The Alcazar

by Amy Ewing

  “Who cares?” Rahel replied, skipping closer to a crystal vase filled with tulips. “This is my house, I can do what I want.”

  The rope snagged on the vase and it fell, shattering on the floor. A matronly woman with iron-colored hair and small glasses bustled into the room. “What’s this?” she demanded, gazing in shock at the vase. “Rahel, what have you done? Your mama will hear about this!”

  Rahel began to cry then, big heaving sobs. “It wasn’t meeeee,” she whined. “It was Hadley, she did it, she smashed it on the floor, I told her not to.”

  “Hadley,” the woman snapped, turning on the servant, who could only quiver, unable to speak. Rahel’s tears stopped as soon as the woman’s back was turned. “This is not how a companion to a princess behaves!”

  The woman made a gesture and Hadley held out her hand. The woman drew a ruler from her belt and slapped it against Hadley’s palm, so many times that it began to bleed, the skin turning raw and red. Rahel watched with greedy eyes. Hadley didn’t make a sound.

  “Now clean this mess up,” the woman said. Then she wrapped an arm around Rahel, who instantly began crying again. “Come, Princess, let’s get you in a nice warm bath.”

  Rahel felt a sense of satisfaction as she was led out of the room. And just before the door closed behind them, she heard Hadley let out an agonized sob.

  They returned to the present with a jolt, the gilded room too bright against the darkness of the memory. Rahel’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish’s, but no sound came out. Sera felt herself growing taller.

  “You are a bad person,” she said with no emotion, a statement of fact.

  At that, Rahel’s sweet, innocent eyes narrowed, her whole face turning feral. “Eireen!” she screamed.

  And Sera knew something awful was going to happen.

  14

  Agnes

  PHEBE’S BOAT WAS DOCKED ON AN INLET NORTH OF THE market, away from the bustling seaport of Arbaz; it was no more than a sloop with a single tiny cabin.

  She led Agnes and Vada down narrow streets lit with simple gas lamps that wound up hills and through small squares. To get to the inlet they had to descend a set of steep stone stairs carved into the hillside. Phebe had brought a lantern and the light swung and swayed in the sharp breeze, casting strange shadows that made Agnes jumpy. She took each step with deliberate care, the stone unnervingly smooth beneath her feet.

  Agnes couldn’t stop her pulse from racing, her palms sweating, feeling like too much time had passed since the Misarros had taken her brother and Sera. Vada put a hand on her shoulder and Agnes’s heart somersaulted despite her fear.

  “Ambrosine is waiting for you, remember,” she said. “And now Phebe is lending us a boat. Once we get to Ithilia, we will find her. If anyone can stand up to the Triumvirate, it is Ambrosine Byrne.”

  Agnes fingered the letter in her pocket, nestled beside the photograph of her mother. Vada was right—her grandmother knew she was coming.

  When they reached the sloop, Vada got straight to work readying it to sail. Phebe had packed them food and extra clothes in leather satchels, and Agnes stored them in the cabin. A cloud passed over the moon, the only light from Phebe’s lantern, the only sound the waves lapping against the sides of the sloop.

  “She doesn’t look like much,” Phebe said, holding up the light. “But she’s a good ship. She was my mother’s—she was the true sailor of the family.”

  “She’ll be fast,” Vada said. “And that’s just what we need. What is her name?”

  “The Palma,” Phebe said. “After my grandmother.”

  “Thank you for helping us,” Agnes said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  Phebe touched her cheek, a surprisingly maternal gesture. “Good luck, Agnes Byrne. You are as brave as your mother was, and I can give no higher praise than that.”

  Agnes felt a tingle run up her spine at the sound of her mother’s last name and hers together. Vada helped her into the sloop—it rocked unsteadily under her feet and she gripped the side to keep her balance.

  “Best if you stay seated, little lion,” Vada said as she pushed off the boat and hopped in, letting out the mainsail and angling the tiller so that the sloop cut through the waves, swift and sure. Soon Phebe’s lantern was no more than a speck of light in the distance.

  “We’ve got to go back to the docks,” Agnes said suddenly.

  “What?” Vada frowned. “Why?”

  “Errol,” Agnes said. “We can’t leave him.”

  Vada’s only answer was a pursing of her lips and an adjustment of the tiller. In almost no time at all, the lights from the port of Arbaz began to spread out over the water, tipping the waves in yellow and orange. Other ships had lights shining through their portholes but it appeared as though the crew of the Maiden’s Wail had not yet returned from the market. The sloop slid silently through the water and Agnes peered over its side.

  “Errol?” she called softly, feeling a bit silly. How was he to hear her? She didn’t speak the flashing lights the way Sera did, though she could understand him to a degree—she had discovered that to her delight during the voyage. It must have been Sera’s magic inside her. She was able to sense the intention behind the lights if not the exact words.

  “Errol,” she called again, and dipped her fingers into the water, wishing they could light up the way Sera’s did. She tried to get her face as close to the waves as possible. “Errol, please, we’ve got to go, they’ve taken Sera, we’ve got to get her back. If you’re there, if you can hear me or see me or . . .” She let out a growl of frustration. “What do we do, Vada?”

  Vada plunged her hand into the water and wriggled it around, making small splashes. “Errol, you beautiful stubborn slippery little creature, you come with us right now, do you hear me? We need to be off, so no hiding or playing tricks or—”

  Agnes let out a shriek as Errol’s head popped out of the water, his lights flashing in shades of blue, which Agnes knew meant Sera. He looked from Agnes to Vada and back again, cocking his head.

  “She’s not here,” Agnes said, gesturing wildly and hoping the mertag understood. His bulging eyes turned toward the Maiden’s Wail. “Sera isn’t there. We must go get her now. We must get Sera.” She pointed. “In Ithilia. We must all go together, Agnes and Vada and Errol.”

  Errol stared at her blankly, then snapped his teeth together and jerked his head in what Agnes took to be a nod. Vada steered the boat back out into the sea, and to Agnes’s profound relief, the mertag swam along beside them. His torso and scales glowed faintly green, filling the water around them with a murky light.

  “Won’t your mother be worried?” Agnes asked, realizing they hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to the crew of the Maiden’s Wail.

  “She will know where I am once she hears a Byrne has been taken by the Triumvirate,” Vada said. “Besides, I do not think she was expecting me to be staying on the schooner much longer. A daughter must spread her wings at some point.”

  “But aren’t you meant to inherit the ship?”

  “Let’s hope my mother will not be dying quite so soon,” Vada said with a sardonic look. “It is time for me to set out on my own for a while. On the Maiden’s Wail, I am Vada the Captain’s Daughter. I wish to be only Vada. I am not entirely sure who I am without the shadow of my mother over me.”

  “I’m not sure who I am anymore either,” Agnes said, resting her chin on her knees. “In Old Port I knew what was expected of me and I hated it. Perhaps it was easier that way. Now I’m in Pelago at last and I’ve managed to lose my brother and my best friend and anger two uncles I never knew I had without even trying.”

  “You are not giving yourself enough credit,” Vada said. “You have pissed your father off as well.”

  Agnes laughed, and Vada looked pleased. Then her face grew serious.

  “I would not judge myself so harshly if I were you, Agnes. I have been making the trip between Pelago and Kaolin since I was
a little girl, and I have known many Kaolin women, of all ages and classes. Never have I met one like you. I am remembering the first time I saw you.” She gazed up at the stars as if she could see the past in them. “You were looking at me as furtive as a mouse, in all your fancy things and that stupid little hat perched on your head.”

  Agnes pressed her hand to her mouth to cover her grin. “I had been meeting with my fiancé that afternoon,” she confessed. “My maid thought the hat would make a good impression.”

  “Fiancé?” Vada cocked her head. “A very lucky gentleman. Is his heart being broken now that you have fled to Pelago?”

  “No,” Agnes said, flustered. “No, it wasn’t like . . . my father arranged it, as a punishment, I think. I never—Ebenezer was a very nice young man, but not for me.”

  “And what sort of man is for you?”

  Agnes’s heart lodged in her throat and pounded there furiously. She’d come so far—she had crossed an ocean and made it all the way to Pelago, the country of her dreams. It was time to truly be herself. It was time to say the secret she’d been forced to keep for so long out loud.

  “None,” she said. “I don’t like men that way.”

  Tears of relief mingled with pride stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Her shoulders felt suddenly weightless, her legs and arms puffs of air. The waves lapping against the hull were like the sound of Pelago cheering for her, welcoming her home. She saw a flash of white that was Vada’s smile, but then it was gone, and the girl said nothing. After a moment, though, she began to whistle, a sweet, solemn tune that Agnes didn’t know.

  The wind started to pick up, and the sloop skimmed across the water. The night was growing darker, thick clouds eating up the stars and swallowing the moonlight. Errol’s scales shone brighter, so the boat was haloed in luminous emerald.

  Agnes shivered and settled back against the hull of the boat, feeling another layer of the girl she’d been in Kaolin slip away and wondering where her brother and Sera were now.

  It took them three days to reach Ithilia.

  Agnes was anxious to be back on land. The tiny ship was a great help, to be sure, but it felt like a prison. The only upside was so much uninterrupted alone time with Vada. They spent their days on the lookout for any Triumvirate patrol ships and the nights talking about their families and their hopes and fears for the future. Agnes was shocked to discover that Vada often felt insecure around her mother’s crew, and the thirst to prove herself on her own terms with her own ship had been growing since before the two of them had met. Vada found the stories of Agnes attending premiers and fancy gatherings in Old Port hilarious.

  “What I would not be paying to see you at a ball in all frills and ruffles,” she’d said, cackling.

  Agnes had rolled her eyes but her stomach fluttered at the thought of attending a dance or party with Vada. “I promise, you aren’t missing anything. Leo’s the one who cleans up the best in our family.”

  Vada had glanced at her slyly. “I am doubting that,” she’d said. “I saw you in that red dress the night you came aboard the Maiden’s Wail, remember?”

  Agnes had flushed and the subject had dropped.

  Vada taught her Pelagan dice games and in return Agnes taught Vada about photosynthesis and the properties of matter. Agnes felt herself equal parts relaxed and anxious in Vada’s presence, especially since confessing she was attracted to girls. Always the desire to kiss Vada was there, growing more insistent with each passing day.

  The closer they came to Ithilia, the more crowded the waters grew. Errol guided them expertly, avoiding the larger ships that could threaten their tiny sloop. Agnes saw that many were flying the Kaolin flag, red and white stripes and a golden sun. She wished the Palma had a flag to declare them Pelagan. She caught sight of armed Kaolins stalking the decks of a ship with rifles in their hands. But it wasn’t until the afternoon of their arrival in Pelago’s capital city that they truly saw what Phebe had been talking about back in Arbaz.

  Two ships were locked in battle—they had heard the cannon fire and smelled something burning, then seen a ship with a mast missing and smoke pouring from its deck alongside an enormous galleon. They had been too far away to see the flags they were flying, but the sight made Agnes jittery and anxious. If Pelagans were openly attacking Kaolin ships, then things were only going to get worse.

  They reached Ithilia just as the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon.

  Agnes could not help the way her breath caught in her throat. Ithilia. She had dreamed of it, but no dream could prepare her for its magnificence. The city was built into the side of a cliff, three massive rings of white marble stacked slightly above each other like a terrace, each one smaller than the last. And at the very top was Banrissa, looking like a toy castle perched at the cliff’s tip.

  Farther out from the shore, she saw what must be Whitehall, the sacred shrine of Talmanism that Phebe had told them about. A narrow stone bridge sprouted from the base of the palace and hung, delicate as a cloud, over the whitecapped waves below. All Agnes could make out of Whitehall itself was a glint of blue-green.

  Misarro ships patrolled the waters, as they had around the docks of Arbaz. Agnes was grateful for their little sloop—it was too small to be of any interest, and with only two passengers and a little cabin, there wasn’t much chance of them hiding anything. A schooner flying a flag with the five red stars of the Lekke pulled up alongside them and Vada deftly negotiated permission to dock in Ithilia with a surly Misarro with tin disks at her neck. Agnes held her breath until the ship passed, headed toward a Kaolin frigate making a run for the port.

  A young girl with sunburned skin and a blue kerchief around her neck helped them tie up at the docks, then stuck out her hand.

  “Twenty aurums,” she said.

  “Twen—you’ve got to be kidding me!” Vada cried. “It was four last time I was here.”

  The girl shrugged. “There wasn’t so much Kaolin trash last time you were here, then. Price’s gone up. Pay or we sink your boat.”

  Vada grumbled but forked over the money anyway. Agnes waited until the girl had gone and then crouched by the water.

  “Errol,” she called. His head popped up instantly, his filaments flashing blue.

  “We’re going to get Sera,” Agnes said. “You stay here. We’ll be back.”

  Errol snapped his teeth at her and Vada took some dried meat from her satchel. “Think fast, you greedy monster,” she said, tossing it under her arm and up into the air. He caught it expertly and let out his strange croaking laugh, and Vada grinned. Errol flashed mauve-lilac-gold before vanishing beneath the water—those were happy colors. Errol was always happiest when he was eating.

  Vada took Agnes’s hand and there was a sudden lurch in Agnes’s chest, like she’d lost her balance. It was the first time Vada had touched her since they’d left Arbaz. As if she had sensed that Agnes needed the sea voyage to truly come to grips with her new life and all that it entailed. But now was the time to stand up and claim that life; Agnes felt a shivery lightheadedness at the feel of Vada’s skin against her own.

  “Come,” Vada said. “We must get inside the city before they close the gates.” Then she grinned and squeezed Agnes’s fingers. “What soft paws you have, little lion.”

  Agnes’s laugh sounded more like a hiccup. She was holding hands. With a girl she liked. In public. She undid her bun and shook out her hair, feeling a strange sort of wildness, a power filling her up unlike anything she’d ever known. Lion indeed, but there was nothing little about the way Agnes felt in this moment. Vada’s smile was a dazzling thing, but she said nothing, only squeezed Agnes’s hand once more.

  The docks were full of stalls selling ropes and maps and compasses as well as charcoal braziers where chunks of cod and tuna cooked alongside strips of bell pepper and zucchini and onion. Misarros were everywhere. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and fish and sweat, and underneath it all, the stench of tension.

  Th
ere was a boy selling copies of the Ithilia Star and Vada was quick to purchase one. BYRNE TAKEN FROM ARBAZ, it declared. And beneath, it read:

  The Triumvirate has taken a young Byrne into custody and he is currently being transported from Arbaz to Banrissa. No word on his name or which branch of the family he belongs to, but sources say Ambrosine is furious. Will she finally relent and open the passages around Culinnon?

  The paper was dated today. “So they haven’t arrived in Ithilia yet,” Agnes said as she and Vada joined the swarming crowds bumping and jostling to enter the lowest, largest circle of the city. The walls loomed up over them, beautiful and impenetrable. They passed beneath the gate and Agnes marveled at the carved figurines of people and animals that decorated each side, oxen pulling carts, men pouring water from pitchers, doves in flight, women on horseback. The underside of the huge arch was detailed in squares of stone bearing the different symbols of the Triumvirate so that they formed a mosaic of silver moons, golden suns, and red stars.

  Vada was skimming the rest of the paper. “Still no sign of Braxos, but there are more bodies washing up on the northern islands. A Kaolin ship was sunk trying to reach Ithilia two days ago, when it failed to heed the Misarros’ warning to turn around. The president of Kaolin is threatening to send his navy if the Triumvirate doesn’t stop attacking Kaolins.” She shook her head. “We must be leaving Ithilia as quickly as possible.”

  “We need to find my grandmother,” Agnes said determinedly.

  “We can hire a metapar,” Vada said. Agnes frowned at the unfamiliar Pelagan word. “It is a horse-drawn cart with a driver,” Vada explained. “Like your hansom cabs back in Old Port. But Agnes, I am not knowing where we will be finding Ambrosine Byrne. And I’m not sure it’s safe to simply be asking around.”

  Agnes fingered the letter in her pocket. I have friends at the University of Ithilia, her grandmother had written.

  “Don’t worry, Vada,” she said. “I know how to find her.”