KAMRAN TILTED HIS HEAD UP at the blue mosaic work of the war room, not merely to admire the geometric ingenuity executed upon the domed ceiling, but to exercise his tortured neck away from the stiff collar of his tunic.
The prince had been willing to don this shirt only because he’d been assured by his valet that it was made of pure silk—and silk, he’d assumed, would prove more comfortable than that of his other formal wear. Silk was purported to be a smooth and quiet textile, was it not?
How, then, to explain the atrocity he wore now?
Kamran could not understand why the blasted article was so crisp, or why it made so much noise when he moved.
His valet was clearly an idiot.
It had taken hours, but Kamran’s earlier anger had abated just long enough to carry him home. His frustrations still simmered at a low, constant heat, but when the haze of fury had lifted, Kamran looked about himself and decided the only way through this day was to focus on things he could control. He feared he might otherwise spend every minute staring angrily at the clock until he could be certain the girl was dead.
It wouldn’t do.
Much better, the prince thought, would be to exorcise his demons in the pursuit of a known enemy—and he bade Hazan assemble a gathering of a dozen high-ranking military officials. There was a great deal to discuss with respect to the brewing tensions with Tulan, and Kamran hoped to spend the remainder of the day working through strategy in the palace war room. Work, he thought, would calm him.
He had miscalculated.
As if this day hadn’t been from its birth an abomination, Kamran seemed doomed now to spend the rest of it accosted by halfwits; imbeciles whose jobs it was to dress him and guide him and advise him poorly in all matters both foreign and domestic.
Idiots, all of them idiots.
He was listening to one of those idiots now. The empire of Ardunia had a redundant, useless defense minister, and not only was the greasy creature present in the war room today, he wouldn’t cease speaking long enough to allow a more reasonable person to contradict him.
“Certainly, there are some concerns about relations with Tulan,” the minister was saying, dispensing words at a sluggardly pace so tedious Kamran wanted to throttle the man. “But we have the situation well in hand,
and I would humbly remind His Highness—for our esteemed prince had yet to set foot on a battlefield when these provisions were made—that it was covert Ardunian intelligence that brought to bear the promotions of several of Tulan’s highest ranking officials, who might now be counted upon to report any information of note to their Ardunian allies . . .”
Kamran briefly closed his eyes, clenching his fists to keep from boxing his own ears or tearing the shirt from his body. He’d been forced to change into formal wear for the purposes of this meeting, which was one of the more ludicrous customs of peacetime. The near decade they’d spent away from the battlefield had made the once legendary leaders of Ardunia now thick and lethargic, stripping these military summits of their urgency, degrading them all in the process.
Kamran was not only prince of Ardunia, but one of only five lieutenant generals responsible for the five respective field armies—each a hundred thousand soldiers strong—and he took his position quite seriously.
When the time came for Kamran to inherit the throne, so, too, would he inherit his grandfather’s role as commanding general of the entire Ardunian military, and there were few who did not resent the prince’s impending elevation to the distinguished rank at such a young age. The title should have gone to his father, yes, but such was Kamran’s fate. He could not run from it any more than he could reanimate the dead. His only recourse was to work harder—and smarter—to show what he was worth.
This, among other reasons, might explain why his comrades had not taken kindly to Kamran’s overly aggressive counsel, and had all but called him an unschooled child for daring to suggest a preemptive attack on Tulanian soil.
Kamran did not care.
It was true that these men had the benefit of age and decades of experience to support their ideas, but so too had they been idle in the last several years of peace, preferring to laze about on their large estates, abandoning their wives and children to toss coin instead at courtesans; to dull their minds with opium.
Kamran, meanwhile, had actually been reading the weekly reports sent in from the divisions.
There were fifty divisions spanning the empire, each comprising ten thousand soldiers, and each commanded by a major general whose job,
among others, was to compile weekly briefings based on essential findings from lower battalions and regiments.
These fifty disparate briefings were then issued not to direct superiors, but to the defense minister, who read the materials and disseminated pertinent information to the king and his five lieutenant generals. Fifty briefings from across the empire, each five pages long.
That made for two hundred and fifty pages a week.
Which meant every month, a thousand pages of essential material was bequeathed to a single unctuous man upon whom the king himself relied for critical intelligence and instruction.
This, this was where Kamran lost his patience.
The dissemination of key information through a defense minister was an ancient practice, one that had been established during wartime to spare the highest-ranking officials the critical hours that might otherwise be spent poring over hundreds of pages of material. Once upon a time, it had made sense. But Ardunia had been at peace now for seven years, and still his fellow lieutenants did not read the reports for themselves, relying instead upon a minister who grew only more unqualified by the hour.
Kamran had long ago circumvented this impotent practice, preferring to read the briefings in full through the lens of his own mind and not the minister’s.
Had anyone else in the room bothered to read the sitrep from these different reaches of the empire they might see as Kamran did: that the observations were at once fascinating and worrying, and together drew a bleak picture of Ardunia’s relations with the southern kingdom of Tulan. Sadly, they did not.
Kamran’s jaw clenched.
“Indeed,” the minister was droning on, “it is often to our benefit to maintain a sense of rivalry with another powerful nation, for a common enemy helps keep the citizens of our empire united, reminding the people to be grateful for the safety promised not only by the crown, but by the military—to which their children will devote four years of their lives, and whose movements have been so well calculated in this last century, under the guidance of our merciful king.
“Our prince was divinely blessed to inherit the fruits of a kingdom built tirelessly over many millennia. Indeed the empire he is one day to inherit is now so magnificent it stands as the largest of the known world, having so
successfully conquered its many enemies that its millions of citizens may now enjoy a stretch of well-deserved peace.”
By the angels, the man refused to shut his mouth.
“Surely there is proof in this, is there not?” the minister was saying. “Proof not only of Ardunia’s skillful leadership, but in the collective wisdom of its leaders. It is our hope that His Highness, the prince, will see in time that his experienced elders—who are also his most humble servants
—have worked diligently to make thoughtful, considered decisions at every turn, for certainly we can see how—”
“Enough.” Kamran stood up with such force he nearly knocked over his chair.
This was madness.
He could neither continue sitting here in this damned hair shirt, nor could he listen any longer to these insipid excuses.
The minster blinked slowly, his vacant eyes shining like glass beads. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, bu—”
“Enough,” Kamran said again, angrily. “Enough of your blathering. Enough of your insufferable stupidity. I can no longer listen to another ridiculous word that comes out of your mouth—”
“Your Highness,” Hazan cried, jumping to his feet. He shot Kamran a look of death and dire warning, and Kamran, who was usually in far better control of his faculties, could not summon the presence of mind to care.
“Yes, I see,” Kamran said, looking his minister in the eye. “You’ve made it plain: you think me young and foolish. Yet I am not so young and foolish as to be blind to your ill-concealed passive aggressions, your weak attempts to pacify my genuine concerns. Indeed I know not how many times I will need to remind you, gentlemen”—he looked around the room now—“that I have only a week ago returned from an eighteen-month tour of the empire, in addition to recently accompanying our admiral on a treacherous water journey, during which half our men nearly drowned after we collided with an invisible barrier near the border of Tulan. Upon arrival in Ardunia, traces of magic were found on the hull of our ship—”
Gasps. Whispers.
“—a discovery which should concern everyone in this room. We have been at odds with Tulan for centuries, and sadly, I suspect our incumbent officials have grown comfortable with that which has become commonplace. You seem to grow blind when you turn your gaze south,” the
prince said sharply. “No doubt our exchanges with Tulan have become as familiar to you as your own bowel movements—”
There were several protests at that, exclamations of outrage that Kamran ignored, instead raising his voice to be heard above the din.
“—so familiar, in fact, that you no longer see an obvious threat for what it is. Let me refresh your memories, gentlemen!” Kamran pounded the table with his fist, calling to order the moment of chaos. “In the last two years,” he said, “we have captured sixty-five Tulanian spies, who even under extensive duress would not reveal more than limited information about their interests in our empire. With great effort we were able to conclude only that they seek something of value here; something they hope to mine from our land, and recent reports indicate that they are nearing their goal—”
More protests broke out at this, and Hazan, who’d gone scarlet to his hairline, looked as if he might soon strangle the prince for his effrontery.
“I say, gentlemen,” Kamran said, shouting now to be heard. “I say I do much prefer this method of discourse, and I would encourage you to direct your anger at me more regularly, so that I might respond to you in kind. We are discussing war are we not? Should we not shed the delicacy with which we approach these hardened subjects? I confess that when you speak to me in circles I find it both detestable”—he raised his voice further—“both detestable and tiresome, and I do wonder whether you hide behind wordplay merely to disguise your own ignorance—”
“Your Highness,” Hazan cried.
Kamran met his minister’s eyes, finally acknowledging the barely restrained wrath of the only man in the room he marginally respected. The prince took a steadying breath, his chest lifting with the effort.
“Yes, Minister?”
Hazan’s voice all but shook with fury as he spoke. “It has only just occurred to me, sire, that I require your immediate guidance on a matter of great importance. Might I convince you to meet me outside so that we might discuss this crucial business at once?”
At that, the fight left Kamran’s body.
It was no fun to fight a horde of idiots when Hazan suffered an apoplectic fit as a result. He tilted his head at his old friend. “As you wish, Minister.”
The remaining officials exploded with outrage in their wake.
Hazan said nothing until he’d all but bullied the prince up to his chambers, where, only once the rooms had been cleared of servants, did he close the door.
Were Kamran in a different frame of mind, he might’ve laughed at the demented look in Hazan’s eyes.
The young man had gone nearly purple.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” Hazan said with dangerous calm. “You ordered these men to leave their posts—for some, dozens of miles away—on a whim for what you deemed an essential meeting—and then you all but rip their throats out? Are you mad? You will lose their respect before you’ve even claimed the throne, which y—”
“You don’t mind if I ring for tea, do you? I’m quite parched.” Kamran pulled the bell without waiting for a response, and his minister sputtered at the impertinence.
“You ring for tea? Now?” Hazan had gone rigid with anger. “I’m of a mind to snap your neck, sire.”
“You lack the heart to snap my neck, Hazan. Do not pretend otherwise.” “You underestimate me, then.”
“No, Minister. I only know that, deep down, you thoroughly enjoy your position, and I daresay you can’t imagine your life without me.”
“You are deluded, Your Highness. I imagine my life without you all the time.”
Kamran raised his eyebrows. “But you do not deny that you enjoy your position.”
There was a brief, taut silence before Hazan sighed, reluctantly. The sound severed the tension between them, but was chased quickly by an epithet.
“Come now, Hazan,” the prince was saying. “Surely you can see the logic in my arguments. Those men are idiots. Tulan will come for all our throats soon enough, and then they will see, too late, how blind they’ve been.”
Hazan shook his head. “These idiots, as you call them, make up the necessary framework of your empire. They’ve been loyal to Ardunia since before you were born. They know more about your own history than you do, and they deserve your basic respect—”
There was a sharp knock at the door, and Hazan halted his speech to answer it, intercepting the tea tray before the servant could enter the room.
He kicked the door shut, placed the tray down on a nearby table, poured them both a cup, and said—
“Go on, then. I believe I was in the middle of making an excellent point, and you were just about to interrupt me.”
Kamran laughed, took a quick sip of tea, and promptly swore out loud. “Why is this tea so hot?”
“Apologies, sire. I’d always hoped that one day your tongue might be irreparably damaged. I see now that my prayers were answered.”
“Good God, Hazan, you should be shot.” The prince shook his head as he placed the teacup on a low table. “Pray tell me,” he said, turning to face his minister. “Tell me why—why am I considered the fool when I am in fact the sole voice of reason?”
“You are a fool, sire, because you act like a fool,” Hazan said impassively. “You know better than to insult your peers and subordinates in the pursuit of progress. Even if you make a good point, this is not how it’s done. Nor is this the time to court enemies in your own house.”
“Yes, but is there ever a time for that? Later, perhaps? Tomorrow?
Would you make the appointment?”
Hazan threw back the last of his tea. “You are acting the part of a ridiculous, spoiled prince. I cannot countenance your recklessness.”
“Oh, leave me be.”
“How can I? I expect more from you, sire.” “No doubt that was your first mistake.”
“You think I don’t know why you pick fights today? I do. You sulk because the king intends to host a ball in your honor, because he has bade you choose a wife from a bevy of beautiful, accomplished, intelligent women—and you would much rather take up with the one destined to kill him.” Hazan shook his head. “Oh, how you suffer.”
Kamran had reached for the teapot and froze now mid-movement. “Minister, do you mock me?”
“I’m only making the evident observation.”
Kamran straightened, the tea forgotten. “And yet the observation that is so evident to you renders me, in the same breath, an insensate human being. Tell me: do you think me incapable of suffering? Am I so unworthy of the experience?”
“With all due respect, sire, I don’t believe you know what it is to suffer.”
“Indeed?” Kamran sat back. “What sage wisdom from my minister.
You’ve been inside my mind, have you? You’ve taken a tour of my soul?” “Enough of this,” Hazan said quietly. He would no longer look at the
prince. “You are being absurd.”
“Absurd?” Kamran said, picking up his glass. “You think me absurd? A girl is going to die tonight, Hazan, and her death was provoked by my own arrogance.”
“Spoken like a vainglorious fool.”
Kamran smiled, but it was a tortured expression. “And yet? Is it not true? That I was so determined to doubt a poor servant girl? That I thought her so incapable of such basic decency as to show mercy to a hungry child that I had her hunted, her blood dissected?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Hazan said, but Kamran could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “You know it is more than that. You know it is about far more than you.”
Kamran shook his head.
“I have sentenced her to death, Hazan, and you know that is true. It’s why you were loath to tell me who she was that night. You knew even then what I had wrought.”
“Yes. That.” Hazan dragged a hand down his face. He looked tired suddenly. “And then I saw you with her, in the street that night. You miserable liar.”
Kamran lifted his head slowly. He felt his pulse pick up.
“Oh yes,” Hazan said quietly. “Or did you think me so incapable of finding you in a rainstorm? I am not blind, am I? Neither am I deaf, unfortunately.”
“How very accomplished you are,” Kamran said softly. “I admit I had no idea my minister aspired to the stage. I suspect you’ll be changing careers imminently.”
“I’m quite satisfied where I am, thank you.” Hazan shot a sharp look at the prince. “Though I think it is I who should be congratulating you, sire, on your fine performance that evening.”
“All right. Enough,” said Kamran, exhausted. “I’ve let you berate me at your leisure. No doubt we’ve both had our fill of this unpleasantness.”
“Nevertheless,” Hazan said. “You cannot convince me that your concern for the girl is all about the goodness of her heart—or yours, for that matter. You are perhaps in part moved by her innocence; yes, I might be persuaded to believe that; but you are also at war within yourself, reduced to this state
by an illusion. You know nothing of this girl, meanwhile it has been foretold by our esteemed Diviners that she is to usher in the fall of your grandfather. With all due respect, sire, your feelings on the subject should be uncomplicated.”
At that, Kamran fell silent, and a quiet minute stretched out between them.
Finally, Hazan sighed. “I admit I could not see her face that night. Not the way you did. But I gather the girl is beautiful?”
“No,” said the prince.
Hazan made a strange sound, something like a laugh. “No? Are you quite certain?”
“There’s little point in discussing it. Though if you saw her, I think you would understand.”
“I think I understand enough. I must remind you, sire, that as your home minister, my job is to keep you safe. My chief occupation is ensuring the security of the throne. Everything I do is to keep you alive, to protect your interests—”
Kamran laughed out loud. Even to himself he sounded a bit mad. “Don’t fool yourself, Hazan. You have not protected my interests.”
“Removing a threat to the throne is a protection of your interests. It does not matter how beautiful the girl is, or how kind. I will remind you once more that you do not know her. You’ve never spoken more than a few words to the girl—you could not know her history, her intentions, or of what she might be capable. You must put her out of your mind.”
Kamran nodded, his eyes searching the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup. “You do realize, Minister, that by having the girl murdered my grandfather is ensuring that she remains embedded in my mind forever?”
Hazan released a breath, exhaling an obvious frustration. “Do you not see what power she already holds over you? This young woman is your direct enemy. Her very existence is a threat to your life, to your livelihood. And yet—look at yourself. Reduced to these infantile behaviors. I fear, sire, you will be disappointed to discover that your mind at the moment is as common and predictable as the infinite others who came before you. You are neither the first nor the last man on earth to lose his sensibilities over a pretty face.
“Does it not frighten you, sire? Are you not terrified to imagine what you might do for her—what you might do to yourself—if she became
suddenly real? If she were to become flesh and blood under your hands? Does this not strike you as a terrible weakness?”
Kamran felt his heart move at the thought, at the mere imagining of her in his arms. She was everything he’d never realized he wanted in his future queen: not just beauty, but grace; not just grace, but strength; not just strength, but compassion. He’d heard her speak enough to know she was not only educated but intelligent, proud but not arrogant.
Why should he not admire her?
And yet, Kamran did not hope to save her for himself. Hazan might not believe it, but the prince didn’t care: saving the girl’s life was about so much more than himself.
For to kill her—
To kill her now, innocent as she was, seemed to him as senseless as shooting arrows at the moon. That kind of light was not so easily extinguished, and what was there to celebrate in a success that would only leave the earth dimmer as a result?
But did it frighten him, the power she wielded over his emotions in so brief a time? Did it frighten him what he might be driven to do for such a girl if she became real? What he might be inspired to give up?
He drew a sudden breath.
No, it was not merely frightening. It felt more like terror; a feverish intoxication. Of all the young women to want, it was madness to want her. It shook him to admit this truth even in the privacy of his mind, but his feelings could no longer be denied.
Did it frighten him? Quietly, he said, “Yes.”
“Then it is my job,” Hazan said softly, “to make certain she disappears.
With all possible haste.”
