Page 16 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Fifteen

“THE KNIFE WAS A CONTINGENCY,” said Cyrus, stunned.

Alizeh drew back, her heart pounding.

Omid had begun searching himself, crying out in shock as he discovered smears of the apothecarist’s blood staining his clothes.

Hazan nodded at the king. “The exchange with the drink had seemed odd—I was watching it unfold from the balcony when, too late, I saw the blade. I rushed down there as fast as I could, but by the time I’d arrived, the snoda had fled.”

“So when the drink was intercepted, they changed course,” said Kamran, who looked suddenly thunderous. “And they left the knife behind on purpose.”

Hazan nodded. “A clear warning.”

“For me, you mean?” said Alizeh, her mind upended. She went to Deen, taking a position beside him on the couch. “But if they wanted to kill me, why hurt someone else?”

“Your enemies are plotting,” said Kamran, studying her with sympathy. “It seems clear enough that they wanted to frighten you.”

“Deen’s been poisoned, hasn’t he?” said Huda, lifting a hand to her mouth. “It was a poison blade, wasn’t it?”

Alizeh looked to Cyrus for his opinion, but he appeared to have gone inward, lost in thought.

“Who wanted to frighten her?” asked Omid. “Which enemies are plotting?”

“Take your pick,” said Kamran.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Alizeh.

Hazan gave her a weary look. “Your Majesty,” he said, “there are so many kingdoms that would celebrate your death it’s nearly impossible to know who’s plotting against you.

We still haven’t sorted out your most recent assassination attempts.

The Diviners were only able to tell us that the enchanted blades which nearly killed you last week were forged in styles reminiscent of ancient weaponry from the Sheffat empire—and that they’re likely over five centuries old. ”

“Very well,” she said, gathering herself. “Everyone wants to kill me. But what can we do for Deen? Should we not mend him?”

“We can’t hope to mend him,” said Hazan, “until we know what’s happening to him.”

“But— How—”

“Should we call for a Diviner?” said Omid, who looked shaken. “Or should I ask for the other apothecarist—”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Hazan.

Wordlessly, he handed off the dagger to Cyrus, who disappeared with it down the hall. Alizeh watched this silent exchange with no small amount of shock, for the weight of their unspoken communication was not lost on her, not even in the heat of the moment.

Hazan trusted Cyrus.

“Where is he going?” Kamran demanded. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s gone to take a bath,” said Hazan dryly. “Have a snack. Ring for tea. Take a nap.”

Kamran glared at him.

“Obviously he’s gone to test it,” said Hazan, dropping into a chair. He ran a hand down the back of his neck. He looked suddenly tired.

Huda frowned. “But he’s not an apothecarist.”

“You’re forgetting,” said Alizeh, who was gently wedging a handkerchief under Deen’s bleeding wound, “that Cyrus trained as a Diviner—”

Deen giggled. “That tickles!”

“—which makes him ten levels better than an apothecarist.”

“Oh, it’s many levels more than that,” said Hazan angrily, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Your king is repulsively humble, I’ve discovered.”

Alizeh stilled. “ Repulsively humble? ”

“Has anyone noticed that all the creatures have gone home?” Hazan said suddenly. He cupped a hand around his ear, then pointed upward, as if to indicate the roof. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” said Omid.

“ Nothing! ” cried Deen, dizzily.

“Exactly,” said Hazan, sitting back in his seat. “No more birds shaking the rafters, no more locusts swarming beyond the windows. Even the dragons have quieted—”

“Well,” said Huda, “that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Hazan’s mouth flattened into a line. “Doesn’t the timing seem curious?”

“What are you trying to say?” Kamran asked cautiously.

“ What are you trying to say? ” Deen said in a mocking tone.

Alizeh made a shushing sound, smoothing Deen’s hair away from his face.

Her heart had begun to pound.

She’d made the same connection this morning, when the locust had arrived in her room and appeared to hold an impossible conversation with Cyrus.

Shortly thereafter, the swarm had vanished.

Hazan sighed. “You’d have to be daft not to notice that the eerie menagerie arrived in the aftermath of his isolation,” he said, “and departed the day he reappeared—”

“Do you mean to imply that the creatures had come for him ?” Kamran asked in disbelief. “That you believe they might’ve been searching for him?”

“I think it’s an observation worthy of discussion.”

“I think so, too,” said Alizeh, warming with embarrassment. It felt like an admission of lunacy.

Kamran threw his hands up in exasperation.

Hazan shot her a fleeting look.

“I adore you, Hazan, you know I do,” said Huda, “but that’s an outrageous thing to say.”

“Maybe they were worried something had happened to him,” Hazan suggested. “Maybe they came to the castle looking for him—”

“Spiders?” said Omid, though there was no malice in his voice. “Snakes?”

“Even the snow leopard?” Huda gave a laugh then, though it wasn’t fully committed. “You think a snow leopard was worried something had happened to him?”

“That’d be brilliant,” said Omid, awed.

“Utter nonsense,” said Kamran. “It was more likely some strange phenomenon, now passed.”

“And what about the apricots?” said Huda. “Why did the animals keep delivering apricots? I’ve never heard of such a thing—”

“Hells, I don’t know,” said Hazan, who seemed suddenly agitated. He rubbed at his temples as if life had given him a permanent headache. “I can’t explain the bloody apricots.”

“I think you’re cracked,” said the prince, not unkindly. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”

Hazan barked a laugh in response.

Alizeh tried to meet Hazan’s eyes then, to ask a silent question he seemed unwilling to answer.

They appeared to be the only two people on earth searching for meaning in the depths of the southern king, and Alizeh was grateful to know she wasn’t alone with her doubts.

So it struck her as odd that Hazan was avoiding her gaze.

Later, she would interrogate him.

For now she smoothed her hand along Deen’s lightly fevered brow, then gently removed the wire-rimmed glasses from his face, clasping them to the collar of his sweater.

Her heart felt tremulous. There were too many uncertainties arrayed before her, and she didn’t know whether she could trust her instincts anymore—for her instincts were telling her to trust Cyrus.

Too, Alizeh worried Deen would pay a high price for trying to protect her; that perhaps all her friends would pay a high price for trying to protect her.

She took a breath. Studied Deen’s face.

“How do you feel?” she asked him.

“Fine,” he said brightly, even as his right arm began to convulse. “Your eyes remind me of a pair of spoons. Say, have they released me from prison?”

“ Hazan ,” said Alizeh, her voice rising in alarm.

But Cyrus had reentered the room then, and everyone turned in a synchronized motion to face him. The king appeared atypically unnerved.

At first, he said nothing.

“Well?” asked Huda, fists clenched in her skirts. “Is it poison?”

It was Kamran who answered her, who was looking curiously at Cyrus when he said, “I suspect it might be worse.”

“Worse?” said Omid, blanching. “What’s worse than poison?”

Cyrus moved toward Alizeh and she stiffened at his approach, her body heating in anticipation—only to realize that he strode toward the couch not to be close to her, but to reach for Deen.

It was a bit mortifying, how breathless she felt.

Cyrus crouched before her, lowered his head and said, “I beg your pardon,” as he gently gathered up a length of her skirt, shifting the yards of glittering tulle out of the way.

It was almost more intimate than if he’d touched her.

She could smell the cologne of him, could feel the tremor of his heart through their bond.

She saw the texture of his hair, the soft skin at the back of his neck.

She held her breath as Cyrus shifted before her, clasping her hands to quell the impulse to touch him, and watched in rapt amazement as he moved, one knee sinking into the soft rug beneath them, his sleek boots arching as he adjusted, the polished black leather catching the warm lamplight.

He’d never attended to another task so close to her.

She was moved by the tenderness of the experience, spellbound even by the soft sounds of his clothing, the articles touching him with an intimacy she feared she’d never know.

She envied his sweater, molded lightly to the shape of his chest, stretched across his broad back.

His trousers, cladding his long legs, strained at his thighs.

His arms were thick with muscle, legible through the dark cashmere, tensing and releasing as he slid a gentle hand under the apothecarist’s spine.

Heaven help her, this man was her husband.

Alizeh felt nearly ill with longing. How she wished she might touch him. How desperately she wanted only to rest her hand against the expanse of his shoulders.

She tried to compose herself, to unseat this ache from her body. This was not the time to be losing her head—

Deen gave a sudden gasp.

“What are you doing?” Omid cried.

Cyrus was holding his position with intense concentration. “I’m easing his pain,” said Cyrus. “He won’t be cured overnight, but this will begin the healing process.”

These words doused the heat in her at once.

Alizeh sat up straighter. All this time she’d thought Cyrus was inspecting Deen’s wound; she’d never seen him heal someone before.

She’d never seen anyone heal another person before.

She’d heard that Cyrus had done some kind of magic for her when she’d been shot in the back—enough to tether her to a dragon—but she’d been unconscious for the duration, and could not recall the experience.

But this —

This was the kind of scene one might only ever encounter at the temple, at the hands of a Diviner.

Everyone was watching Cyrus now.

Hypnotized.

Healing was one of the highest levels of magic a Diviner might perform—it was considered a skill on par with the sublime.

It was a known fact that there was nothing simple in the act, despite how effortless Cyrus made it look.

There was a reason why surgeons and apothecaries were still needed across empires; there was a reason why it had been so disastrously scandalous that Kamran had once called for Omid, a street child, to be healed by the Diviners.

Sovereigns of an empire were often the only exceptions granted healing magic; that the Diviners had spent so many weeks healing Alizeh had been an enormous gift.

Not all Diviners were even capable of healing; in fact, some spent decades struggling to master the skill.

That Cyrus could do this at his age—and that he’d never even taken his vows—

She studied him, awestruck all over again.

After a moment Deen’s eyes flickered. Another moment passed and he took a sudden, deep breath—

Then fell asleep.

“ By the angels ,” Omid said softly. “That was amazing.”

“Your apothecarist will be fine,” said Cyrus, standing without ceremony, as if he’d done nothing worthy of discussion. “In time, with regular applications of restorative magic, I’m certain he’ll make a full recovery. His wound wasn’t meant to be fatal.”

Huda blinked at him, looking a bit dumbfounded before saying, “Then why did you look so bleak when you first came out of that room?”

In response, Cyrus turned his eyes to Hazan. “We must change our plans, and quickly.”

“What?” said Alizeh. “Why? What’s happening?”

Hazan got to his feet. “Bloody hell . ”

“We should leave at once,” said the king. “Under the cover of night—”

“ Now? ” said Kamran.

“Either we leave now or we delay by several days—”

“No,” Alizeh said sharply. “No more delays—”

“What did your search reveal?” said Kamran to Cyrus, his shrewd eyes assessing the king. “Did you discover an encoded message?”

Cyrus locked eyes with Kamran, but said only, “I must go.”

“Where?” cried Huda.

“To alert them,” Cyrus was saying. “Once they fall asleep everything becomes harder—”

“Alert who ?”

“His dragons,” Hazan explained, his eyes grim.

“But why?” Omid asked urgently. “What about Deen?”

“There are others in this room who do not understand your shorthand,” Huda cried. “Will you not explain your meaning?”

“They speak of our return to Ardunia,” Kamran said gravely. “Of our search for the queen’s magic in the Arya mountains.” But he, too, was looking at Cyrus when he added, “You fear someone is trying to stop us.”

“You mean kill us,” Huda clarified.

“You mean kill me ,” said Alizeh, getting slowly to her feet. “Don’t you?”

Everyone but Omid had turned to look at Alizeh. The boy was rocking himself gently, trying not to cry, and she moved blindly toward him, gathering him close.

Cyrus studied Alizeh for a charged, heated moment. There was a breathless second of silence, and then, without warning, the king lowered his head—

Alizeh gasped.

The room had dimmed, lit suddenly by nothing but the light of three words, hung in the darkness. It was a simple declaration, forged from pinpricks of blue fire:

CEASE YOUR SEARCH