“Hardly inspires confidence,” Erik murmurs, looking around the dim hall, lit only by rows of small sconces. The air down here is stuffy and rancid, making me nauseous. I don’t want to put a name to whatever that smell is. It doesn’t smell like it’s coming from anything—or anyone—alive.
We follow the hallway until we reach an iron gate that stretches from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. Leaning against it on our side is a young Sta’Criveran man who looks half-asleep. When he hears us approach, though, he bolts upright, eyes widening in surprise. He looks about twenty, but his skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes. I wonder when he was last aboveground.
“What are you doing here?” the man asks, flustered, before swallowing and trying again. “I mean, how can I help you?”
“We’re here to visit Prinz Søren. King Etristo has given me permission to visit at my leisure.”
He frowns, looking bewildered. “But it’s the middle of the night,” he says.
I shrug. “Such is my leisure,” I say. “My name is Queen Theodosia and I would like the prisoner brought to a secure, separate room away from other prisoners. Has he eaten?”
“I…yes, Your Majesty,” he says.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say. “He can be a bit stubborn about that sort of thing. Is there a room like the one I described?”
“Prinz Søren is being held in a solitary cell,” he says. “It’s quite comfortable—for a cell, I mean. Certainly better than anything else down here, and far from the other prisoners.”
“That sounds like it will do nicely,” I tell him with a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Tizoli,” the man says before hastening to bow. When he’s done, he turns to the gate, fumbling with the ring of keys hooked onto his belt. It takes a couple of tries, but he finally unlocks the door and leads us through.
* * *
—
Søren’s cell is a little bigger than the brig on the Smoke and at least thrice the size of the cell I had back in Astrea. Unlike on the Smoke, he isn’t cuffed, so he can stand and walk and do whatever he likes within its walls. Unfortunately, what he wants to do is sleep, which he does quite soundly, curled up in the corner with his face turned away from us.
“Søren!” I shout through the bars of the door for what feels like the hundredth time, but he still doesn’t move. I turn toward Tizoli, who’s lingering behind us, unsure whether he should stay or go. “Is he well?”
“I…er…I think so, Your Majesty,” he says, looking around nervously.
“He’s fine,” Erik says. “He could sleep through a hurricane—has, in fact.” He cups his hands around his mouth and bellows Søren’s name so loudly that I have to cover my ears. Søren, though, only rolls over, burrowing closer to the wall.
“If you could just open the door for a moment, we could nudge him awake and come right back out,” I say to Tizoli, but he shakes his head again, just as he has every time I’ve asked him since we came down here ten minutes ago—it must be at least five times by now.
Erik takes a deep breath, preparing to yell again, but I cut him off by grabbing hold of the button on the sleeve of his cloak and yanking it off in one sharp tug.
“What did you do that for?” Erik demands, looking at his torn jacket in disbelief. “That was brand-new—my mother is going to kill me.”
I ignore him and step right up to the bars and reach my arm through, clutching the button tight in my hand. I throw the button as hard as I can at Søren’s head, hitting him square in the middle of the forehead. It was a small button, but it was enough. Søren’s hand flies up to belatedly swat it away before his eyes crinkle open and he stares at us sleepily.
“Finally,” I say. “You sleep like the dead.”
Søren pulls himself up to sit, still looking dazed. “I think I’m still sleeping,” he admits. “What are you doing here? And what time is it?”
“Nearly dawn, I’d guess,” I say before turning to Tizoli. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?” I ask him. “We’ll come get you when we’re done.”
Tizoli hesitates but after a moment he nods and goes back down the hallway. I listen to his footsteps fade before speaking again.
“Quite the reversal of fortunes,” I say to Søren, smiling even though there’s nothing funny about any of this.
Søren smiles back, though it looks halfhearted. “Are you here to rescue me, Theo?” he asks wryly.
I shake my head. “They’re brewing up a truth serum for you, so as soon as they give you that, you should be in the clear. King Etristo said it could take some time, though.”
Søren nods but he looks unconvinced. “Any clue who actually is working for my father?”
“None,” Erik says, his voice heavy. “It could quite literally be anyone. Hell, if they knew we shared a bloodline, I would probably be down here with you.”
“Yes, let’s keep that secret,” I say before sighing. “I got a reprieve from the suitors, at least. I said I couldn’t meet with anyone unless you were present to advise me.”
Søren snorts. “I’m sure your aunt is pleased about that,” he says.
He means it as a joke, but the mention of Dragonsbane is like sandpaper against my skin and Søren must see me cringe.
“What is it?” he asks.
I hesitate. “I have a question about the Astrean siege.” I take a deep breath and consider not asking at all. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. “If we’d been warned that you were coming, what would have happened? Would it have been like Vecturia? Would you have turned around?”
Søren frowns, thinking it over for so long I start to worry he’ll never answer, but finally he shakes his head. “Maybe it would have lasted longer. Maybe it would have turned into a war instead of a siege, but we still would have outmatched you. Astrea wasn’t prepared for an attack like that—they’d never had to face one before. I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you were looking for.”
“It is, actually,” I say. “But it still doesn’t make me feel any better.”
What Dragonsbane said pours out of me, and for their part, Erik and Søren listen.
When I finish, my words are barely louder than a whisper. “I’ve always imagined my mother as a perfect queen, but that image has been ruined and I don’t know how to get it back.”
Erik and Søren exchange a look, but it’s Erik who finally speaks.
“Well, our father is the Kaiser,” he says slowly. “We don’t have much experience with shattered illusions of parental figures.”
“But was there ever a time when you admired him?” I ask, looking between them.
They’re both quiet.
“No,” Søren says finally. “Even before I understood what he was doing to other people, I knew what he was doing to my mother. I don’t remember a single kind word. I do remember her cowering in fear every time he approached her and wincing whenever he addressed her, like she’d been slapped. I saw my father as a monster from the very start—I just didn’t realize how wide his reach was.”
Erik clears his throat. “I think there was a time I aspired to be like him,” he admits. “It wasn’t for very long, yet it was there. He never acknowledged me as his son or even spoke to me, but it was no secret. I knew. And as a child, I thought that if I were bigger, if I were stronger, if I were better, he would love me. I hated you,” he tells Søren.
Søren frowns. “You did? I didn’t know that.”
Erik shrugs, glancing away. The light is too dim to say for sure, but I think his cheeks redden. “I didn’t know you then—only from a distance. You were just this boy who had everything I wanted so desperately, and you didn’t seem to appreciate it at all. Of course I hated you. But when we apprenticed together and became friends, I understood. I think that was when my illusions were shattered, though that’s a different sort of thi
ng.”
“No, I think I understand,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
Søren heaves a heavy sigh. “So, will you go back to the camp now that you don’t have to worry about suitors for a few days?”
“I suppose so,” I say, though the idea fills me with both excitement and dread. I loved helping out there and talking to other Astreans, but the guilt was almost unbearable—how can I sit in King Etristo’s palace, eating sumptuous dishes until my stomach feels like it will burst, wearing dresses that cost a fortune each, while all of them are dirty and starving and sick? But, of course, I have to go. If I don’t do everything I can to help them, I’ll never forgive myself. I certainly couldn’t call myself their Queen.
An idea occurs to me and I turn to Erik. “You should come, too,” I say. “There are Gorakians there. You should see them, if you’re to be their Emperor. I don’t think they know Goraki is safe again; they might want to return.”
Erik considers it. “I’m not counting on that,” he says, shaking his head. “Safe is a relative term and they honestly might be better off here.”
The idea makes me queasy. “Don’t say that until you’ve seen it,” I tell him, then look back at Søren. “Is there anything you need?”
Søren considers it for a moment. “Just for time to pass quicker. Do you have anywhere to be before breakfast?”
“No,” I say. “We can stay awhile.”
Søren stretches out on the dirty floor, leaning against the brick wall. “Well then,” he says. “How do you feel about another lesson in Astrean?”
“Now?” I ask, frowning. “Surely there’s a better time and place.”
“I’m quite literally a captive pupil,” he tells me. “And it’ll take my mind off other things, like King Etristo deciding to execute me.”
The idea of that ties my stomach into knots. “I would never let that happen,” I say.
Søren smiles, though it doesn’t make it all the way to his eyes. “I think you’ve worked enough miracles for me already, Theo. This one might be beyond even you.” He sits up. “But see? I’m proving my point—we need a distraction. Erik could stand to learn a few words, too.”
“Actually, I think trying to learn two languages at the same time will only confuse me,” Erik says with a yawn. He leans against the hallway wall, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. “Just wake me when you’re ready to go, Theo.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t honestly just fall asleep like that.”
Though his eyes stay closed, his mouth quirks into a smile. “I’m a sailor,” he says. “I can sleep anywhere.”
And either he’s true to his word or he does a very good imitation of it—snores and all—as I teach Søren some basic Astrean words. I, you, have, does, water, bread.
It’s difficult to tell how much time passes without any sunlight, but when Erik and I leave the dungeon, Søren seems to be in somewhat better spirits. We promise to visit again soon, but Søren doesn’t look like he believes us.
AS SOON AS I GET back to my room, I’m greeted with a barrage of panicked shouts.
“We thought you were dead,” Heron says, his normally tranquil eyes burning a bright amber. “What were you thinking, leaving in the middle of the night?”
“And you took your dagger?” Artemisia adds. “Were you trying to save the Kaiser’s assassin the trouble?”
“You could have been killed,” Blaise says. Anger radiates off him so strongly that I can practically see it simmering in the air. His hands shake, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.
I notice, though, and so do Heron and Artemisia. In that instant, their anger and fear disappear, drowned out by Blaise’s. The ground beneath my feet trembles so slightly that I could attribute it to the whirring of the riser down the hall—but this isn’t that sort of tremor. It’s a hum, as if the stones are speaking, as if they are being spoken to in return.
“Blaise,” I say, careful to keep my voice soft. But even when his dark eyes lock on mine, they are strange and faraway, as if he’s not seeing me at all.
The tremor in the ground grows stronger, until the glasses left on the table begin to rattle. I know that I should do something, say something, but I am frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at him. Dust flakes down from the ceiling, falling over us like the ash used to when the Kaiser made me wear that crown.
Artemisia is the first one to react. In a few quick strides, she crosses the room to Blaise and slaps him hard across the face, the sound echoing above the rumble, but it has no effect on him.
I’ve seen Blaise lose control of his powers before, but he has always fought to regain it. It’s never been like this. I don’t know if he’s in his body at all.
The vase on my vanity topples off the edge, shattering against the floor and sending water and limp roses everywhere. I have to grab the wall to steady myself before making my way toward Blaise, my heart pounding against my rib cage. It occurs to me all of a sudden how dangerous this is, not just for Blaise but for all of us. The Sta’Criveran towers are already precariously tall. A full-blown earthquake could topple this one, and the rest would fall like dominoes, crushing the city below. If we don’t get through to Blaise, he could destroy the city and kill thousands.
“Blaise,” I say again, reaching for his shoulders. His skin is burning hot even through the material of his shirt, like fire against my skin, but I hold on tight. I try to shake him, but he is rooted to the spot. “Please, Blaise. I’m fine.”
He shudders and the tremors subside slightly, though they’re still pronounced. They’re still dangerous.
Without thinking about it, I throw my arms around his neck and hold him as tightly as I can, even as the heat of his body spreads through mine. I comb my fingers through his hair, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m singing him the Astrean lullaby he sang for me when I needed it.
“Walk through the fog with me,
My beautiful child.
We’re off to dreamland, my dear,
Where the world turns wild.
Today is done, the time has come
For little birds to fly.
Tomorrow is near, the time is here
For old crows to die.
Dream a dream of a world unknown,
Where anything can be.
Tomorrow you’ll make your dreams come true,
But tonight, child, dream with me.”
Gradually, the world around us stills, but Blaise doesn’t. He keeps shaking even as his arms come around me and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. It’s only when I feel hot, wet tears against my skin that I realize he’s crying. None of us speaks for what seems like an eternity, but I know their thoughts as well as I know my own.
Blaise is not in control of his gift and it’s getting worse. Another few minutes and he could have killed all of us and thousands of others besides. We have no way to stop it.
Slowly, Blaise extracts himself from my grip and lifts his head.
“I have to leave,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I can’t stay here. I can’t—” His voice breaks before he can finish the sentence.
Part of me knows that he’s right. He’s a danger here, to himself and to everyone around him. But I can’t bear the idea of sending him away.
“No,” I say, forcing my voice not to shake around the word. “That…You didn’t mean it.”
Artemisia stares at me incredulously. “It doesn’t matter what he meant,” she says. “He nearly…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
“None of us did,” Heron says. “But we knew it would come to this eventually. There’s no cure for mine madness.”
It’s the same thing Søren said to me on the Wås. I didn’t believe it then, not really. I still don’t
want to, even with the evidence right in front of me.
“It can’t be mine madness,” I say, trying to sound sure even when I’m suddenly not sure of anything. “He would already be dead if it was.” I close my eyes, searching for some explanation. “His gift is strong, and because of that it’s unstable. You just need to practice controlling it,” I tell Blaise, but I don’t quite manage to convince anyone, least of all myself.
Blaise swallows. “Theo, I don’t want to leave either, but—”
“Then don’t,” I say. “Stay and fight it. Stay with me.” I don’t mean to say that last part, but the words are out before I can stop them.
Blaise holds my gaze for a quiet moment. I can see the emotions do battle over his expression. “I’ve never felt it that strongly before. My body didn’t feel like mine, I was just watching helplessly.” He swallows and shakes his head. After what feels like an eternity, he turns to Artemisia, eyes level and resolute. “Next time it gets that bad, Art, you’ll put a dagger through my heart.”
Artemisia’s eyes widen, and for a second, I expect her to refuse. “If I think you’re going to hurt people, I’ll do it,” she says carefully.
Blaise nods, though he still looks uncertain. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says.
“Maybe it’s happened before,” Heron offers. “Maybe there have been Guardians whose powers aren’t stable.”
“I never heard any of those stories,” I say.
“We wouldn’t have,” Heron says. “Who would have told that sort of thing to children?”
It’s true that all the Guardians I knew as a child were in control of their gifts, but they would have to be, wouldn’t they, to be so close to the Queen? The idea of other Guardians—Guardians like Blaise—never occurred to me, but Heron has a point. Where would I have learned of them?
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