Lady Smoke

by Laura Sebastian

  “I look forward to it,” I tell him before taking hold of Czar Reymer’s proffered hand and letting him help me to my feet and lead me—and Dragonsbane—to another corner of the room.

  * * *

  —

  The rest of the night yawns on, a daze of being handed off between the three suitors and trying my best to make pleasant conversation so that they find me charming, which seems to be easier than I thought it would be.

  It quickly becomes clear that Marzen sees a union between our countries as inevitable—as I speak to him and his sister throughout the night, they make it sound like his proposal has already been made and accepted, which I find I don’t care for. So much of my life has happened without my consent. Feeling like I have no control even here and now makes my chest feel like it’s caving in around my heart and lungs. I suppose he thinks his arrogance charming, especially when paired with his oily smile and charisma, but instead I find myself recoiling from him so much that Dragonsbane finally pinches my arm.

  “Smile,” she whispers, leaning toward me like she’s fixing my hair. “You look like you’ve swallowed a frog.”

  Repulsive as Marzen might be, I prefer the company of him and his sister to that of Czar Reymer and Prince Talin. I have a feeling that the Prince and I might actually get along decently without his father present, but there seems little chance of that. The Czar lingers over every conversation like the sun, blinding and disorienting the both of us with his handsome smiles and overconfident air. I begin to pity Prince Talin—though he must be used to his father’s presence, he still wilts beneath it, a sapling doomed to grow weak in the shadow of a great oak.

  And if he is intimidated by his father, he is absolutely terrified of me. Throughout our conversation, his eyes flicker around the room as if he’s looking for some kind of escape, and he goes to great lengths to avoid having them ever meet mine.

  If we were alone, I would put his mind at ease and tell him that I have no desire to marry him either, but if King Etristo got word of that, I fear his patience with me would finally reach its end.

  I suppose Archduke Etmond is the most pleasant of the lot, though that title largely falls to him by default. Most of our time is spent in an uncomfortable silence that I’m actually grateful for—it gives me a moment of peace in what has been a very chaotic day—but there are a few moments when he surprises me, like when he very shyly asks how I escaped the Astrean palace and seems to actually care about the answer.

  So I tell him the story, surprised when I realize it occurred not two weeks ago now, though it feels like another lifetime. I leave out the bits about Søren, too aware now of what others might think of our relationship, but I tell him the rest.

  His eyes are wide and awed, so I take the opportunity to peel back the white satin gloves Marial made me wear and show him the light scars on my palms from clawing my way up the boulders. Heron tried but hadn’t been able to heal me completely. I thought them ugly, but the way Archduke Etmond looks at them makes me think that there is something lovely about them. I certainly prefer them to the scars on my back, though I suppose they mean the same thing now—I went through hell and I survived to tell the tale.

  Unfortunately, my time with the Archduke is too short. The Czar and the Chancellor seem to realize that he’s an easy one to take advantage of—in social situations if not on the battlefield—and every time I make my way over to speak with him, it’s only a few minutes before one of them appears and asks to speak with me alone. By the third time it happens, I almost refuse, but Dragonsbane at my side is a clear reminder that doing so would be frowned upon.

  Make them like you, she said to me in the riser, but there doesn’t seem to be any trouble in that area. They like me perfectly well with little effort on my part. They like me because when they look at me they see magic and money and that is enough for them to swoon over. The Archduke is the only one who looks at me like he actually sees me, though there’s nothing romantic in it. I’d imagine it’s similar to the way he looks at the soldiers he commands—with respect.

  The realization hits me like a slap—he’s the only person I’ve met in Sta’Crivero who looks at me that way. Everyone else treats me like a fragile doll, to be kept high on a shelf, played with on occasion, and protected at all costs but never respected as an equal.

  AS THE NIGHT DRAGS ON, my limbs grow heavy and it becomes a struggle to keep my eyes open, though I’ve been careful to take only the smallest sips of wine. I feel like a ball of yarn being pulled between a group of cats, unspooling more and more with each passing moment. What charm I may have been able to muster earlier in the night is wearing thin now, and I’m not the only one who notices.

  “Get yourself together,” Dragonsbane hisses at me as she leads me back to Czar Reymer and Prince Talin.

  “If the Czar tells me about his prize-bred horses again, I will fall asleep altogether,” I warn.

  “You will not,” she snaps. “You will smile and nod and tell him how fascinating he is and then you will do your damnedest to make that son of his say more than two words. Need I remind you that Astrea is at stake?”

  Her words sow shame beneath my skin. Though I’d like nothing better than to jerk my arm out of hers and run out of the room as quickly as my tired legs will carry me, I know she’s right. I don’t know if I can truly call Dragonsbane my ally, but she is not my enemy either. We are on the same side—Astrea’s side.

  “Fine,” I tell her, fixing my smile so that it’s broader and toothier, even though it makes my cheeks ache.

  Before we can make it to the Czar and Prince, though, the brass door swings open with a clang that makes everyone jump in surprise. The entrance is across the pavilion, with a dozen potted plants between, so I can’t see who’s arrived now. Another suitor, most likely, though the idea of someone else to charm and impress forces a quiet groan past my lips. Luckily, Dragonsbane is the only one who notices, and she fixes me with a stern look.

  King Etristo, who had dozed off in his chair, jerks awake, looking toward the entrance with tired but narrow eyes.

  “What is this?” he demands, craning his neck to see what the interruption is. “This is a private dinner! Who are you?”

  “My apologies,” a voice says. Something about it nudges at my memory, but I can’t place it. I frown, taking a step closer and pulling Dragonsbane with me, though I still can’t see who it is. A scrap of violet and gold brocade, a patch of black hair, but I can’t manage a good look at his face. “I know we’re late but I was told that you were entertaining some suitors here.”

  It is another suitor after all, but I’m sure that I know that voice. That bravado so loud that it distracts from insecurity, the charm painted on so thick that you don’t notice the doubt layered beneath it. I know that voice.

  I let go of Dragonsbane’s arm and step toward the entrance, weaving between potted plants until I can finally get a proper look at the intruder.

  “Erik,” I say, the name little louder than an exhale. For a moment, all I can do is stare at him and blink, waiting for him to disappear before my eyes. It must only be an illusion after all, crafted by my exhausted, bored mind, because Erik can’t be here, parading as one of my suitors. But he doesn’t disappear. Instead, he stands tall and straight by the entrance, dressed in clothing so strange it nearly renders him unrecognizable. I’ve only ever seen him in Kalovaxian garb—fitted trousers and tunics and stifling velvet jackets—but now he wears an ankle-length brocade tunic with wide, sweeping sleeves. It’s patterned with intricate designs of animals and trees that look like they’ve been painted by hand. A thick sash is tied around his waist. His hair—always long and unruly—has been slicked back, secured in a bun at the nape of his neck.

  But when his eyes land on me, he smiles and suddenly he looks just like the Erik I remember.

  He drops into a sweeping bow. “Queen Theodosia.”

>   It isn’t the first time he’s called me by my name. He said it in the garden, too, after I told him to take his mother—Hoa—and leave the capital. Clearly, he listened.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, walking to his side. I want to hug him, but I know I shouldn’t, considering our present company.

  “I thought that was obvious,” he says. “I’m here to compete for your fair hand.” Though he says it lightly, I can see the doubt behind his eyes, the discomfort lingering just beneath this polished and confident surface. Glimpse him from just the right angle and his illusions slip away, leaving a boy playing dress-up, reciting lines that have been given to him.

  “Sir,” King Etristo growls from his chair, “who, exactly, are you?”

  “Oh, where are my manners?” Erik says, turning toward the King and bowing again and producing an envelope from the pocket of his robe. “I’ve just arrived from Goraki.”

  King Etristo scoffs, but takes the envelope. “Goraki is a ruin,” he says, tearing it open, his eyes scanning the piece of parchment. “We sent an invitation there merely as a formality, but everyone knows there has been no ruling family there since the Kalovaxians slaughtered the last emperor and his children.”

  “That is what everyone thought,” Erik says, idly taking a glass of red wine from one of the servers. I wonder if anyone else is looking close enough to see how the glass quivers in his hand, the dark liquid rippling like the surface of a pond when a school of fish swims beneath. “Imagine their surprise when the last emperor’s youngest daughter returned to them after being held by the Kalovaxians for two decades. And imagine her son’s surprise when she passed her claim to the throne on to him.”

  He pauses, but no one else speaks. “The son was me,” he adds. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

  “You have my congratulations,” King Etristo says dryly. “But the fact remains that Goraki is a wasteland with no money and no troops. You are trifling with our time.”

  Erik shrugs, though his eyes dance across the room. “Your requested sum has been brought, Your Highness,” he says, looking back to King Etristo. “I left it with your son when he greeted me with the same questions you’re asking now. He counted it himself before allowing me into the palace. I’ve as much right to be here as any suitor.”

  King Etristo lifts a thick gray eyebrow. “And how much is left in your coffers after that expense, Emperor?”

  Erik’s mouth twitches. “Enough,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he turns to me and offers me his free arm. “If I might have a moment of your time, Queen Theodosia?”

  It takes all I have not to seem too eager when I agree, though that excitement is quickly dampened when Dragonsbane follows us to a secluded corner of the pavilion. The eyes of the other suitors trail after us, but none of their gazes are darker than King Etristo’s.

  “It’s good to see you again, Erik,” I say to him, casting a look at Dragonsbane a step behind us. She makes no effort to hide her disapproval. I turn back to Erik. “Or should I call you Emperor now?”

  “You can call me Erik if I can call you Theodosia,” he says with a small, grim smile. “All of this title business is tiring, isn’t it?”

  “Only when it comes to friends,” I say. “You can call me Theo.”

  “Alas, I can’t shorten Erik any more without it sounding ridiculous,” he says with a dramatic sigh.

  When we reach the sofas clustered in the corner, I let go of Erik’s arm and sink down into one. “If we’re done being clever,” I say, “would you like to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

  Erik’s bravado slips as he sits down across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He glances warily at Dragonsbane when she sits down next to me.

  “Can she be trusted?” he asks.

  It’s a tricky question but I can’t imagine Erik would have anything to say that Dragonsbane shouldn’t hear. Besides, if she thinks I’m trusting her, it will be easier to keep other things secret.

  I nod.

  “How’s Søren faring?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I’d imagine he’s not used to being a prisoner.” Though he keeps his words indifferent, there’s a flicker of real concern behind them. They are brothers, after all, and friends besides.

  “He made an exceptional prisoner, actually,” I tell him, leaning back against the plush cushions.

  “Made?” Erik asks, eyes widening. The careless facade slips another inch. “He’s not—”

  “He’s not a prisoner any longer,” I clarify. Relief streaks across his face. “He has his own room here, no chains. I wouldn’t recommend he try to leave, but I don’t think he wants to.”

  If news of Søren’s pivot surprises Erik, he doesn’t show it. “Vecturia changed him,” he says. “It changed many of us, but Søren more so, I think. Most of the Kalovaxians didn’t see the Astreans as people—they saw weapons. When Søren gave the order—” He breaks off when he sees me flinch. I can’t help it. I don’t want to know about what happened next. I don’t want to hear details of how horrifically my people were murdered. I don’t want to hear about how bad Søren felt when he gave the order to kill hundreds of my people and thousands of innocent Vecturians who were only protecting their home.

  “How did you feel, Erik, when you watched Astrean men and women forced to destroy themselves to protect you?” I ask instead, my voice coming out like tinder just waiting for a spark.

  He doesn’t answer right away.

  “I’m glad that we can finally speak frankly, Theo,” he says finally, his voice quiet. “Honesty doesn’t come easily for me, after so many years with the Kalovaxians, but I’ll try.” He takes a breath. “By the time Vecturia happened, I think I was numb to the suffering of others. I was nine when we left Goraki, when I watched my home burn to the ground. Even before that, I watched the Kalovaxians treat my people the same way they treat their Astrean slaves now. The Kaiser beat my mother in front of me, and when she tried to rebel against him, he made me watch while a man sewed her mouth shut. It’s not a good answer, that I was too numb, but it’s the truth. I am sorry for what happened, truly I am, and I will do everything in my power to keep it from happening again.”

  I’m stunned to silence, but Dragonsbane isn’t.

  “And what power is that?” she asks him. “King Etristo is right—Goraki has nothing to its name anymore. There are no more expensive silks to sell, no more goods at all as far as I’ve heard. You can’t have much of an army either. It’s estimated that less than two thousand Gorakians survived the Kalovaxian invasion. Is that number false?”

  Erik, to his credit, does not wither under Dragonsbane’s stare.

  “I haven’t counted them myself,” he says. “But that estimate sounds accurate.”

  “Then how?” she presses.

  But Erik doesn’t have an answer. “We’re stronger together,” he says instead, speaking to me. “Our countries united against the Kalovaxians are stronger than we would be alone.”

  “Yes,” I say with a sad smile. “But still not strong enough.”

  BACK IN MY ROOM, I ring the bell that summons Marial and she arrives a few moments later. As she changes me into my nightgown, she gives me a warning look, as if she suspects that I’m breaking rules once more. I smile innocently in return, but I don’t think it fools her. After what feels like an eternity, she finally takes her leave with a stiff curtsy. I wait a few minutes before stepping out into the hallway myself, finding Erik waiting for me. He leans against the wall opposite my door, arms folded over his chest, still dressed in his brocade robe from dinner, though it looks a bit more disheveled now. His hair is down from its bun, hanging loose to his shoulders.

  “Awfully forward of you, Theo,” he says with a smirk. “Asking your suitor to meet you in your bedroom.”

  “Outside my bedroom,” I correct. “I thought you�
�d like to see Søren.”

  The cocky smile slips from his face. “Thank you,” he says, but there’s a note of fear in his voice.

  “What is it?” I ask, leading him down the hall toward Søren’s room.

  “It feels like a lifetime has passed since I saw him last, even though it’s only been a couple of weeks. I might as well be an entirely different person,” he admits.

  “You still seem like yourself to me,” I say. “Besides, Søren’s done some changing as well.”

  “That worries me even more,” Erik admits. “I’ve known Søren since the day he was born. I don’t like the idea of us being strangers.”

  I remember Blaise appearing out of nowhere at that banquet months ago, the first time I had seen him in a decade. He was a stranger to me then, even though once we had been close.

  “Being strangers is an easy enough thing to fix,” I say, squeezing his arm. “But you have to start at some point.”

  There’s a guard outside Søren’s door who doesn’t even try to hide his disapproval at my late-night visit.

  “The Emperor is here to see Prinz Søren,” I tell the guard with a sweet smile. “They were raised together, you see.”

  The guard gives a skeptical grunt but steps aside for us to pass. I lift my hand and knock.

  “Come in,” Søren says, his voice muffled through the door.

  I push the door open and step inside first. Søren is lounging on top of his bed with a leather-bound book in his hands. When he sees me, he puts it aside and sits up, frowning in confusion.

  “Theo? What are you…” He trails off when Erik appears behind me, going from merely confused to bewildered. He scrambles to stand. “Erik?” His voice is tentative, as though he might be imagining him.

  Erik smiles shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hello, Søren.”

  “What are you doing here?” Søren asks, stepping toward him. He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he folds Erik into a hug that looks tight enough to break bones. After a moment, Søren pulls back, holding Erik at arm’s length. “And what are you wearing?”