The Theft of Sunlight by Intisar Khanani (story reading .TXT) 📕

again. I realize it as he takes his first step, see the terror in Alyrra’s eyes. Where is that thrice-cursed quad? I take a deep breath and launch myself at the prince’s back, one arm hooking around his neck at an awkward enough angle that, between the sudden twist I force upon him and my weight slamming into his back, he staggers a step. Then he reaches around, grabs me by the arm, and tears me off him, sending me backpedaling onto the floor.

A quad bursts into the room, swords drawn. The prince pivots, and then steps back in surprise. They surround him in a moment, swords held high and steady. I sit on my backside on the carpets, staring at them, my breath coming in gasps. Captain Matsin glances from me to the princess.

“Take him out of here,” Alyrra says, enunciating each word clearly, her voice finally gaining the sound of steel. “Post a guard at the foot of the stairs, and see that he never, never has access to this wing again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, zayyida,” Matsin says, dipping his head. His sword does not waver.

“You are too dramatic, as always, little sister,” the prince says, smirking. “What is a conversation between siblings? If your maid had behaved better, she wouldn’t be where she is now.”

I pull my legs beneath my skirt, try to get my feet beneath me. How dare he?

“Get out now,” Alyrra says in a strangled voice.

The soldiers close around the prince, and I have the distinct feeling that if he doesn’t start moving, they will use force. He must sense it as well, for he starts for the door. “Another time, then,” he says as his foot crosses the threshold.

Captain Matsin reaches to close the door. “There will be no other time.”

It is as much a threat as the prince’s words.

Chapter

20

“Keep the cold compress applied a little longer to reduce the swelling,” Berrila ni Cairlin, the palace’s healer-mage, tells me. “Beyond that, there’s not much to be done.”

I grimace. Earlier, Berrila sent a wash of cool healing magic through me to slow the bruising across my cheek. As the ache of my swollen cheek eased, I felt the pain of the raw skin and healing blisters on my turned foot gentle as well. When I opened one eye in surprise, Berrila met my gaze as if daring me to say a word. I didn’t, of course. There’s no way I’m arguing with anyone helping my foot heal.

But even her magic could only do so much. Berrila was clear that my body would have to heal in its own time. Magic is good for stitching cuts together and stopping internal bleeding and any manner of things, but the body must still complete its own healing.

I sit in my desk chair and hold the compress to my cheek. Mina sits across the room in her own chair, watching me grimly. She has said very little since I explained what happened, her expression shuttered. It’s a stark contrast to her fury over the impostor’s father presenting himself at court just yesterday.

Berrila bids us a brusque farewell and departs. I lean my head against the chair back, my mind replaying the incident with the foreign prince. I should never have allowed him through to the princess—I should have called out loudly for him to stop, effectively warning Alyrra of his arrival. Instead, I scampered after him like a fool, and put both Alyrra and myself at risk.

Footsteps approach, and I open my eyes to find Alyrra herself stepping into the room. I start to rise to curtsy, but she holds up a hand. “Please don’t get up. How are you feeling?”

I set the compress aside. It seems rude to speak with it attached to my face, even if it means she’ll see my cheek more clearly. “I am well, zayyida.”

We stare at each other a moment, and I cannot tell what she is thinking. Then she turns to Mina. “Would you wait in the common room? I wish to speak with Amraeya in private.” She turns back to me as Mina moves to the door. “In truth, Zayyid Kestrin wishes to speak with you as well. Will you see him?”

“Of course, zayyida,” I say unhappily. I failed him, fell short in doing what he asked of me, and I can only hope he won’t be too angry with me.

Mina slips out, curtsying again as she reaches the hall, and then Kestrin enters. His expression remains still as he catches sight of me, the bruise marring my face, but his eyes brighten with fury, the emotion sharpening his cheekbones.

I rise and dip into a curtsy, my foot aching as always. One would think you could get used to the pain, but it is always shifting, putting my teeth on edge—which only makes me feel the stiff ache of my bruised cheek more. At least it distracts me from the fact that Kestrin is staring at me, his eyes brilliant with rage.

“Kelari Amraeya,” he says finally.

“Zayyid,” I say, easing out of my curtsy. “I ask your forgiveness—”

“We are very much in your debt.”

I blink up at him, taken aback. He crosses the room to take my hand and bow over it, deeper than necessary.

I gape at him. Is he serious? What debt can he mean when I allowed the foreign prince to corner Alyrra? If I’d been faster, I could have warned the princess. If I’d been wiser, I’d have found a way to keep the foreign prince distracted without inciting him to violence. If I’d simply had more experience as an attendant, I likely would have known what to do from the outset.

Kestrin catches my expression and his own eases slightly. He steps back, releasing my hand. “You provided Zayyida Alyrra the opportunity to summon a quad. Unfortunately, that ‘opportunity’ came at a cost to yourself.”

Relief floods through me: he doesn’t blame me. And Alyrra must not either. I shrug and say easily, “I’ll mend.”

“Indeed,”