Page 50 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Forty-Nine

CYRUS FELT CEMENTED TO THE ground.

Fear was flooding him with torrential force, wrenching his lungs, constricting his chest. He could calm neither the clamor of his heart nor the sudden rush of blood to his head.

Kamran was right.

Something was wrong.

“What?” said Alizeh, turning slowly to face Deen. “What are you talking about?”

“There are many ways to steal power, Your Majesty,” said Deen warily. “It is, unfortunately, a tale as old as time.”

“But—this is power only I’m supposed to wield—”

It had been Cyrus’s prerogative, of course, to reject the litany of concerns registered over and over by the hated prince.

It had been easy to disregard him altogether, to label him an idiot and ignore his constant, nagging accusations.

After all, Cyrus had grown accustomed to being despised, and he could little afford to dwell on the contempt leveled so constantly in his direction.

His own mother looked upon him with depths of scathing disgust he’d learned to tolerate only through the power of feigned ignorance.

He simply didn’t allow himself to hear the cruelties afforded him every hour.

He did not allow them to land, did not give them due consideration—

And he’d just as easily dismissed Kamran, too.

A mistake.

“Forgive me.” Deen was shaking his head.

“I don’t mean to alarm anyone—or even to take a side in the conversation.

It’s only that I’m a good deal older than all of you, and I’ve seen a number of dark things in my day.

I must, for the purposes of presenting all the facts, refute this specific point, for there are many ways to pilfer and manipulate magic, Your Majesty, and history is littered with such examples. ”

“Hazan,” said Alizeh, turning wildly to look at him. “Is that true?”

“Yes, but—”

“See?” said Kamran. “You already know it to be possible—”

Cyrus had been so blinded by jealousy—so overruled by his own weaknesses—that he’d allowed himself to forget that the prince of Ardunia was not, in fact, an idiot.

Cyrus had forgotten that there’d been a time, long before he’d known of Kamran’s connection to Alizeh, that he’d respected the abstract heir of the neighboring kingdom.

The southern king had felt it prudent to know more of his foes, and the information he’d once unearthed about the Ardunian prince had been both fascinating and unexpected, for the young heir had proven neither indolent nor disreputable—and despite being a pampered, overindulged princeling, he’d shown remarkable potential as both a warrior and a rising leader in the world.

In another lifetime, Cyrus might’ve liked him.

A cold, familiar ghost of laughter exhaled inside of him then, heating his head even as goosebumps rose along his skin.

Cyrus felt at once dangerously nauseous.

His stomach pitched and he drew a sharp, shuddering breath just as another terrifying shock of laughter blew violently through him—

Poor Clay brain is made of dirt!

It cannot solve a puzzle

Poor Clay heart

it falls apart

A frail, decaying muscle

“No,” said Cyrus desperately. “ Stop— ”

“Stop what?” demanded the prince. “Stop discussing the fact that you are a scheming, dishonorable deviant who’s managed to inspire the pity of a queen far too kind for her own good? I should think not—”

“Kamran, please—” tried Alizeh.

“But those stories involve ordinary strains of magic,” Hazan was saying to Deen. “Surely this particular magic, which the earth has waited a thousand years to reveal, would not be so easily transferrable—”

“Indeed,” said Deen gently. “Though that is merely a theory. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing whether it is true, as there exists no documentation of such magic. We don’t know how it presents or how it might be manipulated—”

Cyrus was in the death grip of denial.

The devil’s triumphant laughter continued to echo inside of him, yet he couldn’t make sense of it.

Iblees appeared to be celebrating, yet it was impossible for Cyrus to accept that he might’ve been defrauded.

He’d given his life to this effort—he’d all but traded his soul for this bargain—and he was now so close to success he wanted to fall to his knees for the madness he felt.

How had he failed?

How?

But no—if Cyrus had already lost the wager, the devil would’ve wasted no time collecting payment. That meant that the presence of Iblees’s cold shadow now was likely the prelude to celebration. Which meant—

The devil had come to laugh at him as he lost.

Panic seized him; his thoughts were racing. Cyrus could not yet see where he’d gone wrong. There’d been so many threads to keep track of, so many uncrossable boundaries, so many rounds of torture, so many strange tasks to accomplish—

Even now he struggled to sift through his history, to understand how he might’ve taken a wrong turn—

POOR CLAY brAIN IS MADE OF DIRT!

IT CANNOT SOLVE A PUZZLE!

Shrieks of cold laughter spun out painfully in his veins, and Cyrus fought to remain upright. He was losing sensation in his limbs, his heart hammering mercilessly inside his chest—

POOR CLAY HEART!

IT FALLS APART!

A FRAIL, DECAYING MUSCLE!

He could feel himself losing strength, could feel the triumph of fear inside him. The more he panicked, the harder it became to think straight, and the more the answers he sought eluded him.

Cyrus was spiraling.

“How can you hear any of this,” Kamran was saying to Alizeh, “and still wish to proceed with him by your side?”

“I’m afraid we’re in the thick of it,” said Alizeh, shaking her head. “I don’t wish to change course now, and we cannot afford to dedicate any more time to these discussions—”

Cyrus looked up at the gauzy, shimmering castle in the distance and he knew, as did they all, that it would be their final destination: the point beyond which Alizeh would emerge transformed, finally stepping into her role as the greatest Diviner of their time.

It was a moment meant to be her crowning glory—and it was a moment meant to release Cyrus from hell. Instead, Iblees was howling with silent delight, churning bile in his gut, battering his soul with dark joy.

Was the prince right? Did Iblees hope to take Alizeh’s power, once claimed?

But how?

What was his plan?

Was she the sole reason he’d finally decided to claim his favor from the Nara line? Was it possible? Had Iblees really waited to collect payment on a century-old bargain until just under a year ago, when—

Cyrus felt the ground surge toward him. He’d never known such panic.

A year ago, Alizeh had come of age.

The realizations were arriving now like injections of acid.

Iblees must’ve seen an opportunity in Cyrus’s ignorance, in his naive desperation to make a better deal.

The young, reluctant king couldn’t have known how artfully he’d been manipulated; he hadn’t even known who Alizeh was when he’d agreed to the terrible contract.

He couldn’t have known—

He couldn’t have known that the many tasks he’d been assigned by Iblees would only facilitate the delivery of an angel into the arms of the devil.

“Alizeh, please,” said Kamran, looking anguished.

“I realize you have little reason to put your faith in me, not now that I’ve proven nothing but a disappointment, but I beg you to spare me your good opinion on credit.

I implore you now to take care only because I fear you might be putting yourself in danger—”

“I hear you, Kamran,” she said gently. “I really do. I see your concern, and I treasure it sincerely, for I know you are merely trying to protect me. But this journey is an enigma. Every time we think we’ve sorted the rules, they change again.

We’ve learned that there is always a ticking clock, no matter how indecipherable, and we have no choice but to move forward at present, for if we don’t, we might risk our lives without realizing—”

“ NO ,” Cyrus shouted.

Everyone spun to look at him.

“No?” said Alizeh.

Cyrus was feverish, agitated with unsorted feeling. “Kamran is right,” he said. “He’s right about all of it—”

“What?” said Kamran, drawing back. “Surely you can’t be agreeing with me?”

“You’re right about everything,” Cyrus said shakily.

“You’re right that the devil’s asks are too strange and specific.

I didn’t realize, at first, that everything was about her.

When I consented to the bargain I was so— I didn’t even know her name, I didn’t understand who she was— The timing, the Diviners and King Zaal— I don’t— I still don’t understand all the connections, but I can only— Hells, I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner—”

“I’m confused,” said Omid.

“Me too,” said Huda.

“We have to go back,” said Cyrus, looking up at them with wild, frenzied eyes. “I can’t think clearly at present and I don’t— I think we should go back to base and discuss this—”

“ What? ” Except it was Hazan who said it now, not Kamran, and the former looked furious.

“You want her to leave ? Leave the mountain she’s waited her entire life to find?

Leave after she’s already endured a set of hellish tasks?

Leave when she is only moments away from finally grasping the magic she needs to save her people? Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes,” Cyrus breathed.

Here was where his thoughts began to tangle further: if Iblees had a plan to steal her power, then Alizeh could not be allowed to acquire said power, for the acquisition of this power—

Cyrus drew breath sharply.

The acquisition of this power would lead to the involvement of the devil in her life, the dispossession of her magic, the ruin of her fate, and the devastation of her people—all of which would invariably expose her to unspeakable harm.

“What?” Huda frowned.