These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

“But then, it’s my prerogative to know the name of my bride.”

“You are well aware of your beauty, I think. Much as I am well aware of the maneuvers of the devil, and the weakness of human flesh. You think me so ignorant of his schemes? From the very moment I saw you I suspected his game—I knew he’d sent you to me, specifically, to torture me—as if I might be so tempted by the sight of you that I would bend in but a moment to your wishes, abandoning in the process an oath I signed with my soul, ensuring I am bound to him forevermore. No. I will not be moved by you—and you have underestimated me if you think I will succumb to your charms.” “Sir, I fear you have lost your mind,”

“Try to weaponize those eyes against me again and I will have them permanently sewn shut.” The nosta flashed hot against her skin, and Alizeh gasped, horror briefly paralyzing her in place.

“If you wish to ingest poison after we exchange our vows, I will not stand in your way. But I will marry you,” he said sharply, “for you do not know what I stand to lose if this arrangement goes awry. You cannot even begin to imagine. So spare me your tears. You have confused me for your melancholy king, and you will suffer for the delusion.”

Cyrus leaned in. “Relinquish the dream,” he said softly. “You have no hope of mastering me.” Alizeh tensed. “I could kill you right now.”

“The sky, too, is soft,” she said. “Yet all who fall into its arms will perish.”

It was as if she’d been returned home.

“Cyrus has talked about me? For months?”

and for the briefest moment Alizeh thought she sensed in him what she still carried within herself— A vast, bottomless grief.

he tossed her off the cliff. Alizeh screamed.

Oh, Alizeh was tired. Tired of feeling she had no control over her life, tired of being manipulated by the devil, tired of living in fear, tired of fear itself. The dark truth she seldom revealed even to herself was that sometimes she wanted nothing more than to break, to be weak, to tear off her armor and give in.

“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.”

The possibility that Hazan had been loyal only to Alizeh, and not Cyrus—well, that changed everything.

“No. I think I prefer the real Hazan.”

It seemed all who met Alizeh possessed ulterior motives, whether to maim or manipulate or lie.

Alizeh was grateful for the good in her life, really she was, but sometimes she longed for a joy undiluted; she wanted to know what it was to smile unhampered by darkness, to laugh without knowing the drumbeat of pain, to see friends without the shadow of uncertainty.

“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,” he said softly. “Have you been a wicked girl?”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Even when you lie to me.”

“Wicked girl,” he whispered. “You’ve been making deals with my mother.”

He’d come to the stunning realization that he’d rather be falling apart with friends, than living a decadent life of isolation.

“I hate you,” he whispered. Alizeh blinked, her heart pounding too hard in her chest. “I know.” He leaned in then, his throat working, his gaze fixed entirely on her mouth. “I hate everything about you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your smile.” His words grazed her skin when he said, softly, “I find your presence insufferable.”

“I need you,” he said roughly. “Don’t run away from me.” “How can you expect me not to run from you,” said Alizeh, still trying to shake off her apprehension, “when you threatened just hours ago to have my eyes sewn shut?” He looked sharply away from her then, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “And then you threw me off a cliff,” she said, her voice a bit breathless even to her own ears. “You wouldn’t stop threatening to kill me,” he said angrily, turning back to face her. “I was merely trying to change the subject.” “By having me devoured by dragons?” she nearly cried.

“I’m not sorry I made a deal with your mother to murder you.” His lips twitched, his eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry I threw you off a cliff.”

When I’m finally free, I give you leave to kill me at your leisure and take Tulan for yourself.”

“You can’t be serious,” she breathed. “My kingdom,” he said softly. “For your hand.”

“You speak of killing her!” “I would’ve married her,”

“I only wish I were. I wish I felt nothing for her. I wish I could rip this useless organ out of my chest for all the trouble it’s caused me. I was so deluded—so disgustingly besotted—I

“I’d asked her to give me hope, Hazan. I asked her to wait for me. It was she who didn’t want me, who didn’t want to be with me. I never trifled with her. If she’d given me even a little encouragement I would’ve laid down my life for her—happily, I would’ve made her my queen, I—”

“Maybe,” he said, his frown deepening, “maybe you are supposed to marry her.”

“You don’t actually know her, Hazan,” Kamran said quietly. “You only know who you want her to be.”

“Being forced into your company ranks high on the list of the most abhorrent experiences I’ve ever had.”

“Heavens. You talk almost as if you want to die.” “And you would judge me?”

“For relishing an exit from this brutal consciousness we call life?” “Not really,”

“I fear your presence inspires me.” Alizeh’s anger sharpened; she was growing tired of his childish jabs at her pride. “If you’re so keen to die,” she said, “why not let the devil do it?” “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, attempting a smile. “I watched you kill five mercenaries with an assortment of sewing supplies. I think I prefer your creativity.”

Why would you assume the worst of me based on a single scene you witnessed without context—” “You stunning little hypocrite,” he said angrily, “I might ask you the same question.”

There’s something you haven’t told me.” “There are all kinds of things I haven’t told you.”

“I didn’t say a word until I was three years old. I don’t like eggplant. And you have a single little freckle in the hollow at the base of your throat.”

“How did you know that?” “I have eyes,” he said flatly.

“And you should take care to remember that. Should you marry me, it would be in title only. I have no interest in your companionship.” The nosta went cold.

“No,” he said sharply. “I won’t touch you.” The nosta warmed.

“Never mind.” Cyrus cut her off. “I don’t care to know the dizzying particulars of your relationship with the idiot heir of Ardunia.”

“I don’t care if you hate him,” she said. “I only want to know whether he’s alive.” “And will you cry,” Cyrus said quietly, “if I tell you he’s not?”

“Come with me,” he said, straightening, and held out his hand. Alizeh eyed his outstretched hand warily, biting her lip as she hesitated. “Why? Are you going to throw me off a cliff again?” “Maybe later,” he said lightly. “Then what?”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I lost my mind the moment I met her, Hazan, and you were there to witness my fall from reason, so don’t feign surprise now.”

“I swear, sometimes you ...

I stand here begging you to marry me—to kill me and take my nation, my crown, my legacy—and you won’t even say yes.”

“I do realize I just called you a fair amount of terrible names, but I’d still very much like to see Tulan.”

“Why are you refusing to look at me?”