This Woven Kingdom Read Online Free Page A

profession.
    Alizeh stopped.
    She’d happened upon a shaft of sunlight and stood in it now, warming in the rays as a memory bloomed in her mind.
    A soapy bucket.
    The coarse bristles of a floor brush.
    Her parents, laughing .
    The memory felt not unlike a handprint of heat against her sternum. Alizeh’s mother and father had thought it critical to teach their child not only to care and clean for her own home, but to have basic knowledge of most all technicaland mechanical labor; they’d wanted her to know the weight of a day’s work. But then, they’d only meant to teach her a valuable lesson—they’d never meant for her to earn her living this way.
    While Alizeh had spent her younger years being honed by masters and tutors, so, too, had her parents humbled her in preparation for her imagined future, insisting always upon the greater good, the essential quality of compassion.
    Feel , her parents had once said to her.
    The shackles worn by your people are often unseen by the eye. Feel , they’d said, for even blind, you will know how to break them.
    Would her mother and father laugh if they saw her now? Would they cry?
    Alizeh didn’t mind working in service—she’d never minded hard work—but she knew she was likely a disappointment to her parents, even if only to their memories.
    Her smile faltered.
    The boy was fast—and Alizeh had been distracted—so it took her a second longer than usual to notice him. Which meant she hadn’t noticed him at all until the knife was at her throat.
    â€œLe man et parcel,” he said, his breath hot and sour against her face. He spoke Feshtoon, which meant he was far from home, and probably hungry. He towered over her from behind, his free hand roughly gripping her waist. By all appearances she was being assaulted by a barbarian—and yet, somehow, she knew he was just a boy, one overgrown for his age.
    Gently, she said: “Unhand me. Do it now and I give you my word I will leave you unharmed.”
    He laughed. “Nez beshoff . ” Stupid woman.
    Alizeh tucked the parcel under her left arm and snapped his wrist with her right hand, feeling the blade graze her throat as he screamed, stumbling back. She caught him before he fell, caught his arm and twisted it, dislocating his shoulder before pushing him into the snow. She stood over him as he sobbed, half-buried in the drift. Passersby were averting their eyes, uninvested as she knew they would be in the lower rungs of the world. A servant and a street urchin could be counted upon to do away with each other, save the magistrates the extra work.
    It was a grim thought.
    Carefully, Alizeh retrieved the boy’s blade from the snow, examined its crude workmanship. She appraised the boy, too. His face was nearly as young as she’d suspected. Twelve? Thirteen?
    She knelt beside him and he stiffened, his sobs briefly ceasing in his chest. “Nek, nek, lotfi, lotfi—” No, no, please, please—
    She took his unbroken hand in her own, uncurled the dirty fingers, pressed the hilt back into his palm. She knew the poor boy would need it.
    Still.
    â€œThere are other ways to stay alive,” she whispered in Feshtoon. “Come to the kitchens at Baz House if you are in need of bread.”
    The boy stared at her then, turned the full force of histerrified gaze upon her. She could see him searching for her eyes through her snoda. “Shora?” he said. Why?
    Alizeh almost smiled.
    â€œBek mefem,” she said quietly. Because I understand. “Bek bidem.” Because I’ve been you.
    Alizeh did not wait for him to respond before she pushed herself to her feet, shook out her skirts. She felt a bit of moisture at her throat and retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket, which she pressed to the wound. She was still standing, unmoving, when the bell tolled, signaling the hour and startling into flight a constellation of starlings, their iridescent