Page 19 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Eighteen

ALIZEH AWOKE WITH A START .

She blinked hard, her heart racing, and struggled to orient herself.

The hardened darkness of midnight was undiminished around her, constellations glittering in all directions, gentle winds tousling her hair.

The moon appeared to flare as her tired eyes tracked across its pitted face, and Alizeh patted her cheeks, trying desperately to stay awake.

It took her a moment to remember what she’d been doing.

Stifling a yawn, she tucked a curl behind her ear, propped up her chin in one hand—and promptly fell over.

She straightened at once with a gasp.

Forcing her eyes as wide as they might go, she returned to the task at hand with renewed commitment, tracing a finger along the well-known lines of a diagram depicted in the open tome before her.

Very slowly, her heavy head began to slump.

The trouble was, there was nothing new to learn; the Book of Arya, which she’d long ago discovered in the ashes of her childhood home, was as familiar to her as the touch of her own skin.

This book was her birthright; her guide to the magic locked in the mountains that might empower her.

She’d read and reread the only two printed pages so many times she might recite the words from memory, and though she knew the successive pages would not reveal themselves until they were unlocked by action, it brought her calm to pretend at control during these tumultuous times.

Alizeh startled at a sound.

The fragmented cry of an agitated voice carried on the wind, and Alizeh, grateful for the distraction, looked up.

Hazan and Kamran were still engaged in what appeared to be a rather heated conversation.

The two men had drawn her scattered attention for hours now, for they were the only ones speaking in heated tones, if speaking at all—and for what felt like the hundredth time, she wondered what they were discussing.

Alizeh watched, transfixed, as the firefly anchored upon Hazan’s shoulder glimmered in and out of sight.

It was hard to be sure it was, in fact, a firefly from this distance, but she felt safe to assume so, for hours ago she’d been certain she’d seen a spark of light separate from the stars to join Hazan on the back of his dragon.

As for Hazan himself, she saw only the outline of his shoulders in the starlight.

Kamran was mostly in shadow. Cyrus sat at the head of their pack, his rust-colored hair occasionally flaring like a beacon in the distance.

The shifting luster of the sky occasionally brought these silhouettes into greater detail even as they erased the firefly from view, and it was in this uncertain illumination of the dark that Alizeh squinted at the pages of her book.

She could feel exhaustion clawing ever more desperately at her mind, and she clung stubbornly to consciousness, pinning her eyes open to the point of discomfort.

Huda and Omid, meanwhile, had long ago fallen asleep on the back of their shared dragon.

In fact, they’d all paired off: Kamran and Hazan; Huda and Omid; Alizeh and Deen. Cyrus was the only one of their group riding alone.

Alizeh looked over at her travel companion now, who was at the moment curled up on his side, sleeping soundly.

Cyrus had applied a bit more magic to the apothecarist’s body prior to their journey, which kept Deen in a twilight state.

Alizeh had volunteered to pair with Deen so that she might look after him in his uncertain condition—for she was not only concerned for his health, but she felt responsible for his suffering.

The truth was, the freshly crowned queen of Tulan felt too apprehensive to sleep, for not only was her conscience burdened by the weight of Deen’s sacrifice, but her mind was racing with competing thoughts about her life, her choices, and all that awaited her in the Arya mountains. She hadn’t been home in so long.

Yet this was the essential step toward true ascension: the procurement of her fabled magic.

Alizeh stifled another yawn.

She’d never known how she might make this dangerous trek alone.

In all her years of hiding—in all her years of servitude counting her few and precious coppers—she’d never been able to imagine how this ruinously expensive and difficult journey might be possible.

She’d calculated the requirements countless times, worrying over every complicated need: tiers of transportation; reliable and unwavering security; various forms of accommodation; and on and on.

For years, she’d given up hope altogether.

Now, a recognized queen sitting astride a royal dragon, Alizeh looked about the silky heavens expanding infinitely about her head and felt, for so many reasons, delirious.

It seemed impossible that after so long in hiding—after so many years of suffering and uncertainty—she might soon come to know the ancient magic she was prophesied to possess. It was enough to make her breath catch.

Certainly it was enough to keep her mind active.

If only Cyrus had done less to make her comfortable on this journey, she might’ve remained more easily conscious, for the blustery skies and bumpy ride would’ve kept her awake against her will.

Instead, Alizeh felt deliciously melted.

She too easily slipped in and out of a dizzying stupor, for she sat comfortably atop her dragon, the cushion of a soft rug beneath her.

In fact, they all enjoyed such comforts; their small flock appeared to glide in a formation of patterned rugs, for their dragons had gone invisible for the duration of the trip, leaving unobscured the expanse of the night sky.

All were cosseted by magic.

Cyrus had ensured that they would none of them fall off their steeds, and that they might enjoy the several hours-long trek in imperceptible nests of warmth and comfort. Cyrus had in fact encouraged her, when she’d volunteered to pair off with Deen, to rest as much as she could.

“Don’t be afraid to sleep,” he’d said. “I’ll keep watch over you.” Then, as if it cost him: “And your friends.”

Cyrus had changed in the wake of their recent confrontation. He seemed a bit softer with her since she’d shouted at him; pliant where he was once impenetrable; present where he was once withdrawn. He still avoided her eyes, but not as ardently.

Alizeh, too, had changed. She felt always on the edge of some tremendous emotion, so great and sudden were the reformations in her life. But Cyrus—

Cyrus .

Heavens, she could hardly think of him without feeling as if she’d been punctured by starlight.

Even now her pulse quickened at the thought of him.

Alizeh was growing every day more distracted by the need to draw near him.

How content she might be if he’d only allow her to walk toward him.

How grateful she’d be for the simple pleasure of sitting next to him.

She was afraid to dream of more than that.

More than that, she knew, was pure fantasy.

She could hardly convince Cyrus to exhale in her atmosphere, much less touch her with meaningful intention.

Yet Alizeh was beginning to desire things from her husband that shocked her.

When she closed her eyes at night she found herself dreaming of drawing her hands down his heated skin; she wondered what it might feel like to be pressed against him in the dark, to know the weight of him on top of her; to hear his voice, breathless and fevered.

Simply to imagine the many ways in which he might know her as a man might know his wife was enough to put her in a grave.

She drew a shaky breath.

Cyrus, she felt, would do nothing by half measures.

But these thoughts were perilous. The danger of all she felt in his presence was beginning to make her careless.

Reckless.

“ Wait ,” she’d said too loudly, catching Cyrus by the arm before he could leave her earlier; before he’d mounted his dragon; before they’d set off for their night journey. “What about you? Will you not rest?”

Cyrus had stared at her hand on his sleeve, and then, slowly, at those gathered around them.

Alizeh had been keenly aware of the late hour and the dangerous circumstances.

They’d stood then near the edge of the castle grounds, where the unceasing crash of waterfalls scored the night; where tired dragons gave rumbled exhalations of irritation as they landed poorly all around them.

Alizeh had felt the many eyes in their direction; she’d seen the shadows of her friends nearby; and she hadn’t cared then if her voice carried.

Perhaps she should have.

“He took an enchanted vow to protect you,” Kamran had said, parting a veil of night mist as he approached. He, too, was looking at Alizeh’s hand on Cyrus’s arm. “He’s required to place your security above the interests of all others. Including himself. Isn’t that right?”

Cyrus did not acknowledge the question.

“ Elevate the needs of your bride, forsaking all others to ensure the protection and safety of your queen ,” the prince recited, all while pulling on a pair of kidskin gloves.

Now, Cyrus did turn to look at the prince. “I suppose I’m flattered,” he said quietly, “that you took it upon yourself to memorize another man’s wedding vows.”

Alizeh, sensing fire, released Cyrus’s arm and stepped back.

“Your own Diviners saw fit to shackle you,” Kamran said unkindly, drawing closer to the king. “For they no doubt suspected the dangers she might be exposed to in your company. I’m only grateful for their prescience.”

“Kamran,” said Alizeh carefully. “I fear you’re being needlessly combative.”

“Forgive me,” said the prince, recovering his composure as he turned to her.

He was tall and resplendent even in his travel clothes, and he gave her a perplexed look.

“It’s only that I should like to protect you from mistaking his actions for anything other than what they are: self-interest. He has no choice in the matter of your safekeeping.

He cannot rest so long as you are in danger. ”

“Is that true?” Alizeh looked between them, surprised.

She watched Cyrus struggle against a tempest that seemed to trounce him, finally conquering some unknown fury before he spoke.

“It’s true,” he’d said, lifting his eyes to hers, “that I could never rest so long as you are in danger.”

With that, he’d disappeared into the night. She’d not seen or spoken to him since, and she had no—