—
The help the camp needs is simple enough. They need food, first and foremost, and our meager lunch is a drop in that pot. The Sta’Criverans deliver rations every week, leftovers from the capital, but more often than not the food has gone bad by the time it arrives. We can come back with more, take some from the palace kitchens that would still be fresh, but it will only ever be drops. Never enough to put meat on their bones or keep their stomachs from constantly growling. It will be a start, though, until we can think of another solution.
They need fresh clothes and soap and clean water—more things that we can bring only in small amounts, though there’s a lake nearby and Blaise, Heron, and Søren make half a dozen trips back and forth on the horses, filling up whatever makeshift containers the Elders can find so that the refugees will have enough water to last them at least a few days.
While they’re gone, Artemisia and I thatch one of the sagging roofs—a process that is foreign to me but that Art seems somewhat practiced at. She climbs up onto the corner of a house, nimble as a cat, and instructs me to pass her handfuls of straw from the ground below. Art gains no small pleasure in bossing me around, but I know better than to take it personally by now, and it isn’t long before we fall into a comfortable conversation that lures out the neighbors, who have all been hiding from us since we arrived.
The children are the bravest, as children often are. Small and wraithlike, they have a surprising amount of fire burning in their bellies. A small cluster keeps daring one another closer, as if Artemisia and I are dangerous. The younger ones don’t even need dares; they wobble up on dirty, bare feet and stare at Art and me with eyes that take up most of their faces.
Artemisia is too preoccupied with the thatching to notice them at first, but I do.
“Hello,” I say to one of the children, who can’t be a day older than four, with bony arms and legs but a round belly. His golden skin and black hair make me think of Erik, and I wonder if he’s from Goraki as well—or if his parents are, at least.
He says nothing in reply, just continues to stare at me with solemn eyes, hands fisted at his sides. I set down the bushel of straw I’m holding and feel around Heron’s cloak, hoping to find something tucked away in the pockets—a bit of hardtack, a piece of candy, a coin—but there’s nothing except a snippet of string and balls of dust. When I pull my hands from my pockets, though, I hear a clinking sound and remember the dress I’m wearing underneath. The one embellished with jewels.
I hike up the cloak and reach for the dress’s diamond-trimmed hem. Each stone is the size of my thumbnail. With a sharp tug, I pull one of them free and hold it out to him.
He looks at it like it’s a weapon, which breaks my heart. For someone so young, he’s known far too much cruelty. But after staring at it for a few seconds, he seems to realize that it won’t hurt him. He takes it, grubby, rough fingers brushing mine. It sparkles in the sunlight when he holds it up, sending rainbows dancing on the ground below. Before I can stop him, he sticks it into his mouth.
“No!” I say.
He seems to realize it isn’t edible without testing the theory and spits it back into his hand, drying the saliva off on his rough-spun tunic. He looks up at me and grins broadly, teeth yellow and chipped, before scampering back to a woman I assume is his mother. I smile at her, and after a second of clutching her child in her arms, she smiles back tightly, nodding her head once.
After that, what timidity the other children possess disappears entirely. The whole flock of them presses in around me, with eager faces and dirty hands and words I only understand bits and pieces of.
“Whoa, slow down,” I say, though I can’t help but laugh. I manage to clear a bit of space between them and me before pulling a few more jewels from my dress’s hem, passing one out to each child there.
“You’re going to have some explaining to do when your maid finds that dress,” Artemisia says, peering down at me from the roof with an amused expression that seems wholly out of place on her. As she looks at the children, though, her amusement fades. “The Sta’Criverans believe the refugees are cursed,” she says, disgust punctuating her words. “As if misfortune is somehow contagious.”
“That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.
“It is,” she agrees. “But people will believe anything if it makes them think they have more control than they do in this world. Pass me a bit more straw and then we’re done and you can go back to your legion of devotees.”
I pass her another handful of straw before turning back to the children. I have nothing more to give them but they don’t seem to care. Their fingers reach out to tug at the material of Heron’s cloak or my hands, anything they can reach to get my attention. I laugh, turning from one to another and another and another. I can’t understand most of what they say, but it doesn’t matter. They just want to be heard and I’m happy to listen.
“It’s a shame they’re too young to wield weapons,” Artemisia says before leaping down from the roof, landing lightly next to me. “A few more years and they’d make for the start of a fierce and devoted army.”
I know she means well, but the words still gnaw at me. The idea that these children would grow up to fight battles, to feel the blood of others on their skin, to know the bite of a sword—I don’t want that for them. Not in service of me or anyone else.
THE RIDE BACK TO THE city is quiet, but it isn’t the uncomfortable kind of silence. I think we’re all too fatigued and hungry to talk much, but aside from that, I know my thoughts are still back in the refugee camp and I’m sure the others feel the same. Even Søren’s face is drawn and pale, though part of me wants to slap him. He can’t be horrified by the way the Sta’Criverans have been treating those people when it’s the Kalovaxians’ fault that they had to seek refuge in the first place.
It isn’t Søren’s fault, I know that, but it’s an easy distinction to overlook sometimes.
When we get back to the city, we return the horses to the stables and slip through the busy streets as quietly as we can. The sun is starting to sink in the sky now—we stayed out longer than we meant to—and I pray to all the gods that might have followed us across the Calodean Sea that our absence has gone unnoticed.
And if it hasn’t?
I would like nothing better than to tell King Etristo exactly where I have been and how vile I think he is for the way he treats the refugees who came to his land seeking safety. I want to tell him that I think he’s a monster and that if he doesn’t send them food and clean water immediately I will leave, marriage be damned. But even as I think it, I know that’s something I cannot do. Loath as I am to admit it, I need his help to save Astrea, to give those people a place to go home to.
But the second I am on Astrea’s throne again, I will make sure he knows exactly what I think of him.
It isn’t until we’re in the riser on the way up to our floor that Heron breaks the silence.
“I can steal food over the next few days if I use my gift,” he whispers, casting a wary glance at the riser operator, who doesn’t seem to be listening to us. “Gather up more bit by bit than I could all at once. Then we’ll go back. Or, I will. You don’t have to—”
“I’m going,” I say. “If anyone wants to stay behind, you’re welcome to, but after what we saw today I can’t imagine that will be the case.”
The others say nothing and I take that for assent.
* * *
—
When I slip inside my room, I think for one blissful second that my absence went unnoticed. Everything looks exactly as I left it—the bed rumpled, my nightgown pooled on the floor, the wardrobe door open. But Marial is so still perched in the chair by the fireplace that I don’t notice her until she stands.
“You foolish girl,” she says, her voice low and her expression furious.
I take a step back toward the doo
r but there isn’t anywhere to go. This isn’t something I can run from.
“I felt better,” I tell her instead. “I thought a walk would do me good.”
She levels a look of disbelief at me, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising. “A walk?” she says dryly. “I suppose that’s why you smell like a gutter and are covered head to toe in dirt?”
I can’t think of an answer for that quickly enough.
“After how well we’ve treated you, all the fine things we’ve given you, you decide to repay it by lying and going behind the King’s back?” she asks, her voice low and dangerous.
Something in me snaps, and before I can stop them, words force their way past my lips.
“I don’t care about your fine things. I’m grateful for the kindness the King has shown me in allowing me to stay, but I am here for my people—the ones in chains in Astrea and the ones being starved and caged in what you have the nerve to call a refugee camp. Refuge means safety, and what I saw today can hardly be called that.”
It isn’t until Marial recoils from my words that I realize I’ve said too much. “You went to the camp?” she asks quietly, her voice wavering. Though she’s always seemed so fearsome, for the first time she looks afraid.
I want to deny it, but there’s no way I can now. I kick myself for letting that slip. “I asked the King to bring me there,” I tell her, deciding that if I can’t take the words back, I might as well commit to them. “He refused. He said it was no place for a girl like me and he was right. It’s no place for anyone.”
Marial shakes her head. “They’re cursed,” she says. “We’ve taken pity enough on them, but we won’t put ourselves at risk for strangers. Now you bring their filth and bad luck with you.”
She says it like a line she’s heard spoken so many times she’s memorized it.
“If you believe that, you’re the fool,” I say. “You can tell the King if you like, but I would imagine that would get you into more trouble than it would me. After all, I left on your watch. And I’m sure he can get another lady’s maid far more easily than he could find a new displaced queen to marry off for his own profit.”
The words don’t feel like mine, and when Marial stumbles back a step, looking like I physically struck her, guilt pools in my stomach. I remind myself of what she said about the refugees, and that she would find a way to keep me from going back to the camp if I didn’t stop her, but that logic does nothing to make me feel better. Again, I can’t help but hear the Kaiser in my mind, guiding my actions. I want to apologize, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.
Instead, we merely stare at one another for a painfully long moment. Marial’s expression is inscrutable. Just as the silence starts to become unbearable, she finally speaks.
“You need a bath,” she says finally. “No use having the girls see you this way. I’ll just have to draw it myself.”
IN THE RISER WITH DRAGONSBANE on the way to dinner with some of the suitors, I make the mistake of yawning. I can’t help it: after last night and the hours spent working in the sun at the camp, I’m surprised I’m still standing up straight. Dragonsbane, however, can’t know about any of that, and when she sees me yawn, her eyes narrow.
“Tonight is important.” She says each word slowly, as if talking to a small child. She’s clad in another black dress, this one fitted like a sheath and embroidered with black pearls. It’s a perfect contrast to my own dress of flounced white chiffon. In Astrea, white is the color of mourning, but Marial told me quite bluntly that in Sta’Crivero it symbolizes virginity. Which is hardly subtle, but nothing about the Sta’Criverans seems to be subtle.
“I know it’s important,” I say. “But you’ll excuse me if I pace myself. There will be a lot more of these over the coming days if I’m to get to know all of the suitors.”
“These first three will be our best options,” she says.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Dragonsbane shrugs. “Every country in the world was invited to try for your hand, apart from Elcourt, which is too closely aligned with Kalovaxia. Etristo is collecting a sum from each suitor, so he wasn’t particularly motivated to keep the list to those who actually have the force to take on the Kalovaxians. Many of the countries are too weak to actually be of assistance, though I suppose their presence only makes you look more desirable.” She pauses, letting that sink in, though it doesn’t exactly surprise me.
“Haptania, Oriana, and Etralia are arguably the strongest countries in the world, after Sta’Crivero,” she continues. “Any of those three has the power to take Astrea back. The others may have the power, but more than likely would only prolong our inevitable defeat.”
“If Sta’Crivero is the strongest country in the world, why don’t they help us directly?”
Dragonsbane smiles at me like I’m a pet who just did an amusing trick. “Because helping you directly doesn’t get them anything. They don’t want Astrea’s magic—you’ve seen how they live, what use would they have of it? They want money, and that is easier to get elsewhere, with far less bloodshed.”
I swallow down my frustration. No one seems to understand that there are Astreans dying in the mines. All they’re concerned about is money and gems and their own safety. If everyone put aside their selfishness, the Kalovaxians could be stamped out as easily as an ant under a boot heel, with minimal effort or risk. But there’s no money in that, so no one bothers.
* * *
—
I expect dinner to be held in the same dining room as last night, but instead we’re brought to a large open-air pavilion with no dining table—just plush sofas and chairs and low tables that are laden with golden plates of finger food and glasses of deep red wine.
We are the last to arrive. King Etristo is already seated in a high-backed chair, frail shoulders hunched over in what seems to be his usual posture, an attendant holding a glass of wine at his side. The three suitors are spread out around the room, each speaking with his own entourage. I recognize Chancellor Marzen’s sister—Salla Coltania, Søren called her—and Prince Talin’s father, Czar Reymer.
When they notice me, they all get to their feet—apart from King Etristo, who remains seated, though I don’t take it as a sign of disrespect. I don’t think he could stand on his own if he wanted to.
“I told you she would be worth the wait, didn’t I?” King Etristo calls out to the suitors with a laugh, grabbing the wineglass and taking a swig before pushing it back at the attendant without sparing him so much as a look.
“I hope I haven’t kept you long,” I say, noticing that Søren isn’t here. His presence has been requested at all other official events, but I understand why he’s been left out of this one. King Etristo already mentioned the rumors about Søren and me; the last thing he wants is that shadow cast over tonight, especially when I’ve refused the purity examination. Suddenly, the white dress seems like even more of an obvious ploy.
“Not at all, not at all. I just thought it would be best for you to all get to know one another in a more comfortable setting. No stuffy dinner here, just an easy night of conversation. How does that sound?”
It sounds like it will be anything but easy or comfortable. “It sounds wonderful, Your Highness,” I say with what I hope is a gracious smile. “Thank you.”
He inclines his head before reaching for his wine again.
I glance around the pavilion, feeling the gazes of the suitors and their guests dragging down on my shoulders. Chancellor Marzen and his sister are sitting closest to me, so I make my way to him first, Dragonsbane trailing behind me like a shadow.
“Hello, Chancellor,” I say, holding out a hand to him. He stands and bends to kiss it with a graceful flourish before letting it drop and gesturing to his sister. Tonight her glossy black hair is piled in a braided bun on top of her head. Her mouth is painted vermilion red and her eyes are rimmed with
kohl. She looks like the kind of woman who would bite you as easily as she would smile at you.
“Queen Theodosia, may I present my sister, Coltania,” he says in Astrean that is proficient but stilted.
Her red mouth bows into a cold approximation of a smile. “Pleasure,” she says. “I’ve heard so many things.” Her Astrean is a bit rougher than her brother’s, but I don’t have trouble understanding her.
“You have me at a disadvantage, then,” I say lightly. “But it’s lovely to meet you as well. This is my aunt, Princess Kallistrade,” I add, gesturing to Dragonsbane. Petty as it might be, it gives me some measure of delight to see her flinch at her formal title.
Dragonsbane and I both take our seats as the Chancellor pours us each a glass of wine.
“How are you finding Sta’Crivero?” he asks me, passing me my glass.
The thought of drinking after last night makes me want to retch, but I force myself to take a small sip. “It’s beautiful,” I say, without really thinking about it. It hardly matters, though—a shallow answer for a shallow question is all that’s expected.
“It is very bright,” Coltania says, though in her mouth that doesn’t sound like a compliment.
Chancellor Marzen scoffs. “The Sta’Criverans are excessive and…” He trails off, saying something to his sister in what I imagine must be Orianic.
“Tacky,” she finishes, flashing a full smile.
“Tacky,” Chancellor Marzen replies with a chuckle. “That is the word.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” a deep voice says as a shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Czar Reymer with Prince Talin cowering at his side like he’s trying to disappear into the air. “Your Majesty, might we steal your attention for a moment?”
I glance at the Chancellor and his sister, but even though they look like they want to protest, they both nod.
“We’ll speak again soon, Your Majesty,” the Chancellor says with a smile that I can only describe as oily.
Lady Smoke Page 17
