These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

“I thought she broke through the fire to punish me,” Cyrus was saying. “I see only now that she did so to protect you.” There was a flicker in those blue irises, and for a second Cyrus betrayed himself. Beneath his placid surface was something desperate and unrestrained, if not broken. Kamran cataloged the moment as a kind of mercy, for he realized then that the young man was a king weaker than he appeared.

But this evidence of Cyrus’s prowess—and lightning-fast reflexes—only cemented Kamran’s certainty that the southern king had earlier allowed Alizeh to overpower him. To the prince, this behavior pointed to one of only two explanations: either she was his superior in their arrangement, or he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Perhaps both.

“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.”

“I truly hate you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “With my whole heart, I hate you.” Cyrus held her gaze for what seemed a brutally long time before he finally tore away. He said nothing. That Alizeh heard the slight tremor in his breath when he finally exhaled, or that she noticed the unsteadiness with which he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, did not rate mention.

“As I thought,” he whispered. “You’re too soft even to bear the weight of my attentions.” Alizeh laughed quietly as she pressed a finger to the wind, felt the current curl under her touch. “The sky, too, is soft,” she said. “Yet all who fall into its arms will perish.”

She was too overcome with exhilaration and as a result did not think before she smiled at Cyrus, turning the full force of her joy in his direction, eyes squinting, cheeks dimpling, chest heaving with excitement. Cyrus went inhumanly still, then turned sharply away.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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

“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.”

“My kingdom,” he said softly. “For your hand.”

He looked up at her, a strange emotion flitting across his face. “No,” he echoed softly. “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.

“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?” “I thought you might like to see Tulan.”

“Take care, Cyrus,” she chided him. “If you keep laughing like that, I’m liable to think you have a heart.” “Oh, you needn’t worry,” he said, his smile fading. “I most certainly don’t.” The nosta went cold.

“I have a theory,” he said, cutting her off as he walked backward to the door, “that if I were badly wounded, you would help me. True or false?” “False.” His smile widened. “Liar.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said ruthlessly. “I’d leave you there and run for my life.”

“Heavens, Alizeh.” Cyrus had gone completely slack. “You might be the strangest girl I’ve ever met in all my life.” “Are you insulting me?” “Without question.” She shot him a dirty look, but Cyrus only laughed.

“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.

Her parents had once warned her that her heart, if tuned precisely to compassion, would become a two-pronged tool: it would be her greatest strength and her greatest weakness.

Alizeh did not like to admit to his beauty, which was hard enough to deny under ordinary conditions, but here, standing in an ocean of flowers, tall and somber in his simple black clothes, Cyrus was fairly magnificent.

She would never again deny that he was beautiful.

He drew the back of her hand gently against his lips, and then, so softly she might’ve imagined it, he kissed her.

“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.”

“Alizeh.” He blinked blearily, studying her with red, glassy eyes. There was a desperation in his voice when he said, “Why did you leave me?” His words were like a shot to the heart.

“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.” The nosta burned against her skin.

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.”

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

Her heart was beating so hard she could hardly hear her own thoughts. 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 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.”

“It’s my own fault,” he said, and dragged both hands down his 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.”

“Please,” she said urgently. “I don’t mean to make you suffer. But I need to understand— If the devil has been planting my likeness in your mind, I must know how he’s using me. What did I do to you? Did I hurt you in your imaginings?” It was a moment before Cyrus said, now staring at the wall, “Far from it. I always thought you were some kind of an angel.”

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.” His voice shook just a little when he said, softly, “It is excruciating to be in your presence.”

“You’re being unfair,” she said, forcing herself to speak, her heart beating painfully in her chest. “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 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.”

“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.”