Huda sat beside her, took her hand, and squeezed it. “How are you feeling?” “Foolish.” Alizeh suppressed a sigh as she removed her circlet, then her veil, setting them both on the bench beside her. She dropped her head in her unsteady hands. “Hazan is mad at me. Hazan is never mad at me.” “He was scared. Imagine, he’d gotten word that you were finally awake, rushed over here to see you—only to find that someone was trying to kill you. You nearly died, dear. Again.” Huda clucked her tongue. “His poor nerves. Your poor nerves.”
