These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

Never again would he allow a woman to own his emotions; never again would he be made weak by such base temptations. He swore it then: this monster from the prophecy would die by his hand – he would drive a blade through her heart or die trying.

“I thought she broke through the fire to punish me,” Cyrus was saying. “I see only now that she did so to protect you.”

This unusual reaction to a sudden plummet from the heavens was in part precipitated by an ambivalence toward the direction her life had recently taken

There was an unconscious part of Alizeh that seemed to understand that if she unlocked the pain in her chest, she might not survive it. Much better, she thought, to keep it leashed.

This was a habit Alizeh had mastered long ago. Cataloging moments of grace even in the midst of disaster often helped steady her mind; indeed there had been days in her life so bleak that Alizeh had resorted to counting her teeth if only to prove she still owned something of value.

“Had I known you’d incinerate the gown I might not have wasted so much magic in its making,” Cyrus was saying, shaking his head. “Much good it did you, in the end. That dress was meant to hide you from any who wished you harm; instead, you destroyed it, exposing in the process both your identity and your undergarments to all of Ardunian royalty. You must be well-pleased with yourself.”

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.”

“Try to weaponize those eyes against me again and I will have them permanently sewn shut.”

Zahhak was a truculent man, and yet too craven to lift a sword in his own defense; instead he carried into every conversation the poison of passive aggression, the preferred weapon of cowards.

There was no one left he might trust, no one upon whom he might rely. The thought threatened to break him, and he vehemently refused it residence in his mind.

“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.”

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.

Alizeh drew a deep, steadying breath. She reminded herself to take comfort, as she always had, in the strength she carried in her body, in her mind, in the faith she’d always had in herself.

She was not stupid enough to think she could find her way to safety in her current state – bedraggled, destitute, and ignorant of this foreign landscape

Grief, exhaustion, betrayal – he couldn’t decide which was the worst aggressor.

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.

“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.”

How long would she be forced to fight for her life? More important: Was her life really worth so much effort? It troubled her that she had no answer.

Her name struck him like a stone when she spoke it, filling his head with the sound of wind and birdsong and a sharp, blistering pain that forced him to turn away. He pressed the heel of his hand against a sudden spasm in his neck, along the fissures snaking up his skin, trying in vain to understand what the devil was happening to him.

He only unburdens himself in what I have discovered to be the deluded pursuit of my absolution. He is still young and foolish enough to think that confiding in me will earn him my compassion, but I’ve become inured to his self-pity.

The more he lived – the more he endured – the more convinced Kamran became that he knew nothing at all.

it troubled her nonetheless that even the positive relationships in her life – Omid and Miss Huda and even Deen, the apothecarist, among them – had all been born in some manner of unkindness.

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.”

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

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

“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.”

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.”

“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.”

“Heavens. You talk almost as if you want to die.” “And you would judge me?” He took an alarming step closer. “For relishing an exit from this brutal consciousness we call life?”

“How did you know that?” “I have eyes,” he said flatly. “You’re lying to me.” “About my eyes? I assure you, they’re quite firmly affixed to my skull.”

Should you marry me, it would be in title only. I have no interest in your companionship.” The nosta went cold.

He himself had not shed a single tear since the night prior, and while there was an aspect of his consciousness that suspected, on some base level, that this was probably strange, there was a much larger, louder, and unhealthier part of him that took pride in his ability to keep his emotions constrained.

“I really thought I’d already hit rock bottom, but this – This is a shade of wretchedness I’ve never known.”

cyrus is real asf

“You mean – you were trying to console me?” “Yes.” He pointed at himself. “Me.” “You know what?” An angry blush burned across her cheeks. “Never mind.” Cyrus stared at her for a full second before he finally broke, and laughed out loud. “I tell you a single sad story and your defenses weaken that easily? Against me? You lovely little fool, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

He froze, briefly surprised by the insult, and then laughed with his whole body, his shoulders shaking, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Heavens,” he said. “Tell me how you really feel.” “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.

“And you’re no longer worried I’ll run away?” “No.” “Wait – Why not?” Alizeh stopped in place. “You should be a little worried, at the very least.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said, finally turning around to face her. “For I’ve recently deduced that you’re quite charmingly pathetic.” Alizeh stiffened, shock and outrage awakening in her body. “How dare you,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, her fists clenching. “I am not pathetic –” “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.”

He grabbed hold of her shoulders anyway, tried to look her in the eye. “Alizeh, you infuriating girl, listen to me –” “I certainly will not listen to you – And how dare you call me stupid and infuriating –” “The stairs are made of glass.”

“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?” “Why should I?” she said quietly. “I’ve already seen your face.” “Alizeh –” “You know, you say my name a lot.” “I say your name,” he said tersely, “a perfectly normal amount.” “Do you really think so?” She peeked up at him, and he looked mad about it. “Yes.” “Well, I suppose that might be true,” she said. “It’s been so long since anyone has spoken to me in earnest that I fear I’ve lost perspective.” He hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“What are you – Oh, for heaven’s sake, are you going to cry again? I’ll take you to see the blasted city, Alizeh, I’ll show you the bloody magic, you don’t have to cry about everything –” “I’m not crying,” she said irritably. “I’m thinking. Sometimes I get emotional when I’m thinking –”

“When you’re thinking? You mean all the time, then?” He pushed his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. “The devil really is trying to kill me.” She wiped at her eyes. “I thought you already knew that.” “All right, that’s quite enough out of you,” he said, and then he took her hand without warning, and tugged her out the door.

Alizeh decided she liked bread very much.

He searched the skies then as if for strength, and turned back to her with a sigh.

“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.

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.

“Where are we, by the way?” she asked, her eyes landing on a particularly purple tulip, the color so vivid it seemed imagined. In response, Cyrus did not say what was obvious, which was that they were in a flower field; instead he answered the more specific question she’d failed to ask, and said simply, “Somewhere safe.” “Safe?” she said, managing a small smile. “Even with you here?” It was a moment before he said, quietly, “Yes.” The nosta warmed.

“The field exists simply to exist. There are thousands of different types of flowers here,” he explained. “It’s meant to be a kind of living painting; an experience with beauty meant to invigorate the tired senses.” Alizeh nearly lifted her head, she was so surprised. “That’s why you brought me here?” “Yes,” he said quietly. “You mean, you were trying to console me?” “Bloody hell, Alizeh, knock it off.”

“I do hope you know how grateful I am that you brought me here. It’s absolutely beautiful.” “Yes, well,” he said, taking a sharp breath. “You strike me as precisely the sort of maudlin person who would appreciate the company of flowers while crying.” She sat with that for a moment, trying to decode it. “Do you know,” she said finally, “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “It wasn’t a compliment.” “Yes,” she said, smiling. “I think it was.”

She picked a loose petal off her cheek and stared up at him through a kaleidoscope of color and stems and leaves, and for a moment she saw nothing but sky and the blue of his eyes. Then his hair, gleaming in the dying light; the elegant lines of his face, gilded by the golden hour. 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.

Alizeh bore witness to the torture in his eyes. She heard the low, keening sound he made as a single tear, then another, tracked slowly down his cheek. She thought her heart might fail.