These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

A colossal sequence of staircase waterfalls had been born at the top of towering cliffs, the cataracts emptying into the ocean from varying, and terrifying, heights. The scene was in fact so sublime that Alizeh experienced an inexpressible, joyful fear in its presence; she’d never seen such steep bluffs nor such devastating cascades, and she was still trying to digest the magnificence of it all when she remembered, suddenly, to look up.

Water. She could hardly believe it. Jinn’s bodies were forged from fire, yes—but water was their true mainstay in life; unlike other living creatures, Jinn did not require food for survival. It was this precious elixir alone that had allowed Alizeh’s ancestors to survive eons of a frozen, sunless existence on earth, and it was no surprise, then, that Alizeh felt most alive only when she drew nearer to water—when she drank it, bathed in it. When she lifted her face to the rain.

“You act as if you’ve never met a Jinn before,” Alizeh said breathlessly. “I love the water. I live for it.” “On the contrary,” he said flatly, still avoiding the sight of her. “I’ve met thousands of Jinn, and I’ve never seen a single one of them nearly fling themselves into the ocean.”

Alizeh thought to search for Cyrus then, and found him tending to the dragon, first dropping a massive bucket of water at the creature’s feet, then procuring from nowhere a single apple, which he polished against his shirt before holding under the animal’s nose. The beast opened its mouth with a pitiful whine, curls of smoke puffing from its nostrils before it snatched, in a terrifying bite, the offering from Cyrus’s open hand. Alizeh thought she might’ve seen the demented king smile. The king in question stroked the dragon’s head with the tenderness of a child before leaving the beast to its water. He walked briskly toward a steel chest—which appeared to have been delivered in anticipation of their arrival—and threw back the heavy lid, withdrawing from the trunk’s belly an enormous platter heaving with dead animals.

She would not marry Cyrus, at least; this first step seemed clear enough. It was what came next that confounded her. Alizeh had been exposed, actively hunted by two empires—and while she’d managed to outrun one, she’d been easily caught in the maw of another, forced now to play a role in the devil’s schemes. This web was now too intricate; her existence too well-documented. She didn’t think she could return to a life of obscurity until she’d felled her enemies—and hers were formidable indeed.

Oh, she had never feared death. No, it was life that scared her, life that scarred her. It was the slow torture of consciousness that had done its utmost to crush her. Alizeh was meant to be the salvation of her people—destined to save the Jinn of this world from the horrors they’d endured for centuries. How could she not carry the weight of this failure with her always? The burden had been hers to bear and she’d borne it badly. Now she was trapped between a deranged king and the devil himself, and she feared, for a terrible moment, that she might fail to overcome this, too. A wave of panic seized her body. Alizeh’s legs shook, her knees suddenly giving out; she staggered back a step, the heels of her bare feet striking the trunk of the nearest tree. She braced herself against its heft, her head filling with the scent of pine. She’d grown used to the sound of the rushing water now—experiencing it more as a comforting hum than a distracting noise—and as her heart steadied, she was better able to discern the sounds of leaves fluttering, a charm of birds chirping melodies into the sunrise. Alizeh drew a deep, steadying breath.

Never had the prince been particularly self-admiring, but neither had he been willfully blind. It was but a simple fact that he’d been a royal who boasted more than just a title; a single glance around any room was enough to confirm that Kamran possessed an uncommon beauty, that he was orders of magnitude more handsome than his peers and elders. Too, Kamran had been well-fed and well-formed; he’d been wielding swords, riding horses, and training in full battle armor since childhood. He was as a result honed to something resembling perfection—so much so that he’d in fact never been much impressed with his reflection, for he’d grown accustomed to the splendor of his face and body. Now, he hardly recognized himself.

The older woman quickly recovered, her smile wavering only a moment before it came back stronger; in fact, of the two who stood before her, it was Cyrus who appeared truly disturbed. Alizeh chose to focus instead on his mother.

“You must be Alizeh,” she said, nearly blinding her with a pair of familiar blue eyes. “I am Sarra. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’ve finally agreed to come.” Alizeh blinked, shock rendering her silent a moment before she was able to falter, “I— That I agreed to come?” Sarra’s smile deepened. “I’ve been so anxious to meet the young woman who is to become my daughter-in-law. Cyrus has talked of little else these last few months, but he’s kept the details such a secret I was beginning to worry you weren’t real.” The nosta awoke without warning against Alizeh’s chest, heat flaring across her skin and provoking her heart to beat harder. Very slowly, Alizeh turned to look at Cyrus, who was now staring determinedly into the distance. She all but bore holes into his head with her eyes, and he would not face her.

Steeling herself, she said softly: “Very well.” Cyrus’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes betraying a flicker of surprise. With a small cry of pleasure, Sarra finally released Alizeh’s hands, clapping her own together in delight. Alizeh drew back at once. The southern king followed, stepping cautiously toward her, watching Alizeh with the wariness of a hunter approaching a rabid wolf. “You will come willingly?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “You will marry me without protest?” They were close enough then that Alizeh could touch him had she wanted to. She could lift a finger to the silky copper lock curling across his forehead, his golden skin gleaming in the reflected light. His blue eyes were luminescent and somehow frigid, and for the briefest moment Alizeh thought she sensed in him what she still carried within herself— A vast, bottomless grief. She stood on tiptoe, asking with her body that he come closer—which he did, drawing toward her then without seeming to realize what he’d done, not until she nearly grazed the shell of his ear with her lips, when she whispered, for all the world as if they were playful lovers, “Choose your weapon, sire.” Cyrus drew back so suddenly he nearly stumbled, newborn anger flaring to life between them. His chest heaving, his jaw clenched, he looked as if he might implode with fury. “This is terribly inconvenient for me,” she said, drawing her shoulders back, planting her feet firmly beneath her. “But I’ll have to kill you now.” Al...

In an honest moment he might even admit that he did not, in fact, desire to kill the only person he’d ever called a friend, and if he failed to execute the traitor straightaway, he feared he’d lose the will to do it at all.

More lunacy from the uncrowned king: Kamran had made Omid—former street rat, aged twelve—his new home minister. Kamran had made the pronouncement upon Zahhak’s return to the palace, citing the child as the reason for his recovery. The defense minister could hardly shut his gaping mouth long enough to stammer out a single word of astonishment, and when he finally did, he all but accused the prince of losing his mind—which seemed, to Kamran, entirely plausible. He felt a bit mad, in any case.

CYRUS MADE NO MOVE. He only stared at Alizeh, hatred flashing in his gaze with a fervor that—for a moment—nearly scared her. It was a good thing, she reasoned.

“Of all the trials I’ve recently endured,” he said, turning his face up to the sky. “You are by far the most excruciating.” “I’m pleased to hear it.” “It’s not a compliment,” he said with some heat, meeting her eyes again. “And I will not fight you.” “Then let me go.” He made a small bow, a faint gesture with his hand. “Go.”

Heavens, but she was dealing with a madman. Cyrus shook his head at her, almost smiled. “Is the fall not worth your freedom?” Her anger only intensified. “You are despicable.” “And you are the worst coward,” he said. “Even while you pretend at bravery.” “How dare you,” she said, her fists clenching. “How dare you slander my person when you know nothing about me—” “A hypocrite, too, how divine,” he said lazily. “Meanwhile, I was forced to listen to you disparage me at length in front of my own mother, and still I managed not to take up arms against you.” “Perhaps because you found it difficult to disagree with my assessment of your character.”

Unexpectedly, Cyrus smiled. For the first time since she’d met the reprobate, he truly smiled. He grinned like a boy, not a man, the infinitesimal flash of his white teeth rendering him almost childlike, softening him into something more mischievous than vengeful. The sight was distracting enough that she failed to notice her hands had fallen from his chest, that his hands had wasted no time landing at her waist. He gripped her firmly, stepping so close their bodies nearly aligned in all the wrong places; he was crowding her with his heat, with his height, with his unrelenting stare. She could hardly fuse together the wires in her brain; she was too tired, too unaccustomed to such closeness, too overwhelmed by the scent of him, the stubble along his jaw, the strength she felt in his hands, on her hips, his fingers sinking into her flesh. It was but a moment that she froze, confusion costing her the opportunity to regroup, and she knew two things then with absolute certainty: First, that she had failed. Second, that he had lied. How had the nosta failed to sense this? He was going to kill her. He was laughing when he lifted her off her feet, laughing when, without warning, he tossed her off the cliff. Alizeh screamed. “I choose dragons,” he called after her.

With a terrible fright, Alizeh froze. Comprehension dawned by aching degrees, dread flooding her body as memories filled her head, the chaos of the last twelve hours trying desperately to sort itself into chronological order. Alizeh clapped a hand over her mouth. Only then did she realize where she’d left her carpet bag.

MISS HUDA WAS WAITING FOR him inside the morning room, unmistakable and severely out of place, clothed in an ensemble so hideous that even Kamran, who did not know the difference between a ruffle and a petticoat, could not help but condemn.

Kamran did not know what to do with this watery display. He felt frozen in the face of it, uncertain what to do with his hands, where to rest his eyes. He thought perhaps he should deny the unkindness she’d leveled against herself—but he, too, thought Miss Huda was terribly stupid.

Sarra studied her, saying nothing for a long moment. “You’re certain you don’t want to marry my son?” Alizeh returned her assessing gaze. “You doubt me?” “I am not blind to the beauty of my own child,” she said, arching a brow. “There are thousands of young women across Tulan who would marry him in a trice. It might shock you to hear it, but he has quite a dedicated army of admirers. They don’t yet know about you, of course—but they’ll be very sorry, indeed, when your betrothal is announced.” “There will be no such announcement,” Alizeh said angrily, “as I will not be marrying him. Why are you even telling me this? You think my opinion of your son might be swayed by the passing fancies of a deluded mob?” “Not at all,” Sarra said, rewarding her with a blinding smile. “You were tricked, as you said, into coming here. You told me yourself that you loathe him. You’ve already tried to kill him. And you proved in the first minutes of your arrival that you are both brave enough to stand up to him—and strong enough to challenge him. I have no expectation of you marrying my son.” Alizeh went uncommonly still.

Alizeh scoffed at that, discreetly swapping her towel for the soft robe, which she tied, with angry motions, at her waist. “You remain complicit in my capture—and yet you expect me to trust that you have any idea of justice?” “You and I are both captive here,” Sarra said softly. “I only play my role differently than you.” “How can that be true?” “You seem to forget, darling, that Cyrus killed my husband.” At that, Alizeh went still.

“Motherhood is complicated,” said Sarra, turning away. “In nearly every way, I have disowned him in my heart. I will never forgive him. I cannot love him. But I’ve learned that there are some things I can’t bring myself to accomplish. In vain I’ve tried to do the deed myself, but I’ve found that this is the line I’m unable to cross.” She met Alizeh’s eyes then. “I need you to stay because I cannot do this on my own.” “I don’t understand,” Alizeh said, even as her heart pounded in her chest, her instincts screaming at her to keep quiet, to ask no further questions. “What can’t you do on your own?” “Kill him, darling. I need your help to kill him.”

“Hazan,” Kamran said into the silence. “Look at me.” He did not. “Hazan,” Kamran said again, this time angrily. “I bid you rise.” Without lifting his head, Hazan said, “With all due offense, sire, please fuck off.”

“Why did you never tell me you were a Jinn?” he asked. “I thought it none of your concern.” “None of my concern? We’ve known each other since childhood, and you didn’t think I had a right to know that your loyalty, all this time, was to another empire? To another sovereign? You didn’t think it was my concern that my home minister was only biding his time, using me, no doubt, to feed information to his people, hoping to one day lead an insurrection?” “No.”

“I have your pet,” he said. Hazan straightened at that, studying Kamran with a wariness that said he didn’t believe him. “My pet?” Kamran held up the jam jar for inspection, elevating the container to Hazan’s eye line. Upon sighting him, the dispirited insect took flight with a terrible frenzy, flinging itself desperately against its prison, its abdomen illuminating at intervals, the small body striking the glass with a series of dull, steady pings. “Will you attempt to deny that this belongs to you?” It was a while before Hazan said, reluctantly, “No.” “I assume you want to keep it.”

Kamran’s expression was grave. “Hazan,” he said. “I need to know what you did for her.” “Why?” Hazan laughed bitterly. “Lost her again, have you?” “Yes.” Hazan looked up at that, a ghost of a real smile grazing his lips. “Then you’ve delivered me joyous news indeed. I’m quite ready to hang now, for I may die peacefully knowing she’s escaped.”

time angrily. “Did you intend for her to overtake my throne?” “Overtake your throne?” Hazan said, his eyes incredulous. “Overtake the throne of the largest empire in the world, you mean? She and what army?”

That Hazan had been able to read him so easily was a disconcerting revelation, one he didn’t know how to digest. “If you think I will tell you anything about her,” Hazan said darkly, “you are quite deluded. Now either kill me or fuck off.” “Hazan.”

“She is betrothed to him.” “Who?” Hazan appeared distracted, staring intently at the carpet bag still clutched in Kamran’s hand. “Betrothed to whom?” “The girl. She is betrothed to Cyrus.” Hazan’s head lifted sharply at that, his eyes fathomless, dark as pitch. “Cyrus? You refer to the sentient piece of human excrement responsible for murdering our Diviners? The man she accused of being a monster just before striking across the face?” “The very one.” Now Hazan looked murderous. “What is your game? Do you slander her hoping I might be inspired to kill you, spare you the mess you’ve made of your own life?” “Upon my honor, I swear it to be true,” Kamran said sharply. “Cyrus told me himself that they would soon marry. She escaped the ball last night on the back of a Tulanian dragon. No doubt they are together now.”

“What do you mean? Who would come for me?” “The Diviners,” he said quietly, before meeting the prince’s eyes. “You are in danger, Kamran.” “You know what it means, then?” Kamran felt his pulse pick up. “You know why the magic has changed?” “Yes.” “Will you not tell me?” “First, make one thing clear to me right now.” Hazan drew away from the bars and began to pace. “Have you come here to kill me, or to make me a deal? Because if I’m going to die anyway, I fail to see the point in assisting you.” “I need you to live.” Hazan stopped moving.

“Then you are offering me a deal.” “I need your mind, Hazan. I need whatever knowledge you have about the girl. I know you feel immense loyalty to her—I realize you find yourself in this dungeon precisely because you pledged your life to her—but she’s deceived us both, and I fear we will only understand why when it is far too late.” “You want to wage war against Tulan.” “I do.” “And you are asking me to assist you in murdering the young woman who is meant to be the salvation of my people.” “I am.” Hazan stepped closer to the door of his cage, wrapping his hands around the iron bars. His eyes flashed with fury. “I would sooner die.”

“The distortion of the magic,” Hazan said finally. “It means your right to the crown is no longer absolute. It means there might live a worthier inheritor of the throne.” Kamran felt his heart rate spike. It was with great equanimity that he managed to say: “So she intends to take my empire.” “She will not need to,” Hazan said, dragging a hand down his face. “As if the nobles didn’t have enough reason to deem you unfit to rule—they are no doubt assembling a halo of Diviners from across the empire as we speak. They’ll want a validation of the magic, which you will not receive, and once you’re declared an uncertain heir, they will oust you from the palace. If you do not take swift action now—” “Then you agree I have no choice—I must kill her—” “No,” Hazan said, cutting him off. “There are other ways. But if you’re going to accept my help, you will also accept my judgment on this matter. I will be the one to decide whether she has betrayed her people—which means you will not disturb a hair on her head unless I give you leave to do so.”

“All this time you could’ve walked free,” he said, staring steadily at his friend. “Why let the guards think they’d subdued you? You couldn’t have known I would come.” “I didn’t,” Hazan said quietly. “I fought the guards because they treated me like an animal, and when they realized I was Jinn, their behavior toward me grew only more reprehensible. I remained here because I thought I deserved to die, for I thought I’d failed her. Now I’ve learned I must live, if only long enough to understand what’s happening.” Kamran was quiet for some time, absorbing this. “It’s astonishing,” he said finally, “how long you managed to hide your true self from me. I always suspected you were holding back; I never realized how much.” “And are you horrified,” he said, “to discover the truth?” “No. I think I prefer the real Hazan.” “I fear you might regret saying that,” he said, even as he almost smiled. “Be warned, Kamran. The terms of our agreement are nonnegotiable. Lift a finger against her prematurely and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re quite capable. Noble, too. My son, on the other hand, will not fight fair. He’s been studying sorcery and divination since he was old enough to toddle. He’s exceedingly clever, rather deceptively strong, and lacks a basic standard of virtue. He’s also very, very angry, and suspicious to a fault. He trusts no one. He won’t take even a sip of water without having a servant taste it before him.” She’d looked Alizeh over. “Your unchecked anger makes you a clear threat, my dear, and for as long as you persist in this attitude, Cyrus will remain on guard.

What was uncomplicated happiness? She dearly wished to know. In all the years since her parents had died, there had been only one soul who, from start to finish, had been truly in her corner. Hazan. From the moment they’d met, Hazan had been steadfast, and now he was dead.

Alizeh startled so badly she spilled the drink down the front of her clean white dress, gasping as the liquid soaked through the thin fabric, cold tea dripping steadily down her chest. She shot to her feet in a fury. Cyrus, on the other hand, was sitting calmly in the chair across from her, his iconic black hat nowhere in sight. His eyes shone a bright, mesmerizing blue against the golden warmth of his skin, the waves of his coppery hair glinting in errant streaks of sun, the resultant sheen making the locks seem almost metallic. He was infuriatingly beautiful, and she nearly threw her teacup at him. “You absolute heathen,” she cried. “Why did you not knock—” “I did,” he said, and spoke his next words slowly, as if she were a child. “But you couldn’t have heard, because you were sitting all the way out here.”

Alizeh had to close her eyes then, pressing her lips firmly shut lest she say something brutal about Cyrus’s family and ruin this new, kinder approach she was meant to take. Sarra was proving to be a real trial, and Alizeh thought she might hate them both.

“Forgive me,” said Cyrus quietly, “but do you intend to make it a habit of wearing transparent garments in my presence? Do tell me now, I beg you, so that I might blind myself in anticipation.” Alizeh opened her eyes, a quiet rage building in her chest even as her battered dignity demanded she blush. “How dare you,” she whispered. “It’s only that I can see straight through the front of your dress,” he said, gesturing vaguely at her body. “And I’m beginning to see that this is a pattern with you.”

“No,” she said politely, all trace of anger gone from her voice. “I do not intend to make it a habit. And I’m glad you’ve come. There’s a great deal we must discuss.” Cyrus did not hide his surprise.

instead he studied her with visible fascination, turning fully in his seat to face her. He said nothing even as his eyes fairly glimmered with mirth, watching her for so long she nearly gave up the effort, all the while ignoring the way her heart reacted to the full force of his attentions. It was impossible to deny: there was something physically potent about Cyrus, a powerful presence he carried with him into every moment. He looked at her then with a focus so complete she felt she might buckle under its weight, and tried not to think about why her breaths seemed to come a bit faster, her heart pounding a bit harder when his lashes lowered, his gaze falling to her lips for a moment too long. She felt trapped.

“Alizeh,” he said softly. “Have you been a wicked girl?” Abruptly she drew away from the table and hugged herself, her wet gown chilling her anew in the breeze. “No,” she said too quickly, realizing that, in fact, she might’ve underestimated the southern king. Never averting his eyes, Cyrus mirrored her earlier movements. He dropped an elbow onto the table, his cheek into his hand, and blinded her with a smile so sincere it unsettled her, inciting an unexpected, detestable flutter of feeling in her chest. “No?” he said, still smili...

He touched her then, shocking her with a tenderness she wasn’t expecting, tracing the line of her jaw so lightly her lips parted on a sudden breath. She couldn’t seem to move. Her body had betrayed her. Her body had betrayed her, even as her mind screamed. “Wicked girl,” he whispered. “You’ve been making deals with my mother.”

“YOU GAVE MY JOB TO the child?” Hazan threw open the door to the war room with an unchecked anger that was beginning to feel familiar. The former minister had bathed and changed; he’d not been imprisoned long enough to have lost his rooms and belongings, so it was with some efficiency that he was able to return to a semblance of normal. With one great exception.

“My thoughts exactly,” said the prince, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “It really is a great comfort to me that you are not dead this morning, Hazan.” “It is a great comfort to me as well, sire,” Hazan said drily.

“Who? Alizeh?” “Bastard,” Kamran muttered as renewed feeling lanced through him, birdsong filling his head, a warm, not unpleasant sensation sparking along the disfigured lines of his neck, his cheek, his changed eye. “You did that on purpose.” “I swear I didn’t,” said Hazan quietly, studying Kamran closely now. “I don’t understand. You can’t hear her name without experiencing . . . what? Pain?” The feeling was slowly abating, and Kamran drew a steadying breath as he shook his head. “It’s not always pain. I feel . . . different things each time, and it only started this morning. You don’t happen to know what’s wrong with me?” “I’m afraid not,” said Hazan, concern etching his forehead. “But if she has some kind of hold on you from so far away, only a powerful magic can be involved. I know little more than that.” Kamran fell silent, recalling the way he still felt when he thought of her—the way some chamber of his heart thrashed against his better judgment, demanding to see her, to speak with her despite everything—and could not help but agree.

Hazan shot him an imperious look. “Naturally,” he said. “When I learned of her existence, I uncovered all I could about her.” “And you didn’t think to tell me?” “As you will recall, sire, I was at the time withholding a great deal of information from you.” “For the love of God, Hazan,” he said with a sigh. “Do cease being useless to me.” “I promise to consider it.”

MELT THE ICE IN SALT BRAID THE THRONES AT SEA IN THIS WOVEN KINGDOM CLAY AND FIRE SHALL BE

ALIZEH REMEMBERED HERSELF A MOMENT too late, jerking away from Cyrus’s hand with the shock that she’d allowed him to touch her at all. She studied him warily in the intervening silence, his eyes as startling as her own, her heart pounding in her chest with a delayed fear. Alizeh had been wrong; she could not manage him. She had been wrong, too, to underestimate him. Always Cyrus seemed to be one step ahead of her, and somehow she knew it would not do to lie to him now, for he seemed preternaturally attuned to deception. It made her wonder whether he owned a nosta, too.

Oh, she’d been so sure of herself only moments ago, so certain she was not afraid of him. She felt terrified now. “Alizeh.” “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I agreed to kill you in exchange for my freedom.”

“Alizeh,” he cried.