Lady Smoke

by Laura Sebastian

  As I lie in bed, I try not to imagine Blaise, alone outside the capital wall with the Sta’Criveran heat bearing down on him even in the dark, amplified by the heat burning through him. But of course I fail and I know sleep will not come anytime soon.

  Sleep, however, is not what I was planning on doing tonight.

  This time, when I leave Heron and Artemisia asleep to visit Søren, I write them a note so they won’t worry. I take my dagger with me. Little good it might do, but it’s sharp, and that will count for something if it comes down to it. I hope.

  Erik is already waiting when I slip out the door and close it quietly behind me. He leans against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He still doesn’t seem comfortable in his Gorakian clothes, but I can’t help but think that he looks better in them than he did in his ill-fitting Kalovaxian suit.

  “We can’t do this during daylight hours?” he asks when he sees me. “You can’t tell me you aren’t exhausted—at least I got some sleep last night. You didn’t get any.”

  It isn’t until he says it that I realize he’s right. With everything that has happened in the last two days, sleep has been the farthest thing from my mind.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. “I can sleep late tomorrow. King Etristo gave me leave to visit Søren whenever I like, since he’s still my advisor, but I worry that if I do it when the King is awake, he’ll find some way to stop me.”

  Erik laughs. “I’d like to see him try,” he says before pausing. “You aren’t like you were in Astrea—you don’t let anyone tell you what to do here, not even your friends.”

  I shrug and start toward the riser. He quickly falls into step next to me. “I always take their thoughts into consideration,” I say. “But when it comes to Søren, their opinions are always biased. They tolerate him and I think maybe they even like him on some level, but at the end of the day, he’s a Kalovaxian. They don’t trust him.”

  “Why do you?” Erik asks.

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times without ever being able to find a full answer. This time is no different, but I try.

  “Søren loves me. Or he thinks he does, at least. Maybe he’s still confusing me with Thora, but that doesn’t matter, because his intentions are fueled by that feeling,” I explain. “Don’t misunderstand me—his hatred of his father is real, his guilt over the berserkers is real, his convictions are real.” I think it over for a moment. “But I also know where he stands. I know what he wants, and I know what he wants from me in particular. Because of that, I trust him more than King Etristo or any of the suitors. I trust him even more than I trust Dragonsbane.”

  Erik considers this for a moment. “More than you trust me?” he asks.

  I glance sideways at him. “Yes,” I admit. “I trust your intentions, Erik. But I still don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish by being here, and until I do you’re still an enigma.”

  “I rather like being an enigma,” he says with a grin, making me laugh.

  We ring the bell for the riser and Erik slumps against another wall to wait, even though it’ll only be a moment. He looks like he wants to ask me a question, but doesn’t know how. It’s a show of uncertainty I’m not used to seeing from Erik, who usually masks his doubts with layers of false bravado.

  “What is it?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. “Nothing.”

  “Well, now you’ve piqued my interest even more. Come on, I’m not going to bite you.”

  He hesitates a moment longer, and when he looks back up at me, his whole face is pink. “Do you know…does Heron like…is he interested in other boys?”

  I don’t know what I expected him to ask me, but the question is so entirely out of the blue that all I can do is laugh, though I’m not sure why I am. After all, Heron is interested in boys—at the very least, he was interested in a boy, and the way he looked at Erik before makes me think it wasn’t a singular case.

  Erik’s face turns an even deeper shade of pink. “I was only wondering. Some boys do, you know, just like some girls like other girls.”

  “I know that,” I say, managing to get a hold of myself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you about that. You just surprised me is all. Do you like other boys?”

  He shrugs. “Mostly I think I just like everyone.”

  “I didn’t realize,” I say.

  “I don’t exactly lead with it in conversation,” he says. “Some people think it makes me…unnatural.”

  “Some people are fools,” I tell him before hesitating. “Does Søren…” I trail off.

  Erik nods. “I think he’s known about as long as I have. I didn’t even have to tell him.”

  I sigh. “Since I doubt you want me telling strangers your personal business, I’m not telling you Heron’s. If you want to know, you can ask him yourself.”

  Erik considers this for a moment. “Maybe I will,” he says.

  I press my lips together, thinking of Heron and his broken heart. After everyone he’s loved and lost, I don’t know how he would survive another heartbreak.

  “Just…be careful,” I tell him. “I like you, Erik, but if I have to choose between you and my Shadows, I will choose them every time.”

  He stares at me. “Huh,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He pushes off the wall to stand just as the riser whirs into place. “I think I caught a glimpse of the real Theodosia underneath all those masks. And she’s a lot softer around the edges than I’d thought.”

  THE SAME GUARD, TIZOLI, LETS us in the dungeon again, leaving us outside Søren’s cell and promising to come back as soon as he’s called for. Luckily, this time Søren is already awake, sitting against the back wall of the cell, looking like he’s expecting us. Though I know he won’t say a word of complaint, his time down here is wearing on him. Even in the dim torchlight, his skin looks sallow and I can make out dark circles under his eyes. He’s beginning to smell quite awful as well.

  But when he sees us, he manages a smile.

  “I was hoping you’d come back,” he says.

  “Of course we came back,” I scoff. “How are they treating you? You’re being given enough food and water?”

  Just as I expect him to, Søren waves away my concerns. “They’re treating me fine,” he says. “Food, water, all of that.”

  “And you’re actually eating the food this time?” I ask him. “You aren’t pulling that stupid stunt again?”

  He laughs at that, but it’s not as loud and full as I am used to. “I’m eating plenty, and I think they’d prefer me to drink a little less water, honestly.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?” Wasting food, I understand. Food costs money, food costs resources. But water has no cost.

  “They’re in the middle of a drought,” Søren says, surprised at the question. “You didn’t know? There’s been no rain in years.”

  “But the city was built on a spring,” I say, remembering what Dragonsbane told me when we came here. “That’s why the air is cooler here, that’s why I’ve been made to bathe morning and evening.”

  “Springs run dry,” Erik says with a shrug. “But I don’t think they like people to know. Sta’Crivero is supposed to be a paradise.”

  “How do you know, then?” I ask him.

  Erik snorts. “Guest of the King I may be, but I’m still Gorakian. They know I’m not worth anything to them. Do you think they waste more water than necessary on me? They measure out each glass we drink and charge us by the ounce. And baths? None of my people have washed since we arrived, and believe me, some of us are beginning to ripen.”

  The revelation is a four-fingered glove, missing something important.

  “But the Sta’Criverans use so much water. The garden alone must use hundreds of gallons a day, not to ment
ion what it takes for everyone to drink and bathe.”

  “The courtiers use so much water,” Søren says. “But for people who live on the ground, it’s strictly rationed. I overheard some guards complaining about it.”

  Sta’Crivero seems so lush and wealthy because that is how they want it to appear, but what good will their bejeweled gowns and ornate towers be when they have no more water to drink?

  “I hate this place,” I say after a moment. “I hate the palace and the shallow people who act so superior, even while those around them go thirsty. I hate King Etristo and the way he calls me ‘my dear’ like I’m an ignorant child who can’t make her own decisions. And I hate that camp and what they have done to those people. I…” I trail off before I can finish the thought.

  Søren eyes me uncertainly. “Theo,” he says quietly. “Leaving now would be an insult to King Etristo and the entire country. They’re the only ally you have.”

  “Technically, that’s not true,” Erik says. “She has me and Goraki.”

  “And Vecturia,” I add. “The Chief told me I can call on them next time I need them.”

  Søren shakes his head. “Grains of sand next to a mountain.”

  “I know that,” I snap. “I know it’s not enough, that it will never be enough. I know that I have to marry someone with a bigger army. I just…I like imagining a circumstance where I could walk away and tell King Etristo to eat dirt.”

  For a long moment, both boys stare at me, mouths agape. Finally, Erik begins to laugh and a moment later Søren joins in.

  “Eat dirt?” Erik asks. “Is that the worst insult you can come up with?”

  “I don’t think I’ve told someone to eat dirt since I was six years old,” Søren adds.

  “I’m pretty sure you said that to me then and I told you it was babyish,” Erik replies, making them both laugh even harder.

  My cheeks heat up. “It was the first thing that came to mind,” I say. “What would you say?”

  Søren stops laughing long enough to think it over. “I’d tell King Etristo to eat a plate of dung,” he says thoughtfully.

  Erik shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Still amateur,” he says.

  “You go on then,” Søren challenges.

  Erik thinks long and hard about it, stroking his chin thoughtfully before a grin spreads over his face. “I’d say, ‘King Etristo, may I extend the humblest invitation for you to eat a fine delicacy of scorpions drenched in piss and a pig’s anus stuffed with beetle dung.’ ” He adds a deep bow for effect.

  I double over gagging, but Søren roars with laughter until he’s red in the face. After a moment, I have to laugh as well. I wish Erik could say that to King Etristo, if only so I could take pleasure in seeing the King’s face when he did. When we’re all spent from laughter and tears are leaking out of our eyes, I lean forward against the bars separating Søren and me.

  “You know that I wouldn’t leave anyway, right? Even if I could without consequence?” I say quietly. “I wouldn’t leave without you if King Etristo promised me an army of millions.”

  Søren smiles sadly, looking down at his hands. “You could,” he says.

  Even when we move on to our Astrean lesson, his words stay with me and I wonder if he’s right. If it came down to it, could I leave Søren behind to rot here? Even if it meant saving Astrea? I’m not sure what the answer is and I’m not sure what I want the answer to be.

  * * *

  —

  When we leave the dungeon hours later, Erik is uncharacteristically quiet. At first, I think it’s only because he’s tired, and I can’t blame him—I feel half-asleep myself—but when I glance sideways at him, I see that he’s deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask him as we step out of the riser and onto my floor. Erik offered to walk me to my door, and I’m not proud enough to refuse, with an assassin still lurking around somewhere.

  Erik looks like I’ve just shaken him awake from a deep sleep. “Nothing,” he says, but the lie is obvious and he realizes it. He sighs. “I’m just thinking about the camp. I don’t think I’ve stopped thinking about it.”

  “I know,” I say. “I haven’t either. I hate feeling helpless.”

  Erik nods. “It’s strange, though, because they aren’t helpless, are they? Many of the adults have been doing physical labor for the Sta’Criverans. They’re strong. And they wouldn’t have survived if they weren’t smart. I don’t think they want pity or even charity, really. They just want a chance to fight for a fair life and a place to call home, the same as the rest of us.”

  They want to fight. The words echo in my mind over and over again until I stop short, gasping.

  “Erik,” I say.

  He stops as well, turning back to give me a worried look. “Everything all right? Tell me there wasn’t some kind of poison dart or something. I think your Shadows would actually murder me if something happened to you on my watch—”

  I shush him, holding up a hand. A single piece of a plan is joined by another, and another, until it begins to make sense. Until it becomes something solid.

  “How many refugees do you think there are in that camp?” I ask him.

  Erik shrugs his shoulders. “Three thousand,” he guesses.

  “And if you take out the children and the elderly? And anyone who can’t or won’t want to fight? How many are there who could be warriors?”

  Something in his mind clicks and he smiles, seeing where I’m going. “One thousand, maybe more,” he says. “Not enough, Theo. Not even with a Gorakian army and a Vecturian army.”

  “No, not enough for a war,” I agree. “Not enough to take Astrea back. But would it be enough to take control of a mine?”

  He frowns, considering it. “Maybe, for a time. If it’s a surprise attack against only the guards of the mine,” he says. “But even then, we could hold it for just a few weeks until the Kaiser hears the news and sends more troops. Then whatever victory we had would be swiftly canceled out. He has too many men, too many trained warriors. Even with the element of surprise on our side, it wouldn’t be enough. It would get us time, that’s all.”

  “Time,” I agree. “And the Fire Mine. Another twenty-five hundred Astreans are there, roughly. And we wouldn’t stay long. By the time the Kaiser sent more troops, we’d be gone.”

  “To another mine,” Erik supplies. “To free more people, and recruit more warriors at the same time. By the time we take all four mines, you could have a real army.”

  “Everyone gets a choice,” I add firmly. “If they don’t want to fight, we’ll still give them all the protection we can. But I don’t think it will be a difficult choice, after everything. They’re angry—let’s give them a chance to use that against the people who took everything from them.”

  Erik nods slowly, eyes intent. “But if you leave now, King Etristo will have no reason to keep Søren alive—unless he sells him back to the Kaiser out of spite,” he points out.

  Only minutes ago, Søren told me that if I had the chance to save Astrea I should leave him behind to do it, but now I have that chance and I know that I can’t do it.

  “I can get more people,” Erik says after a moment. “There are other camps—one in Timmoree, one in Etralia. They might not be as big as this one, but they’ll still be sizable. I can go and try to recruit more people and at least make sure they aren’t being treated as badly as they are here. And it will take some days to get to each and return to Astrea. That will buy you time to get Søren out of that dungeon, time to get a message to Chief Kapil in Vecturia to take him up on his offer to help. It’ll mean playing their game a little longer.”

  “I think I can manage that,” I say dryly. “After the Kaiser, it should be easy.”

  “Maybe it would be if there weren’t also an assassin to contend with,” he reminds me, wh
ich is a fair point.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “How soon can you leave?”

  “Within hours,” he says. “The rest of the Gorakians have been ready to go since we got here. They don’t like it in Sta’Crivero.”

  After what Erik said about the way they were mistreated and spit at, I can’t blame them.

  “How will we keep in touch?” I ask him. “Gods forbid anything goes wrong, but it would be nice to have some kind of communication plan in place if it does.”

  Erik nods, face drawn tight in thought. “Let me talk to Master Jurou,” he says after a moment. “He has some inventions that he’s been keeping to himself, but one of them might work for that.”

  “What sorts of inventions?” I ask, suspicious. “You said he was an alchemist, didn’t you? Doesn’t that involve creating gold?”

  At that, he smirks. “Of a sort,” he says. “How do you think I’ve been paying King Etristo for the privilege of fighting for your hand?”

  All I can do for a moment is stare at him. “Master Jurou created gold?” I ask slowly.

  “Of a sort,” he repeats. “It’s close enough to fool the King, but the illusion of it might not have held for much longer anyway.”

  I shake my head. “Magic or science?” I ask him.

  Erik shrugs. “As I understand it—which is admittedly very little—it’s a bit of both.”

  THOUGH I’D LIKE NOTHING BETTER than to hole up in my room all day and plan for our eventual escape from Sta’Crivero, I find myself instead preparing for a walk in the garden with Coltania. Her invitation was quite insistent and I’m hoping I can convince her to hurry her truth serum along in order to get Søren out of prison as quickly as possible.

  Artemisia sits in one corner of my room, polishing her ever-growing collection of daggers, while Heron tries to mend one of my dresses. Skilled as he might be, it’s difficult to hide how many jewels I plucked off to give to the children in the camp.