Lady Smoke

by Laura Sebastian

  After what Søren and Erik said about Sta’Crivero’s drought, I can’t help but worry that Artemisia’s Water Gift might make her a target. But she’s only one girl—she couldn’t do much good for them in the long run—and it would mean King Etristo showing his weakness, which he would be unlikely to do for such a small reward. Still, I’m glad that we’ll be leaving this place soon.

  “Tell me again what Blaise said when you told him our plan,” I say to Artemisia from my spot at the foot of the bed, pillow clutched tightly in my lap.

  Artemisia rolls her eyes. “I don’t know how you expect me to quote him any more directly than I already have. He said, ‘All right.’ ”

  “That was it? Nothing else?” I ask.

  “He asked what you needed him to do. I told him to get your letter to someone who could get it to the Vecturian chief. He thanked me and took the letter plus the food and water I brought for him and I came right back,” she said, her voice clipped and impatient. It’s a warning not to push her any harder, though it’s a warning I ignore.

  “But how did he look when he said it? Did he think it was a good idea or was he begrudging about it?”

  She slams her dagger down on the ground beside her with a sharp thud that echoes through the room. “He looked like he was hot. And thirsty.”

  To that I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to apologize, but I suspect she would call me a fool if I did. What would I be apologizing for? Letting him leave the palace? He’s dangerous and he has no desire to change that. All I can do is try to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

  A knock sounds at the door and Heron and Artemisia are on their feet with their weapons drawn before I can so much as blink.

  “I doubt an assassin would bother knocking,” I point out, but Artemisia waves for me to be quiet and crosses to the door herself, opening it the same way she always does—with the point of her dagger in the guest’s face. This time, it’s a very alarmed Erik on the other side of her blade. When she sees him, Artemisia gives a loud sigh—as if he’s inconveniencing her by not trying to kill me—before reluctantly lowering her dagger.

  “Erik,” I say, when she steps aside to let him in. “Is everything settled for your trip?”

  He nods, glancing at Artemisia and Heron. “Do they know everything?”

  Before I can answer, Artemisia jumps in. “I think it’s a stupid plan, but Heron thinks it’s brave,” she says.

  I frown at her. “You told me you thought it was a good plan,” I point out.

  “I did not say that,” she says with a snort. “What I said was that it was marginally better than marrying someone with no personal stake in Astrea besides lining his pockets.”

  “Well, from you that does actually sound like a ringing endorsement,” Erik says wryly.

  To my surprise, Artemisia laughs. She looks surprised by it as well and frowns before sitting back down in the high-backed chair and returning to polishing her collection of daggers.

  “If either of you wants to come with me, I wouldn’t mind the company,” Erik adds, his gaze lingering on Heron.

  Heron meets Erik’s gaze, and it might be my imagination, but I think his cheeks turn a bit pink. There’s enough of a pause that for a moment I think he might agree, but he eventually shakes his head. “Our place is with the Queen,” he says finally. Selfish as it might make me, I’m glad he says it. I don’t know what I’d do without him and Artemisia.

  “Apparently, you aren’t the only ones who feel that way,” Erik says with a sigh before turning to me. “My mother has also decided that she wants to stay with you, which I’m trying not to take too personally.”

  I smile. “I’m glad to have Hoa with me,” I admit. “I feel like I’m only just beginning to know her.”

  Erik rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, she said the same things about you,” he says, sounding somewhat put out. “She also said that the Sta’Criveran attendants were dressing you too garishly for a queen and she needed to stay to put a stop to that.”

  I shake my head. “She isn’t my lady’s maid anymore and she has plenty of other worries to tend to now, I’m sure, as the mother of the Emperor.”

  Erik shrugs. “You would think, but she says appearance is important for a female ruler—more important than it is for a male one, since it’s what she’s judged on first. Apparently, you need her help more. Which is truly saying something, since she was my Gorakian translator.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “How will you manage without her, then?”

  He frowns, screwing his face up in concentration. “En kava dimendanat,” he says. “That was either ‘I’ll be all right’ or ‘I have a fat donkey.’ But I meant the former. All of my donkeys are terribly scrawny.”

  I laugh. “Maybe ask her to write down some phrases before you go?” I suggest.

  He nods, then says, “Oh, I nearly forgot why I came here in the first place.” He digs into his pocket, pulls out two identical nuggets of gold, each the size of my thumb, and passes one to me. “A gift from Master Jurou. It’s called a molo varu,” he explains.

  “Is this some of that fake gold you mentioned him making?” I ask, lifting it to my eye and looking carefully.

  “No, that is the genuine material. Only it’s been…shall we say, tampered with?”

  I shift my gaze from the piece of gold and look at him instead. “Tampered with how?”

  Erik waves a dismissive hand. “He explained the whole tedious process to me, through my mother of course, but even translated it was quite unintelligible. The gist of it is that gold is a malleable metal. With enough pressure…” He trails off and sticks his piece of gold into his mouth, biting down hard on it.

  Beneath my fingers, I feel my own piece of gold shift. I nearly drop it altogether. When I hold it up, I see a set of teeth marks shallowly indented in the gold’s surface.

  “How…,” I start, but I trail off, looking at it from all angles, expecting it to disappear, but it doesn’t.

  “In Gorakian, molo varu means ‘mimic stone.’ They’re connected. What happens to one, happens to the other.”

  “That’s…” I stare at the stone. “…either incredible or frightening,” I finish finally.

  “Both, I think,” Erik says, taking the stone from me and tossing it to Heron, who catches it deftly. “Can you keep an eye on it? You don’t have to bite it, of course. A hot enough tool could carve words into it. Keep it in your pocket, and if you feel it get warm, you’ll know I have a message for you. And vice versa.”

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him.

  Erik smiles. “Grumpy as he might be, Master Jurou is something of a genius,” he admits grudgingly.

  “Pass along my thanks,” I tell him. “And safe travels, Erik.”

  Erik nods, glancing at Artemisia and Heron before looking back at me. “Take care of my mother. I’ll see you both at the Fire Mine.”

  THE GARDEN IS NEARLY EMPTY when I meet Coltania. Only a few clusters of Sta’Criverans mill about in their jewel-toned, heavily embellished silks that seem designed to compete with the exotic flowers surrounding us. In the midst of so much color, Coltania looks like a particularly lethal bloom, dressed in a high-necked black gown that hugs her figure. Her dark hair is arranged on top of her head and secured with a single jet pin. As usual, her lips are painted deep red, the only hint of color on her.

  When she sees me, those lips spread into a smile that reveals two rows of straight white teeth.

  “There you are,” she says, coming toward me. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “I’m sorry I got delayed,” I tell her. “I had a friend stop by unexpectedly.”

  She waves a dismissive hand. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters,” she says, linking her arm through mine and starting to walk down one of the garden’s many paths.

  Suddenly, I miss
Crescentia so much it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. How many times did we walk together arm in arm like this through the gray garden? We would talk about everything and nothing, all light laughter and jokes no one else understood. It was easy and it was simple and it was a lie, but there is a part of me that would give anything to go back to it.

  Coltania is not Crescentia, I remind myself, though I’m sure Coltania is hoping to give the impression that she is a silly socialite with no worries beyond having a new dress ready for the next party. She isn’t very good at it. She doesn’t know that there is always something beneath the surface with girls like Cress, whether it’s a sharply strategic mind or a love of poetry or a kind heart. No, Coltania grew up watching girls like that from a distance, resentful and hungry for a life like theirs, and so she has only managed a cheap imitation of what she believed them to be.

  But I can play along with that illusion easily enough.

  “You were very kind to invite me for a walk, Salla Coltania,” I tell her, squeezing her arm. “I’m sure you are exhausted after all the effort you are putting in to clear Søren’s name. And to think—this was supposed to be a break from your work. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you too terribly.”

  That seems to catch her off guard. “No, not at all, Your Majesty,” she says after a beat. “I’m happy to help in whatever way I can, truly.”

  “That’s very good of you,” I tell her with a smile so broad it’s actually painful. “I know I will certainly feel much more at ease once Søren is free and I can go back to the matter of selecting a husband. How long will it be before your serum is ready?”

  Coltania’s smile wavers for just a second. She’s very good at hiding her emotions, but not quite good enough. Not as good as she would be if she’d been groomed to be watched from childhood, the way Cress was. The way I was as well, in a way.

  “These kinds of potions can take time, Your Majesty, and we are far from my usual laboratory. I’m making do as well as I can here,” she says.

  “I’m sure you are,” I say, giving her arm a reassuring pat. “Is there any indication of when the potion might be ready?”

  Coltania is smart enough to think over her next words very carefully. “A couple more weeks,” she says finally.

  “Didn’t you say one week when we last spoke?” I ask her.

  She only shrugs her shoulders. “The timing can be so finicky. These are only guesses. However, I do worry that some of the suitors might become impatient if you refuse to meet with them that long, given the money they must pay King Etristo for each day they stay here.”

  She says it easily enough, but I hear the challenge there. She wants to know which of us will blink first. It won’t be me.

  “I worry about that as well,” I tell her. “Though I suppose anyone so impatient for me to make such a monumental decision isn’t the right choice, don’t you agree?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. Patience is of paramount importance,” she says, turning the words back on me.

  I grit my teeth. “It’s unfortunate, though,” I tell her with a loud sigh. “I was just saying to my advisors the other day, before all the nastiness occurred, that I was ready to put an end to all of this. Of course, King Etristo wants to draw it out as long as necessary,” I say, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “You know how he is.”

  Coltania nods. “In Oriana, we have a saying—‘greedy as a Sta’Criveran king.’ ”

  I don’t have to fake a laugh this time, and Coltania laughs as well.

  “That is very true,” I say. “And to think I was ready to accept the Chancellor’s offer of marriage.”

  Coltania’s back goes ramrod straight.

  “Prinz Søren agreed with the decision,” I add. “In fact, I would argue that he was one of the Chancellor’s strongest advocates.”

  “Is that so?” she asks dryly. “I was never under the impression that the Prinz cared for my brother. I would have guessed his favor was with the late Archduke, if he weren’t planning on throwing himself into the mêlée, of course.”

  Søren did say that the Archduke was the best option if I had to pick one, I remember, but I don’t think he ever gave that impression publicly.

  “Goodness, I don’t know which idea is more ludicrous,” I tell her with a laugh.

  Coltania doesn’t join in laughing this time. “There’s a rumor going around that I feel I ought to alert you to, as a friend,” she tells me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “One of the prison guards says you’ve been visiting Prinz Søren in the middle of the night and that you stay for hours with him. Most people don’t think that sounds like a strategic meeting.”

  “Most people must not realize that with Prinz Søren in prison, meetings have to take place at night, when the prison isn’t busy and loud, and that since a large part of those meetings is spent making certain he’s being fed and well taken care of, they are of course going to go on longer than they might otherwise,” I snap before catching myself and forcing a smile. “Another reason I am anxious to get him out of that prison—so that we can waste less time and get this suitor business done with. I’m afraid that two weeks is such a long time, so much can change, don’t you think?”

  Coltania purses her lips. “You’re saying that if the Prinz’s innocence were to be proven in a more timely manner, you’d choose a husband,” she says. “The right husband.”

  There it is, a thinly veiled bribe. But if she can play games, so can I. I look her in the eye and nod.

  She pauses for a moment. “I may be able to hurry the potion along so we can settle things officially.”

  Before I can respond, we’re interrupted by shouts that shatter the fragile peace of the garden. One voice I recognize immediately as King Etristo’s.

  “It is unacceptable,” he roars, louder than I believed possible for him. “We had a deal, Reymer.”

  The Sta’Criverans wandering the garden recognize his voice as well and immediately scatter from sight, heading back indoors to give him space. Part of me wants to do the same, but if he’s talking with Czar Reymer, I fear it has something to do with me.

  “Here,” Coltania whispers, tugging me into a copse of trees with wide trunks and thick bushes that hide us completely. The bushes poke and scratch and tear at my dress, but my heart is thudding so loudly in my ears that I barely even feel them. When I glance toward Coltania, she’s peering out with alert eyes, her finger raised to her lips to hush me before I can even consider speaking.

  I follow her lead and find a space in the bushes where I can see out to the empty clearing in the garden just seconds before Czar Reymer stalks into view, trailed by King Etristo at a much slower speed, bent over a bejeweled cane.

  “It is not safe,” Czar Reymer hisses, turning to face him. “First the Archduke and now this—I will not risk my life and the life of my son on the off chance that a cold fish of a queen deigns to make him her powerless husband. Not even a king! Just a consort. Talin has other prospects. And far better ones, too.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my heartbeat grows faster. What does he mean “and now this”?

  King Etristo laughs but it’s too sharp to be genuine. “You are missing out on a rare jewel, Reymer,” he says. “Queen Theodosia isn’t much of a prize, to be sure, but the real treasure is Astrea itself and the magic there. You’ve seen what those stones can do. With the Kalovaxians done away with, you would control their sale. Apart from the Water Gems, as we discussed.”

  The Water Gems. The words click into place, the missing piece of the puzzle. What Etristo was getting out of hosting me. What arrangement he and Dragonsbane had. It was never about helping me; it wasn’t even about money. It was about water. Before my thoughts can linger too long on that, the fighting continues.

  “This is your problem, Etristo,” Czar Reymer scoffs. “You always want more, more,
more, but you want too much. Etralia is wealthy enough.”

  King Etristo spits at the ground next to his chair. “There is never such a thing as wealthy enough,” he says.

  “There is when the Kalovaxians are involved,” he says. “The Kaiser is not someone to be crossed—surely these murders are proof enough of that.”

  Murders. Not murder, as in only the Archduke. The Czar said murders. My heart lurches and my mind spins with thoughts of who else might have been killed in my stead this time. I think of Blaise and Artemisia and Heron, too busy trying to protect me to watch their own backs. If an assassin thought I was in my room and found them instead…I can’t let myself finish that thought.

  “The Kaiser is after the girl. He has no interest in hurting you or making an enemy of Etralia,” King Etristo says.

  It’s Czar Reymer’s turn to laugh, though it sounds vaguely hysterical. He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head before letting them fall to his sides again.

  “Surely you aren’t blind, Etristo—the girl has never been the target of these attacks. If the Kaiser wanted her dead, she would be. The Kaiser is targeting suitors and sending a message to anyone who might stand against him. I hear that message loud and clear, and you would do well to listen as well.”

  King Etristo throws his arms up. “Fine, then. Go. Run back to Etralia with your idiot son like the cowards you are, but I will not be reimbursing you for the funds you have already given me.”

  At that, Czar Reymer’s face turns bright red and he takes a step toward Etristo. “That is my money. We had an arrangement, Etristo, and you guaranteed me that the girl would choose Talin. Since she hasn’t, that money was spent in ill faith and it will be refunded before we leave in an hour’s time.”

  King Etristo only glares in return, and though he is at a height disadvantage, you wouldn’t know it from the intensity of his look. “I don’t make deals with cowards,” he says, practically spitting the word out.