This Woven Kingdom (28 page)

She hesitated, appraising herself a moment.

Alizeh had always taken meticulous care of the little she owned, but even so, her calico work dress was nearly worn through. The gray frock had always been dull, but it appeared even more lifeless at present, faded and limp with relentless wear. She had one other spare gown, and she did not have to see it to know it was in a similar state. Her stockings, however, were still serviceable; her boots, too, were sturdy despite needing a polish—though the tear in one toe had yet to be mended.

Alizeh bit her lip.

She was left with no option. Her vanity could not be spared; she'd simply have to disassemble one of her drab gowns and remake it, and hope she had enough workable material to get it right. She might even be able to repurpose the remainder of her torn apron to fashion a pair of simple gloves . . . if only she could find a safe space to work.

She sighed.

First, she decided, she would visit the local hamam. A scrub and soak she could afford, as the prices for a bath had always been reasonable for the poor, but—

Alizeh came to a sudden halt.

She'd spotted the apothecary; the familiar shape of the familiar shop arresting her in place. The sight of it made her wonder about her bandages.

Gingerly, she touched the linen at her neck.

She'd not felt pain in her hands or throat in at least a few hours; if it was too soon to remove the bandages entirely, it was perhaps not too soon to remove them for the length of an evening, was it? For she would certainly draw unwanted attention if she arrived looking so obviously injured.

Alizeh frowned and glanced again at the shop, wondering whether Deen was inside. She decided to go in, to ask his professional opinion, but then remembered with dawning horror what she'd said to him that awful night—how unfairly she'd criticized the prince, and how the shopkeeper had rebuked her for it.

No, never mind, then.

She hurried down the walk, narrowly avoiding impact
with a woman sweeping rose petals off the street, and came to another sudden halt. Alizeh squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hard.

She was being foolish.

It did her no good to avoid the apothecarist, not when she now needed his assistance. She would simply avoid saying anything stupid this time.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she marched back down the street and straight toward the apothecary, where she pushed open the door with a bit too much force.

A bell jangled as she entered.

“Be right with you,” Deen muttered, unseeing, from behind the counter. He was assisting an older woman with a large order of dried hibiscus flowers, which he was advising her to brew three times daily.

“Morning, noon, and night,” he said. “A cup in the evening will help a great deal with sl—”

Deen caught sight of Alizeh and promptly froze, his dark eyes widening by degrees. Alizeh lifted a limp hand in greeting, but the apothecarist looked away.

“That is—it will help with sleep,” he said, accepting his customer's coin and counting it. “If you experience any digestive discomfort, reduce your intake to two cups, morning and night.”

The woman offered quiet thanks and took her leave. Alizeh watched her go, the shop bell chiming softly in her wake.

There was a brief moment of quiet.

“So,” Deen said, finally looking up. “You've come indeed.
I confess I wasn't entirely sure you would.”

Alizeh felt a flutter of nerves at that; no doubt he'd seen her deliberating outside. Privately she'd hoped Deen might've forgotten her altogether; the awkwardness of their last conversation included. No such luck, it seemed.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Though I wasn't entirely sure I'd be coming, either, if I'm being honest.”

“Well it's good you're here now.” He smiled. “Shall I fetch you your parcel?”

“Oh, I—no—” Alizeh felt herself flush, the insubstantial weight of her two coppers suddenly heavy in her pocket. “I'm afraid I'm not in the market for—

“Actually,” she said in a rush, “I wondered whether you might inspect my injuries a bit earlier than we discussed.”

The wiry shopkeeper frowned. “That's five days earlier than we discussed. I trust there've been no complications?”

“No, sir.” Alizeh stepped forward. “The salves have been a tremendous help. It's only that the bandages are—they're, well, they are a bit conspicuous, I think. They draw quite a lot of attention, and as I'd rather not be so easily remarked upon, I was hoping to remove them altogether.”

Deen stared at her a moment, studied what little of her face he could see. “You want to remove your bandages five days early?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it your housekeeper giving you trouble?”

“No, sir, it's n—”

“You are well within your rights to treat injuries, you know. She is not allowed to prevent your recove—”

“No, sir,” Alizeh said again, a bit sharper this time. “It's not that.”

When she said nothing else, Deen took a deep breath. He made no effort to hide his disbelief, and Alizeh was quietly surprised by his concern.

“Very well, then,” he said, exhaling. “Have a seat. Let's take a look.”

Alizeh pulled herself up onto the high chair at the counter, the better to be examined. Very slowly, Deen began unraveling the bandage at her neck.

“You've wrapped this quite nicely,” he murmured, to which she only nodded her acknowledgment. There was something soothing about his gentle motions, and for a moment, Alizeh dared to close her eyes.

Never could she articulate precisely how exhausted she was. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept more than a couple of hours or felt safe enough to stand still for long. Seldom was she allowed to sit, almost never was she allowed to stop.

Oh, if only she could get herself to the ball tonight, anything might be possible. Relief. Safety. Peace. As for the actual shape of such dreams—

She had little in the way of expectations.

Alizeh was a failed queen without a kingdom, without even a small country to rule. Jinn were fractured across Ardunia, their known numbers too few, and the rest, too hard to find. Long ago there had been a plan for her ascent, the details of which Alizeh had not been made privy to at such a young age. Her parents always insisted she focus
instead on her studies, on enjoying her youth a while longer.

Alizeh was twelve when her father died, and only afterward did Alizeh's mother begin to worry that her daughter knew too little of her fate. It was then that she told Alizeh of the Arya mountains, of the magic therein that was essential to unlocking the powers she was rumored to one day possess. When Alizeh had asked why she could not simply go and collect such a magic, her mother had laughed, and sadly.

“It is not so simple a task,” she'd explained. “The magic must be gathered by a quorum of loyal subjects, all of whom must be willing to die for you in the process. The earth has chosen you to rule, my dear, but you must first be found worthy of the role by your own people. Five must be willing to sacrifice their lives to give rise to your reign; only then will the mountains part with their power.”

It had always seemed to Alizeh an unnecessary, brutal requirement; she did not think herself capable of asking half a dozen people to die for her, not even in the interest of the common good. But as she could not now think of even a single person willing to forfeit their life in the pursuit of her interests—she felt it premature to rely upon even Hazan—it seemed a futile point to consider.

What's more, Alizeh knew that even if, through some miracle, she managed to claim her rightful throne and earn the allegiance of tens of thousands, she'd have already failed them as their queen, for she'd be sentencing her own people to death.

It required little creativity to imagine that the king of Ardunia would crush a rival on his own lands; his recent
pursuit of her was proof enough of his concerns. He would never willingly lose his seat nor his people, and Jinn were among his numbers now.

Alizeh opened her eyes just as Deen unfurled the last of the linen at her neck.

“If you would please hold out your hands, miss, I'll unwrap the linen there, too,” he was saying. “Though the cut at your throat appears to be healing very well . . .”

Alizeh held out her hands but turned her head toward the window, distracted as she was just then by the sight of a small, ancient woman pushing past a heaving wheelbarrow. The woman had aged much like a tree might, her face so gracefully inscribed by the passage of time that Alizeh thought she might count each line to know her age. Her shock of white hair was made a brilliant orange by henna and tied back with a floral scarf that matched her vivid, floral skirt. Alizeh glimpsed the woman's harvest: green almonds piled high in the cart, their soft fuzzy shells still intact, shimmering with frost.

The old woman nodded at her, and Alizeh smiled.

She had been surprised, upon arrival in Setar, to discover how much she loved the commotion of the royal city; the noise and madness were a comfort to her; a reminder that she was not alone in the world. To witness every day the collective effort of so many people striving and making and working and breathing—

It brought her unexpected calm.

Still, Alizeh was not like the others who lived here. Her differences were many, but perhaps her most problematic
was that she did not accept, without question, the greatness of the Ardunian empire. She did not accept that the Fire Accords had been an unmitigated act of mercy. In some ways, yes, they had been a kindness, but only because most everyone had longed for an end to the millenia-long strife between the races.

It was precisely why her people had conceded.

Jinn had grown tired of living in fear, of having their homes set aflame, of watching their friends and families hunted and massacred. Mothers on both sides had grown tired of receiving the mutilated bodies of their children from the battlefield. The pain of the endless bloodshed had reached its pinnacle, and though both sides desired peace, their mutual hatred could not be unlearned overnight.

The Accords had been enacted under the banner of unity—a plea for cohesion, for harmony and understanding—but Alizeh knew them to be motivated entirely by military strategy. Enough Jinn had been slaughtered now that their remaining numbers were no longer considered a threat; by granting the survivors the veneer of safety and belonging, the king of Ardunia had effectively subdued, then absorbed into his empire, tens of thousands of the strongest and most powerful beings on earth, for whom a little known provision had been made: Ardunian Jinn were allowed to exercise their natural abilities only during wartime, and only on the battlefield.
Four years
all capable citizens were required to serve in the empire's army, and newly absorbed Jinn were not exempt.

All of Ardunia thought King Zaal a generous, just ruler,
but Alizeh could not put her faith in such a man. He had, with a single, cunning decree, not only absolved Clay of all atrocities against Jinn, but rendered himself magnanimous, added to his armies a flood of supernatural recruits, and stripped ice-blooded Jinn any right to their constituents.

“All right, then,” Deen said brightly. “All done, miss.”

His lively tone was so unexpected Alizeh turned at once to look at him, surprise coloring her voice. “Is it good news?” she asked.

“Yes, miss, your skin has restored itself exceptionally well. I must say—those salves were of my own making, so while I know their many strengths, I'm also aware of their limits, and I've never known them to be responsible for such rapid healing.”

Alizeh felt a bolt of fear move through her at that declaration, and she quickly withdrew her hands, studying them now in the sun-soaked room. She'd only changed her bandages once since she was last here, and only in the dead of night, overcome by exhaustion, her effort lit by the dim glow of a single candle. Now Alizeh studied her hands in amazement. They were soft and unblemished, no damage, not a scar to be found.

She dropped her hands in her lap, clenched them tight.

Alizeh had often wondered how she'd survived so many illnesses on the street, how she'd recovered over and over even when pushed to the brink of death. Fire, she knew she could withstand—it was the deep frost in her body that repelled it—but she'd never before had such irrefutable evidence of her body's strength.

She looked up at the apothecarist then, her eyes wide with something like panic.

Deen's smile had begun to fade. “Forgive me my ignorance, miss, but as I do not treat many Jinn, I've little basis for comparison. Is this—is this kind of healing uncommon among your kind?”

Alizeh wanted to lie, but worried the misinformation would adversely affect his treatment of what few Jinn did seek his aid. Softly, she said, “It is rare.”

“And I take it you were, until now, unaware you were capable of such swift healing?”

“I was.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, I suppose we should accept it, then, as an unexpected stroke of good luck, which is no doubt long overdue.” He attempted a smile. “I think you are more than ready to remove the bandages, miss. You need not worry on that account.”

“Yes, sir. I thank you,” Alizeh said, moving to stand. “How much do I owe you for the visit?”

Deen laughed. “I did nothing but remove your bandages and announce aloud what your own eyes might've easily witnessed. You owe me nothing.”

“Oh, no, you're too generous—I've taken up your time, certainly I sho—”

“Not at all.” He waved her away. “It was but five minutes at most. Besides, I've been awaiting your arrival all this day, and have already been paid handsomely for the trouble.”

Alizeh froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your friend asked me to wait for you,” the shopkeeper
said, frowning slightly. “Was he not the essential reason you came in today?”