These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

“Why should I?” she said quietly. “I’ve already ...

“Ali...

“You know, you say my na...

“I say your name,” he said tersely, “a perfectly...

“Do you really think so?” She peeked up at him, and he lo...

“...

“Please,” said Cyrus. “At least tell me you’re okay.” “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said, sniffing softly. She closed her eyes again, let the flowers dry her tears. “What do you mean?” he said, alarmed. “Why impossible?” “Well,” she said, “because I’ve recently deduced that you’re quite charmingly pathetic.” He sighed. “Really? You’re choosing this moment to insult me?”

“And I have a theory,” she went on, “that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?” He went silent. He was silent so long Alizeh had time enough to watch a drop of dew drip off a glossy green leaf. “True or false, Cyrus?” She heard his uneven exhale, the raw edge to his voice when he said, irritably, “False.” The nosta flashed cold. “Liar,” she whispered.

“You mean, you were trying to console me?” “Bloody hell, Alizeh, knock it off.”

“Me?” she said again. “You were trying to console me?” “You know what, you can walk back to the castle—”

He laughed quietly at that and she did, too, and the two of them fell into a companionable silence,

for it had been difficult to imagine how empathy, so necessary in an emotional arsenal, might prove a weapon of destruction.

She would never again deny that he was beautiful. She whispered to him over and over, beseeching him to return to his body, to this present moment, and was again stroking the curve of his cheek when he caught her hand—weakly—and she went suddenly, deathly still. Relief flooded through her even as her pulse sped up, for his fingers slowly closed around her own. He drew the back of her hand gently against his lips, and then, so softly she might’ve imagined it, he kissed her.

“Let’s go back to bed, Alizeh.” “Cyrus—” He laughed a little, like he was drunk. “I do say it a lot.” “What?” she said, going briefly still. “Your name,” he said, and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. “I didn’t know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth.”

“Don’t be afraid of me, angel. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

It wasn’t right to be so attracted to a man she was meant to kill.

It was impossible not to think of her then, to be reminded of the linchpin of the tragic story that had become his life. Alizeh, who’d awoken in him emotion he’d never before experienced, who’d opened his eyes to a kind of glorious madness he hadn’t even known was possible—and then, with a tender smile, so delicately snapped in half his entire world.

She’d simply stood tall, and his world had collapsed.

Kamran could not even hear her name without taking it like a shot to the chest.

She knew only that Cyrus was about to show her exactly why so much of the world feared him, for she was pinned against the wall, and there was a sword pointed at her throat.

“Stop moving,” he said, furious. “This sword is devastatingly sharp—” “Then lower your weapon, you scoundrel!” He did, but only enough so it was no longer touching her. “Are we back to this, then?” He swallowed, staring at the cut at her neck. “Insulting each other?” “You dare mourn the loss of my goodwill,” she whispered, “even as you hold a blade to my throat.”

She only stared at him then, her heart slowly atrophying in her chest. She ached at the betrayal, at her own stupidity, at her idiotic weaknesses that had led her to be kind to him. She hated herself for ever admiring him, for crying for him as he’d screamed, for mopping up his blood and all but tucking him into bed. He’d bought her a piece of bread and her charity had been so easily purchased, her porous heart so easily moved. She’d really thought perhaps they could be something like reluctant friends. Oh, she was a fool of astronomical proportions.

“You kicked me,” he said angrily. “You cut me,” she countered.

“I won’t fight you.” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I never should’ve lifted my sword against you.” “Why not?” She bristled. “You don’t think me a worthy opponent?” “You,” he said ardently, “have always been too worthy. I will not hurt you.”

“Give me back my book,” she cried. “It belongs to me!” Cyrus shook his head slowly, staring at her in wonder. His chest was heaving slightly, his voice only a little breathless from his recent efforts. “Marry me,” he said. Alizeh tightened her grip on her weapon, her eyes widening in outrage.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, his astonishment palpable. “You cried for me?” “It has been noted,” she whispered, “that I perhaps cry too much.” “You used your own tears,” he said, all but broken, “to wash the blood from my face?”

“Alizeh. Please look at me.” She shook her head at the floor. “This is quite humiliating for me, Cyrus. I won’t look at you.” “Why is it humiliating?” “Because I was stupid,” she said in a sudden burst. “I was kind to you only to discover that you’d been lying to me all this time—that you’d stolen my book and refuse to give it . . .”

“Why were you so kind to me? I’d heard someone crying, but I thought the sounds were part of a dream, or a hallucination. God, the way you touched me—”

“Alizeh, my own mother has never touched me with such tenderness. I didn’t think there was any chance you could be real.”

Cyrus had looked at her many times since she’d met him, and always with varying levels of intensity, but never quite like this. Never like he wanted to fall to his knees before her.

“I believe the words you used to describe me were quite charmingly pathetic.” Cyrus exhaled so hard she watched his chest cave a bit. He looked devastated. “I deserve to be shot for saying that to you.”

alive.” Alizeh paled. “You mean Iblees tortures you nearly to death and then brings you back from the brink—just to do it again?” “Yes.” She thought she might be sick. “Does he do this often?” “Yes,” he said softly. “How often?” “It depends.” He swallowed. “Sometimes twice a week.”

“I touched you,” he said softly. “Do you remember?”

“And do you condemn me for it?”

“No,”

“Alizeh,” he whispered. “Let me make you my queen.”

What were you going to do? If I kissed you? What would come next?”

“I would marry you,” he said, stepping closer again, coming dangerously within reach. “I’d marry you tomorrow. And then I’d take you to bed. For weeks.”

“I don’t know,” she said, and shook her head. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking—” “And now you’re thinking too much.”

“And you are needlessly shocked. You’ve known from the first that I am yoked to a ruthless master, that in fact I sought you out under his orders, that I disrupted my life and disordered my home and tore myself open at his behest, all for you.” He swallowed. “All for you. Do you really not see what you’ve done to me? In a matter of days you’ve stripped me down and upended my world. My hours are in disarray, my future is in chaos, and my head—my head—” He turned away and grimaced, his fists clenching, and Alizeh thought her heart might stop. “And instead of being angry,” he went on, “instead of driving you away—instead of wishing we’d never met—I keep staring at that fucking cut on your neck, Alizeh, and I want to die.”

face. “I have only myself to blame. I knew better; I knew you were dangerous. You’ve had the upper hand from the moment I laid eyes on you. I saw you and saw right away that I was in hell, and I hated you for it, because I realized even then that you would be the end of me.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, tortured. “I’ve been dreaming about you for months.”

“Far from it. I always thought you were some kind of an angel.”

“I didn’t trust you,” Cyrus said quietly. “How could I trust you? You were a vision conjured by the devil, designed to ruin me. I hated you for being real, for coming to life only to personify torture, to be another trial to endure. In fact I wanted to hate you. I wanted to discover your faults, your flaws. I thought you’d never match up to the figment of my dreams, and I was wrong. You are far more enchanting in real life. Far more exquisite.”

“It is excruciating to be in your presence.”

“You act as if I’m intentionally cruel. As if I’m indifferent to you.” “Aren’t you?” “No,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Of course not.” Cyrus stared at her from where he stood, his chest heaving with barely leashed intensity. He devastated her with that look, even as he seemed planted in the ground, immovable. “Then be with me,” he said softly. “Let me worship you.”

“You have no idea what I could give you,” he said, his own eyes blazing. “You have no idea what I want. I have been in agony for eight months, Alizeh. Do you know how hard it’s been to pretend I don’t know you? To pretend I don’t want you? To act as if I haven’t known every inch of your body in my dreams? To learn that your heart has been entangled elsewhere? I look at you and I can’t breathe. In my mind, you are already mine.”

“Where does this leave us, then?” she whispered. “Will you rescind your offer of marriage?” He laughed, and it was tragic. “How I wish I could.”

sides. “After all this—after everything I’ve shared with you tonight—you would become my wife,” he said, his voice ragged, “in title only?” “Yes,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t touch me. Or laugh with me. You wouldn’t share my bed.” Her heart was beating in her throat. “No.” “Alizeh, you would make me the most wretched man alive.”

“Will you kill me then? Is this the order in which you intend to annihilate me? Will you tear out my heart first, rip off my crown next, and end my life only when I’m on my knees, begging you to end my misery?”