction. The attention seemed to enliven him. The apothecarist pressed a finger to his closed lips to contain a small burp, then lapsed into giggles.

“He’s had too much punch, I think,” Omid explained. “Or else he drank a bad draught. I’m not sure, miss, but Hazan was piping mad about it. Either way, I think he needs to lie down—”

“A bad draught?” said Alizeh. “Deen? But he can smell henbane from ten paces away—”

For the third time that night, Cyrus’s door swung open with a bang .

“Oh good, you’ve got him,” came Kamran’s booming voice. He entered the room without preamble—with an authority no doubt imbued in him from birth—and Huda was close behind, her friend’s eyes tight with concern.

“Why on earth don’t you live in the king’s quarters?” Kamran said to Cyrus, slamming the door shut.

Everyone flinched.

“The layout of this castle is maddening,” he went on. “Everything goes straight up. Glass staircases? Dozens of winding turrets? It was pure hell to get here—”

“That’s what I said!” Omid cried.

“My bedroom door shouldn’t have been unlocked,” said Cyrus darkly.

“Really?” Huda swiveled to face Cyrus. “It wasn’t you who unlocked it?”

“Where’s Hazan?” Kamran was looking around. “Why isn’t he here yet? I’m nearly certain it was that other one who’s responsible—the palace alchemist, isn’t it? I can’t remember her name at the moment—”

Cyrus frowned. “Not again?”

“Again?” said Alizeh. “You mean something like this has happened before?”

“While you were away at the Diviners, dear,” said Huda.

“Oh, I—”

“I’d thought the door was locked, too,” Omid was saying. “If I’d known it was unlocked I never would’ve wasted all that time waiting—”

Deen gave a small, delighted yawn. “Delicious,” he said, licking his lips. “I’d like another.”

Alizeh tried once more for clarity. “So you think the other apothecarist did this to him?”

“Deen once took on a blue tinge for an entire day,” Kamran said, shaking his head. “Their friendship takes strange turns, I’m afraid I can’t explain it—”

“It’s possible the lock was overlooked,” Huda said to Omid, frowning. “Nearly all the snodas are still in the ballroom. The staff was given a half day off—”

“I think we might be spending a disproportionate amount of time discussing the lock,” Alizeh interjected.

Deen cried out without warning, then clung to Omid’s arm like a child. “Where is my mother?” he said, his eyes widening with fear. “Have you seen her? She said she’d come for me—”

“Heavens,” said Huda, wringing her hands. “Where is Hazan?”

“Maybe he’s lost,” Omid suggested.

“Maybe the king should live in the king’s wing of the castle,” Kamran said irritably, “so as to avoid such confusion—”

“So it’s true, then?” Alizeh turned to Cyrus. “You really don’t occupy the king’s rooms?”

“I don’t understand why this is relevant,” he said, averting his eyes, “when there are other, more pressing matters to discuss—”

“It’s relevant,” said Huda, “because we’re all trying to understand why you’d lie about something so infantile—”

“I never lied—”

“Don’t cry, Mother,” Deen said suddenly, jolting in Omid’s arms. “It’ll be all right—I’m going to take care of you—”

“What the devil is the matter with your apothecarist?” Cyrus demanded, his eyes flaring with impatience. “And why is it any of my business?”

“Someone handed the boy a drink,” Kamran explained, looking grim. “From what I gather, Omid was in fact instructed to give the refreshment to the queen.”

Like flint striking stone, Cyrus appeared to spark.

He was always a commanding presence, but just then Cyrus seemed suddenly to weaponize. He stood somehow taller, his body palpably tensing. His reaction was in fact so conspicuous that the room fell quiet.

It was with a lethal serenity that he locked eyes with Omid and said, softly, “Who gave you the drink?”

Omid shook his head, looking terrified now.

“It was a snoda,” he said, trying to back away with Deen still slumping against his shoulder.

“I couldn’t see his face. He told me that the queen”—he nodded at Alizeh—“had asked for a cool drink. The snoda said he was too afraid to deliver the drink to her directly, and wondered if I might take it up to the balcony.”

“Did you indeed ask for a refreshment, dear?” asked Huda.

Alizeh briefly shut her eyes. “No.”

“How was the apothecarist involved?” asked Cyrus.

“Deen saw what happened,” Omid explained, hefting the man higher in his arms. “Hells, he’s heavy. Do you think I can put him down?”

There was a moment of commotion as they finally helped settle the apothecarist onto the nearest couch. Chairs were gathered, bodies were seated, a small assembly formed.

Cyrus did not sit down.

“So, Deen witnessed your exchange with the snoda,” Huda urged. “And then what happened?”

Omid thought about it. “Then he took the drink from my hand and called me an imbecile.”

“And then?” Kamran sat back in his seat, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Well,” said Omid, remembering. “Then he sniffed it. I don’t know what he was thinking when he sniffed it, because he didn’t tell me, but he stared at the drink a minute, and then”—Omid hesitated—“and then—”

“What?” Cyrus demanded coldly. “And then what?”

Omid stiffened like he’d been struck between the eyes.

All at once, the boy seemed to understand exactly what had happened, and it was on a ragged breath that he finished: “And then he dropped the glass—and it shattered everywhere—and then suddenly Hazan was there, and he was angry and shouting and told me to get Deen out of the ballroom immediately—”

“I told you,” said Kamran angrily, “it was almost certainly the other apothecarist—”

“But I thought you said the drink was intended for the queen,” said Huda. “It couldn’t have been a lark—”

Cyrus rose to his feet. “Where is it now? Did anyone confiscate—”

“I’ve got it.” Hazan had slammed the door open without ceremony, the heavy panel nearly coming off its hinges for the fourth time that night.

Everyone flinched.

“Finally,” said Kamran. “Where the devil have you been?”

“Apparently, the king doesn’t live in the king’s quarters,” Hazan said with a glare. “This seems rather an important detail to communicate.” With a careless kick, he sent the door shuddering back into its frame.

Again, everyone flinched.

“Why don’t you live in the king’s quarters?” asked Huda.

“He never moved,” explained Hazan, looking furious. “Just now I was informed that, upon his coronation, King Cyrus never vacated the rooms he grew up in. He refused to unseat his mother from her wing.”

Everyone turned again to stare at Cyrus, and Alizeh the longest.

With each day that passed, the inconsistencies in his character grew ever more apparent, adding to her fears. More in every moment, Alizeh was afraid she’d somehow walked directly into the arms of the devil, consenting to a bargain that only appeared advantageous but would leave her in pieces.

She was the only one thusly conflicted.

“So you killed her husband,” said Huda, frowning, “but you let her keep her bedroom?”

“How kind of you,” said Kamran, “to consider your mother’s feelings.”

Cyrus exhaled, averting his eyes.

“Are they joking?” Omid asked, looking at Hazan. “They’re joking, right?”

Hazan only grimaced.

Cyrus chose to change the subject.

“Why are you holding a dagger?” he said to Hazan, nodding at the object clutched in his hand: not a drinking glass, but a small blade.

Hazan’s eyes grew only darker.

By way of a response he went to Deen, who was still lying on the couch, and promptly flipped him over—

“Ow,” said Deen, giggling. “Ow, that hurts—”

There was a small wound near his spine, the red stain spreading across his back.

Huda screamed.