The Alcazar

by Amy Ewing

  “Misarros?” Leo asked.

  “The elite fighting force of Pelago,” Vada explained. “They guard the Triumvirate and some of the wealthier families who can afford their protection.”

  Violetta strode up to them. “Never in my whole life have I needed permission to dock at Arbaz,” she said, waving the paper as if it personally offended her. “I fear what awaits us when we arrive. Things are changing.” She looked out across the water to where the Misarro ship was sailing away. “And not for the better.”

  2

  Leo

  LEO HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO FULLY SHAKE OFF THE JITTERS left behind by the Misarros, but then the port of Arbaz had come into sight and he found himself momentarily struck dumb. He’d spent all his life hating Pelago so much, he’d never really thought about what it might actually look like. He was shocked to find it . . . beautiful.

  Structures like terra-cotta fingers pointed up toward the sky, glittering in the light of the setting sun as if their surfaces were encrusted with diamonds. There were clock towers and spires and domed buildings made of yellow or orange stone, wisps of smoke curling upward from rose-colored chimneys, and somewhere far off Leo heard a bell tolling. The city was ringed in hills, houses painted in cheery colors clustering around the central market, which Leo imagined was just inside the enormous white stucco structure with a red tile roof that loomed over the docks. The water was crystalline blue, a color that almost hurt to look at. It was all so idyllic, especially compared with the smog and steel and murky waters of Old Port. For a moment he wondered why their chauffeur, Eneas, had ever left this place.

  He shuddered to think about what would have happened if he himself had never left, if the escape plan had failed—he’d be on a train somewhere in Kaolin right now, getting his palm sliced open daily by the actor James Roth. He’d be selling Sera’s blood along with Boris’s and Errol’s replenishing powers—well, not Boris’s, not since the poor tree burned. But the very thought made bile rise in his throat.

  “What are you thinking of my heretical country, moulil?” Vada asked, slapping him on the back. Moulil was the Pelagan word for mule. She was always calling him things that weren’t his name. Mule, jackass, Face of Byrne, patriarchal idiot . . . it had bothered him at first but he didn’t mind anymore. It was just how Vada was.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” he said, and his compliment seemed to both startle and please her.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Agnes agreed. “But I don’t like the look of those ships.”

  Off to their left was a sleek black schooner flying a flag with five red stars on it.

  “Another Triumvirate patrol,” Vada said, her face darkening. “From the Lekke. You see the stars? Five red stars are the symbol of the Lekke. The Renalt crest is a golden sun and the Aerin, as you were seeing by her Misarros, uses a silver moon. I am not liking that all three queens voted to close the ports.”

  “Is that unusual?” Leo asked.

  “Most votes are two to one. And the Lekke is the most levelheaded of our queens and slow to take such a drastic action. If she has joined the other two in this decision, then I fear . . .”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “Fear what?” Leo asked, wondering if he really wanted to hear the answer.

  “War,” she said.

  It would be foolish of Kaolin to declare war on Pelago—their naval fleet was not nearly as skilled as Pelago’s armada. But then, if it was known that Kaolins were being arrested left and right and thrown in jail, how could the president of Kaolin do nothing? At some point, his hand would be forced. Leo just hoped they’d be well on their way to Braxos before that happened.

  The schooner cruised up slowly to the port, only allowed to dock and lower the gangplank once Violetta had produced Rowen’s letter.

  “Right,” Vada said. “Face of a Byrne and I will be going to the market. You all need new clothes, disguises.” She glanced at Sera. “Especially you. I will have to be asking my mother if the Maiden’s Wail can carry you to Ithilia—she may not be wanting to risk it after what happened today. Maybe I wait until she has had a few whiskeys.”

  “I’d like to go to the market too,” Agnes protested.

  “No,” Vada said firmly. “If something were to happen, Sera would be on her own. Besides, I would very much like to walk the markets of Arbaz with a Byrne.” She cackled. “Diana Oleary will not be charging me twelve aurums for that honeyed piss she calls mead today!”

  They waited until the other sailors had unloaded the ship’s cargo before disembarking. The last piece was a crate with a heavy padlock on it.

  “What’s in there?” Leo asked.

  “None of your damned business,” Vada replied. “And remember, no more Kaolish. From now on, you speak only Pelagan.”

  Leo huffed and made a face, but Vada’s back was to him, already striding down the gangplank, leaving him no choice but to follow.

  The docks were swarming with people, mostly sailors and other rough types with weathered faces and tough, tanned skin. But there were Misarros too, striding through the crowds with imposing looks, various metals glinting at their necks and on their arms. Leo thought they would easily give the Old Port City police force a run for their money.

  “I am not liking this one bit,” Vada muttered as a Misarro with a moon on her tunic grabbed an urchin boy by the collar and dragged him off. Leo kept close as they headed toward the entrance to the market, a huge archway in the center of the red-roofed structure with the words MARGORA DE ARBAZ carved above it. A woman in dark pants and a green vest eyed him as she twisted a sapphire ring the size of a walnut on her finger. There was a young man behind her about Leo’s age, with long brown curls and a slim figure. He wore a silk shirt open to his navel, and pants so tight Leo thought they must have been painted on. The woman whispered to the boy and he sashayed up to Leo.

  “Looking for a date?” he asked coyly in Pelagan.

  Leo had never been propositioned by a man before. “No,” he replied in Pelagan without even really thinking about it. Vada grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

  “Stop that,” she hissed.

  “Stop what?” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Suddenly, he was caught up in the crowds pushing and shoving to get through the arch, and he had to struggle to keep sight of Vada and her auburn braid. The white building was a massive portico that stretched out as far as Leo could see in either direction, its stone halls reverberating with the sounds of so many people. Then he emerged into the market itself and Vada was dragging him toward a golden building about the size of a small house, with a striped awning. Leo didn’t need to use his Pelagan to understand the sign posted on its face.

  KROGERS—AURUMS

  Vada turned to him, her voice low. “Okay, jackass, let’s see how precious this face of yours truly is. And act like everyone here is beneath you. Shouldn’t be too hard, no?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as she started shouting, “Out of the way! Mr. Byrne coming through! Make way for the Byrne!”

  Leo watched in awe as the crowds parted and people in line stepped aside to usher him and Vada to the front. Many of them looked at him wide-eyed or bowed their heads when he passed.

  “Give me your money and let me do the talking,” Vada muttered as they approached the window. Leo quickly shoved a thick wad of krogers into her hand.

  “Dorinda, you lazy bastard,” she said, slamming the money down onto the sill, “look sharp and change these bills at once!”

  Dorinda was a rail-thin woman with a mass of bright red hair pulled back from her face by a band of mussel shells. A set of bifocals was perched on her nose and her nails were long, sharpened to points, and painted jet black.

  “Vada,” she said, drawing out the last a with apparent relish, a sickly sweet smile spreading across her face then suddenly vanishing. “Get to the back of the line, you little shit. I told you last time, no special favors. I don’t care who your mama is. You want me to call the Misarros?”r />
  Leo hid his shudder at the thought—he might look like a Byrne but there was no way he would be able to pass himself off as one once someone started asking questions.

  “If you are wanting to call the Misarros on Mr. Byrne here, then by all means, go ahead,” Vada said. “I’m sure Ambrosine would be delighted to hear how her family is treated in this market.”

  Dorinda started as she looked at Leo, then immediately adopted an obsequious expression. “In the name of the goddesses, I did not see you, sir. I will change these for you right away.”

  Once she was gone, Vada grinned at him. “This is working even better than I had been thinking.”

  Dorinda reappeared a few minutes later with a heavy leather purse that clinked as she set it down. “Would you like me to count them out for you, sir?”

  Leo shook his head, then rested a hand on one hip and stared out into the distance, as if looking for something far more interesting. His father always did that when he was speaking to someone he felt was lesser than he.

  Vada snatched the purse and tied it to her belt. “May the goddesses bless you,” she said to Dorinda.

  But Dorinda was eyeing Leo with interest and he saw a disconcerting flash of recognition. “I was wondering, sir, if you could tell . . . it is being said that Ambrosine has cut off the passages around Culinnon, ones that lead to the Lost Islands. Does this mean she has found Braxos?”

  The name Culinnon sparked something in his memory, but Leo couldn’t quite place it.

  “I’m sure if Ambrosine wanted you to know what she was doing, she would have hurried right here to tell you herself,” he said before remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak. But Vada looked quietly pleased as Dorinda’s cheeks flushed. Leo felt the best course of action was to leave as quickly as possible.

  “Vada, come,” he said sharply. He turned without waiting and strode off through the crowds with no idea where he was going. Tents in bright colors dotted the landscape alongside pens of animals, little brick houses with thatched roofs, and grocer stalls boasting baskets filled with all sorts of fruits and vegetables—ripe peaches, dark purple plums, and some sort of orange fruit with spiky blue leaves were nestled among shiny cucumbers, red tomatoes, and thick bunches of carrots. He finally stopped between a fruit seller and a butcher shop and Vada clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Well done,” she said. “That was getting dicey, no?”

  “Yeah,” Leo said.

  “Well, now we know you can pass yourself off as a Byrne.”

  Leo didn’t find any comfort in that. “What if she tells the Misarros about us?”

  “The Misarros would not wish to be messing about with a Byrne,” Vada reassured him. “Unless the world has gone truly mad. Come, we need to get you clothes. And something to eat; I’m starving.”

  She bought them each a pear and Leo felt his anxiety ease slightly as he sank his teeth into its sweet flesh, letting the juice dribble down his chin. It had been fifteen days of salted pork, stale bread, and hard cheese. He was fairly certain this pear was the best thing he had ever tasted.

  “We should bring one back for Sera,” he said through another mouthful.

  Vada raised an eyebrow.

  Leo’s face went hot. “I only meant . . . just because she doesn’t eat meat,” he stammered.

  “Yes. I am sure that is what you were meaning,” she said with a sly smile.

  They made their way past a silversmith, urns and platters and spoons reflecting the late afternoon sun, then ducked down an alley that led to a little square ringed with stalls in various shades of umber and maroon whose vendors only seemed to sell rugs. They skirted a woman on stilts dressed in flowing robes of brilliant green juggling four striped balls, then pushed through a band of musicians playing a cheery tune on fiddles and pipes and drums. Misarros seemed to be around every corner, but Vada always found some path to avoid them. Leo kept his head down until they had turned a corner and he was nearly blinded by a stunning array of jewelry.

  “How big is this market?” he wondered.

  “Very big,” Vada said. “There is a famous story that a wealthy woman from one of the northern islands came to see its splendors and was lost for twelve days. When they found her, she was skin and bones and nibbling on a dead rat.”

  “Ugh,” Leo said, and Vada laughed as she ducked underneath a thin sheet of colored silk hung between two apothecaries, pungent herbal smells emanating from their open doors. Leo followed and found himself in a row of tents dyed in shades of lilac and lavender and violet. Pants were folded neatly on tables inside one, shirts hanging in another, and a third had the most stunning collection of dresses Leo had ever seen. There were tents selling seashell headdresses and ones displaying all types of shoes and still others with a wide selection of scarves.

  “This,” Vada said, spreading out her arms wide, “is the best place to buy clothes in all the market. The question is where to start. . . .”

  “Agnes will want pants,” he said. “Something comfortable and functional.”

  Vada nodded. “We can dress her to have the look of the daughter of a merchant or a wealthy sea captain or a high-placed servant.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps servant is working best for our scheme.”

  His sister wouldn’t like the servant part, but she’d be happy about the pants. “What about Sera?” he asked.

  Vada’s brow furrowed. “If anyone sees her skin or her hair it will cause a fuss and we are not needing fusses right now. . . .”

  They passed down the line of tents and stopped abruptly at a pair of Misarros with golden suns on their chests patrolling the outside of the fanciest tent in the whole row. Ofairn’s Fine Gowns, Leo translated as he read the sign above it, right before Vada pulled him back. But there were Misarros behind the tent as well. Vada cursed under her breath and, in a movement so fluid Leo barely registered it, sank to grab a knife hidden in her boot and cut a long, delicate slit in the tent. She slipped inside and pulled him in after her.

  The dresses that hung on the walls were shimmering things of lace and silk, all expertly tailored, some with long sleeves, some strapless, some adorned with shells or beads, others with what Leo realized were river stones, pebbles in shades of periwinkle and slate and olive. The tent itself was empty except for a lone girl, maybe fifteen, with brown skin, copper-colored hair, and big doe eyes. She was clearly in for a fitting, wearing a dress that covered her completely in head-to-toe lace.

  To Leo’s surprise, Vada made a sort of choking sound and then fell to one knee, nudging him with her elbow to do the same.

  “Princess Rahel,” she said. “We did not . . . I am sorry . . . we were just . . .”

  Leo had never seen the sailor so out of sorts; at the same moment his mind was registering her words. Princess?

  “You may rise,” the girl said, then she giggled. “That’s not the door to the tent. Did you get lost? Don’t you know what doors look like?” They stood, and she wrinkled her nose. “You smell. Are you sailors? Have you ever been to Kaolin? My mother said it’s full of heretics. And their clothes are all rather drab. Don’t you like this gown? Mistress Phebe designed it herself. I’m getting married in a month, isn’t that exciting?” Her eyes turned to Leo and he saw a flash of recognition and also something he used to get all the time from the girls in Old Port—desire.

  “You look like a Byrne,” the girl said.

  “I am one,” Leo replied because Vada was just kneeling there, dumbstruck. “My sincerest congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

  Rahel grinned. “I thank you, sir,” she said, making a low, elegant curtsy. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “My family hates your family.”

  If there was one thing Leo was good at, it was flirting with rich girls. “My family hates your family,” he said with a wink, and was rewarded with another giggle. “But since our families are not here at the moment, can we remain friends?”

  Rahel looked delighted. “As long as we keep it a secret,” she said
.

  “Of course,” Leo said, bowing. It occurred to him that the Misarros guarding this tent were actually guarding the princess. The golden sun on their tunics meant she was the daughter of the Renalt. “I’m surprised you traveled to Arbaz in such dire times.”

  Rahel clapped her hands together. “I know, it’s so exciting isn’t it? Though I don’t understand why Mother had to vote to close the ports. Ithilia is so much more thrilling with all the new people. She didn’t want to let me come here but of course I had to have a dress by Mistress Phebe, didn’t I? She’s the best in the whole country! And who cares about silly old Kaolin ships? I hear they barely sail at all in Kaolin and ride around in big honking machines. Are you here for new clothes as well? Those ones aren’t very fitting on you. Why is a Byrne dressed like a common sailor? Is she your girlfriend?”

  Vada snorted at the suggestion and Leo shook his head.

  “No, she’s my servant,” he said. Rahel looked very pleased to hear that.

  Just then the tent flap opened, and a woman entered carrying a very elaborate headdress. “I have found just the one, princess,” she was saying, then stopped short at the sight of Leo and Vada. She was probably in her late forties, with wavy black hair and brown skin, her curvy figure hugged by a gown of iridescent blue-green scales, and while Leo was absolutely positive he had never seen her before, there was something familiar about her face.

  “Look, Mistress Phebe, a Byrne has come to see you!” Rahel declared. “But he didn’t use the door. He certainly needs new clothes, doesn’t he?”

  Leo’s knees locked together, wondering what this woman would do as she stared at him, but then she turned to the princess with a wide smile. “Yes, he does,” she said. “And we have finished our fitting. You may change next door and I will be with you shortly.”

  Princess Rahel did not seem eager to leave Leo’s company, but she acquiesced. Once they were alone, Leo felt his heart pounding in his ears. Vada struggled to her feet as the woman folded her arms across her chest.