Page 29 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Twenty-Eight

BIRDS CHIRRED, brANCHES SHUDDERING AS wind pushed through leafless boughs. The soft burble of the stream proved a kind of cure, offering Cyrus a place to direct his senses.

He drew a deep breath, tasting winter.

When, after a minute, Alizeh remained silent, he finally turned to look at her. She’d turned her face toward the hulking mountain range, her eyes wide with wonder. Tipsy snowflakes drifted around her head, some melting at the soft touch of her cheeks, others catching in her hair like crystals.

“I never tire of this view,” she said softly. “Thousands of times I’ve seen it, in my life and in my dreams, yet each time it takes my breath away. I’ve never seen anything so majestic in all my life.” Her voice fell to a hush. “Is it not a small miracle to bear witness to such beauty?”

“Yes,” he said, still staring at her.

She tilted her head at the scene. “Do you know, when I was little, Hazan and I used to climb these mountains. His mama was one of my parents’ closest friends, and she nearly always brought Hazan with her when she’d pay them a visit.

He was the only child I was ever allowed to play with.

” She flashed Cyrus a brilliant smile, which scored him neatly, like a small death. “Did he never tell you?”

“No,” he breathed.

“He taught me to play a game of jacks,” she said, absently drawing her hand along freshly frosted lengths of wild grass. “His pockets were always full of hazelnuts.”

Cyrus was staring at the grass now, at the light touch of her fingers, playing the world like an instrument. “Hazelnuts,” he echoed.

“There are hazelnut groves here,” she said, glancing back at him. “There are orchards spanning acres of farmland. It’s divine in the fall, when the leaves change.” Then, quietly: “I was very sorry to have to leave the countryside.”

“Did you have to leave?” Why was he still talking to her? Why hadn’t he walked away yet?

What the hell was the matter with him?

“Well,” she said, holding out her hand to catch a snowflake. “Life tends to become more difficult when people are all the time trying to kill you. I thought it might help to start over somewhere new.”

“Did it?”

“A little.”

His heart spasmed in his chest. He did not enjoy imagining her as a child, unprotected and alone, fending off savage attempts on her life.

He was briefly choked with fury.

“I didn’t realize,” he said with extraordinary outward calm, “that you and Hazan had known each other as children.”

She nodded. “After my parents were killed, I never saw him again, for his mother never came back.” She hesitated. “That night—the night you saw me meeting with him—that was the first time I’d seen him in many years.”

“You mean the night you were set upon by thugs sent to kill you by order of the late King Zaal?”

How swiftly Cyrus had been stripped of his outward calm. He nearly closed his eyes. This was why he should’ve walked away. This was why he never should’ve asked her questions. This was why he should’ve shut his mouth altogether—

“The very one,” she said lightly.

“And will you really marry the prince?” he said, for he’d lost control of himself. “The man whose grandfather slaughtered your entire family?”

She fell silent at that, turning her eyes to the grass.

“This is a difficult matter to consider,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been turning it over in my mind for several days now.

I do worry that a child shouldn’t be held accountable for the sins of their elders—but more than that, I’d really rather not discuss this horrible subject with you. ”

“No,” he exhaled, pushing an unsteady hand through his hair. He was too tired. Too tightly wound. Too raw. He couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Forgive me. Of course not. Why would you? It’s not as if you need my blessing.”

“Cyrus—”

“No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He was going to walk away now. This instant, he would leave. People could see them—he knew this—he knew better—

Then, in a moment of lunacy, “So you’ve accepted his offer? The plans are made?”

She looked at him, looked at him and said nothing, and her silence impaled him as materially as might a blade.

“I see,” he said on a ragged breath.

“Cyrus, please don’t misunderstand,” she said quickly. “It’s not that simple—”

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice in shreds. “I should not have asked— I don’t know why I— I must go—”

“Oy,” cried a voice. “Dusty moth!”

Cyrus stiffened in horror.

Somehow, the tortures of his life had taught him nothing. He should’ve anticipated that this moment would only get worse.

“ Dusty moth? ” Alizeh repeated, confused.

Akbar, the young soldier, came bounding up to them. “Your Majesty,” he said, saluting as he approached the queen. He then clapped Cyrus on the back like an old friend.

It occurred to the king, with a disorienting start, that he and the soldier were roughly the same age. Somehow, the gulf between them felt vast.

“I’ve got your keys, here,” Akbar was saying, holding out his hand to reveal the heavy, ornate set. “I offered to run them over. The princess said she couldn’t be bothered to chase anyone down.” He grinned. “She’s a bit of a nutter, but nice enough.”

Alizeh took these keys with a polite thanks and a generous smile and Akbar visibly slackened. His face went blank.

“Dust,” he whispered. “I’ve turned to dust.” He glanced at Cyrus. “You were right.”

“What dust?” Alizeh asked, looking between them. “Right about what?”

“Nothing,” said Cyrus quickly.

Akbar nodded, affecting great loyalty as he slung an arm around the king’s shoulder. “Nothing,” he affirmed.

Then, drawing back, he added, “We—we do hope you enjoy it here, Your Majesty. Some of us even collected flowers for your room. It isn’t— Well, see, originally we’d put you in the biggest cottage, but then we thought”—his ears reddened—“well, we all thought, considering as how you’re newlyweds and everything—and of course after I told everyone about dusty moth and everything—we thought we’d give you our favorite cottage, even as it’s the smallest one.

But I promise it’s got the best view with the most privacy—”

“What do you mean it’s your smallest one?” Cyrus felt, suddenly, like he might be having an aneurysm.

“Well, it’s only one room—”

“You mean there’s only one bedroom,” said Alizeh, who was looking at Cyrus with alarm.

“No, Your Majesty, I mean there’s only one room. But, like I said, it’s—”

“I need to talk to you,” said Cyrus, grabbing Akbar by the shirt and abruptly dragging him out of earshot.

“Careful! My mum made me this shirt—”

“What’s the matter with you?” said Cyrus, once they were far enough away. He’d nearly pulled a muscle in an effort to compose himself. “Give us the bigger room. I need a bigger room. I need as many rooms as you have.”

“Steady on,” said Akbar, grasping Cyrus’s shoulders with an unexpected, jarring strength. Cyrus had nearly forgotten he was dealing entirely with Jinn now. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I’ve already told you the problem. I’m a shite poet, remember?”

“You’re afraid of your own wife, then?”

“If I say yes, will you give us the bigger room?”

Akbar drew back, his brows pulling together. “Right,” he said slowly. “I think I understand the problem.”

“Good—”

“Sensitive issue, is it?”

Cyrus frowned. “Sure—yes—I suppose—”

“Well, I can imagine it’s been hard on your confidence,” he said, giving Cyrus a pitying once-over. “But I don’t think you need to be worried. She’s awful kind, isn’t she?”

“What?” Cyrus went taut with alarm.

“I’m sure she won’t make you feel bad about it.”

“That’s not—”

“And it’s a lot of bloody pressure, isn’t it?” he said sympathetically. “She, being the literal savior of our people, and so on? I’d likely have a bit of performance anxiety myself—”

“ I don’t have performance anxiety ,” he said murderously.

“All right, keep your hair on—”

“Neither is my confidence in danger,” snapped Cyrus, “so you might spare me your pitying appraisals—”

“Fine, then, if you’re so confident,” said Akbar, crossing his arms. “What’s your damage? Why can’t you be alone with your wife? I thought you loved her.”

When Cyrus gave no answer to this, Akbar took a step back, his expression darkening. “You do love her, don’t you?”

Cyrus muttered an oath, then released a shaking breath. “Heaven help me, I think I’ve gone mad.”

He hardly knew what prompted him to say it. There was just something so earnest about the young man.

“You’ve gone mad?” he said, and clapped Cyrus on the shoulder. “Well, that’s all right, then, you poor sod. You’re in love. You’re touched in the head. A bit deranged. A slight idiot. A little demented—”

“It’s one room?” said Cyrus. “Just one big room?”

“One small room.”

“ Fuck ,” he said, closing his eyes.

Akbar was so charmed by this he was almost misty-eyed when he said, “Ah, go on, then,” before shoving Cyrus with brute force in the direction of the queen. “Your wife is waiting for you. You won’t mind being turned to dust, I promise!”