Chapter 33
Whether it was my sabotage or Lab’s rage affecting the magic that held the palace and its people together, I could not say, but the chaos that had been simmering beneath the dreamy, opulent facade seemed to have boiled over: Servants and stewards dashed about, some rending their garments and crying in foreign tongues.
Here and there were fallen shrouds, dusty and tattered upon the scavenged foreign carpets and creamy marble floors.
I spotted one woman with two small children in her lap sitting beneath a shadowed niche, and when she reached for the clasps on their colorful cloaks, I had to turn away.
If I had any remaining doubts that the majority of people in Khatti Ugal had their souls bound against their will, they were gone.
The queen’s subjects were waking to a nightmare, seizing freedom the only way they could.
Lab was clearly searching for me; troops of her guards were everywhere, marching down corridors, stomping their spears, and fanning out across the gardens.
But I’d been taught to evade by the Mistress of Poisons herself, and I kept myself concealed as I searched for her.
That search, however, was not going well.
Dalila was nowhere to be found in the apothecary or surrounding wings.
I retraced my steps to the grand chamber where her celebration had been held, wary of any remaining partygoers, but not only was the chamber empty, it was half ruined.
The fine columns were tumbling down, the marble floor shattered and overrun with weeds.
As I stared at the moonlit decay where only so recently Khatti Ugal’s leading citizens had danced and feasted, it was hard not to panic.
The sun was going to be rising soon, making it more difficult to sneak around, and I had the strong impression that not-Raksh was not supposed to have told me about Dalila.
Did Lab, the we of whatever sort of mind they shared, know what he’d confided?
Might she be stealing Dalila away right now, forcing the possession before I could stop her?
There is one being in this palace who might be able to help you, who has often tipped the scales of luck in your favor.
Something in my chest twisted at the thought of Raksh, possibly a cracked rib.
Trying to find him might cost me precious hours I didn’t have—and possibly for nothing.
His duplicate hadn’t left me with much hope as to my husband’s present condition.
No, Dalila first. I owed her that. Besides, I had yet to search the tumbling-down cottage in which she and Lab had apparently been spending their nights, spinning by the fireside.
I turned, heading off for the garden as quickly as my abused body could carry me.
My path took me past the throne room and I paused when I noticed that its impressive grand doors had been thrown open, the corridor left unguarded.
Recalling that there was a shorter route to the gardens through here, I hesitated but then carefully slipped inside.
The magnificent, fantastical space was nearly unrecognizable, half returned to the elements that had inspired it.
The glass roof was gone, the chamber exposed to a rich spread of stars and moonlight, the mosaics of celestial creatures and dancing dolphins replaced by scrubby dune plants.
The rush of the distant ocean pulsed, sending water and sand flooding across the ruined carpets.
But the chamber wasn’t empty. Prince Pares was here, alone with his little dog.
He sat sideways in his mother’s throne, his bare toes pressed against one armrest and his small back curved against the other.
Humming happily under his breath as he toyed with the puppy’s floppy ears, he was the picture of innocence.
Until I approached, and Pares’s head whipped in my direction with a bit too much knowing.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he chided in Arabic, taking me aback.
I didn’t think the boy spoke my tongue. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t entirely a boy I was speaking to now.
I felt sick, realizing that if part of him could understand me—if Lab did indeed have some unknown magic threading through the woven souls of her people—Pares was likely the one who’d given up Orinth.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” I said softly. “I just need to find my friend. I think she’s with your mama.”
“The doctor doesn’t like you anymore,” Pares shot back. “No one does. You’ve made my amah very angry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing at the back entrance that led to the gardens and the shrine. My urge, my duty to find Dalila pulled on me, but it felt cruel to ignore this child. And yet the way in which Pares was watching me, a mix of meanness and curiosity in his young face . . .
I could not help but ask, “How old are you, Pares?”
“Eight.” He beamed at the question, kicking his feet. “But I’ve been eight for a very long time. This is all going to be mine someday. Amah is keeping it safe until things are perfect. Then I will be king.”
His cloak—his shroud; it was impossible to think of it as anything else—did drape over the throne like the cape of a grand king.
It was undyed, unlike most of the Khatti Ugalan shrouds, but clearly woven with the utmost care, raised stitches creating an intricate map of patterns.
Sorrow pierced me, along with a pang of guilt.
I had never buried a child. Doing so wasn’t uncommon in my world; young babes are just so fragile, called back to God with devastating regularity.
But my Marjana had been hale from the beginning, with a sturdiness that no doubt reflected her immortal father. On this matter, I could not judge Lab.
But I wouldn’t let it stop me. “The palace is not a very safe place tonight, young prince. Why don’t you return to your room?”
“I like it better here.” He tilted his head backwards until he was all but hanging upside down. “My amah says you want to kill us.”
The charge, spoken by such an innocent voice, punched through my chest. “I mean you no harm, little one. But I think your amah could use a nice long rest. I think she is very, very tired.”
Pares just stared at me.
I took a deep breath, remorse snaring my heart. I strongly suspected that either I or his mother was going to die tonight at the other’s hand. “Good night, little prince. I pray your dreams are pleasant.” Then I left him to play with his dog and slipped out.
The door led to the same path that Lab and I had taken on my first day in Khatti Ugal, winding through the gardens and past the ancient hills. Again, it felt as though seasons had passed since I’d last been here, the spring blooms now brown and fallen. Nevertheless, I pressed on toward the cottage.
But no sooner did I come around the bend than my vision swam.
It wasn’t two conflicting realities now, it was several.
I saw the cottage as the simple hut it must have once been: with thatch walls and new plants just starting to take root.
I witnessed it ruined, overgrown with roots, then rebuilt with shining marble walls and tall columns.
Burnt and smoking, barricaded within a wooden palisade; then vanished entirely, nothing but a stretch of beachside forest. The competing visions left me dizzy, and I stumbled, falling to my knees.
“Amina?” Dalila’s very welcome voice cut through the haze and seemed to knock the world back into place.
There was the night sky, the ancient hovel lit by a central hearth, the grasping trees.
A visibly worried Dalila crouched on the ground beside me.
She was still dressed in her ceremonial gown, the dyed belt around her waist. She reached for my shoulder as I clutched my head. “Are you all right?”
It was perhaps an underhanded decision, but as I took stock of our positions and her distraction, I seized the belt around Dalila’s waist.
But I didn’t even get a chance to draw my dagger.
My fingers had no sooner touched the belt than a bolt of energy, of heat and light and magic I could scarcely describe, shoved me away as though I had tried to force two opposing magnets together.
I sprawled backward, smashing my head yet again, and swore as all the injuries and ailments in my body took the opportunity to metaphorically shriek their displeasure.
When the black spots stopped dancing before my eyes, a very angry Mistress of Poisons stood over me. Her gaze was furious, her skin flushed with sweat. “What in the name of God is wrong with you?”
I pushed up on my hands, setting off a new wave of pirouetting spots.
Oh. There was a strong possibility the fight with not-Raksh had done greater damage than I realized.
Mercifully Lab was nowhere to be seen, but Dalila was clearly enmeshed in the witch queen’s work: freshly shorn wool floated in a wooden cleaning basin.
A new standing loom stood just outside the cottage, its threads weighted and ready for weaving.
Ignoring her question, I raised an accusing finger at the belt. “Take that cursed thing off.”
“It isn’t cursed, it’s a ward against harm.” Hurt twisted her face. “If you hadn’t tried to grab it, it wouldn’t have injured you!”
“Well, I’m going to be charging you if you don’t remove it, so best decide which of those you prefer.
” I shuddered, unable to take my eyes off her belt.
If I survived Khatti Ugal, it would be a very long time before I made peace with the revulsion of having slept with a woven “construct” of my husband for weeks.
Dalila was looking at me as though I’d lost my mind. “You’ve gone mad,” she muttered, but she undid the belt with shaking hands and set it on the ground. “Even madder than usual. Is this better?”
I coughed, tasting blood. “Where is Lab?”