Lady Smoke

by Laura Sebastian

  Any chance of our proximity bringing up old feelings is quickly quashed because Søren still smells like the dungeon—all mold and darkness and old sweat. I never thought I’d be grateful for such a smell.

  The guard yells something at us in Sta’Criveran that I assume must be a question. He’s red-faced and blustery, gesturing to the open stairway door behind us, so I assume that question must be something like “What were you two idiots doing down there?”

  Søren understands, though, and he swaggers up to his full height, nearly losing his balance in the process. He puts an arm around my shoulders to keep upright. He gestures to me and says something in Sta’Criveran, slurring the words together like he’s had a few drinks too many. He lifts his eyebrows at the guard suggestively—giving the guard a very lewd excuse for our presence in the dungeon and for the fact that he’s covered in dirt and grime, I’m sure.

  The guard frowns at me and I pull back further into the safety of my hood. He says something to me that I don’t understand, but Søren’s quick to interrupt with a raucous laugh.

  He says something to the guard that I imagine to be along the lines of “She’s very shy and is very embarrassed to be caught after our dungeon rendezvous, so if you don’t mind, we should be on our way.”

  The guard frowns at him and says something else. The only word I catch is Etralian. But the way he says it makes me realize that he thinks Søren is Etralian. I suppose that isn’t surprising, since Kalovaxians and Etralians are similarly pale and fair. It may prove to be a problem, though, since the Etralian delegation left with the Czar yesterday.

  Søren remains calm, though, and babbles on in slurred Sta’Criveran with a few words I’m pretty sure are Etralian in order to really sell it. He draws me closer to him and gestures wildly at me. I wish I could tell him to tone it down a touch.

  The guard gives a loud harrumph and glowers at Søren, which sends him into another slurred but jovial spiel.

  After what seems like an eternity, the guard rolls his eyes and ushers us on with one last shouted warning, which I’m sure is something like “And don’t go having rendezvous in the dungeon again.” A warning I am only too happy to heed. If I never see another dungeon, it will be too soon.

  Søren and I keep up our drunken swagger and giggles all the way through the main hall, drawing the attention of the only people up this early—maids and cooks and deliverymen, all of whom stare at us and laugh at our foolishness, likely enjoying the sight of two of the wealthy elite who employ them making asses out of themselves.

  When we finally emerge from the palace, I laugh for real. Søren laughs, too, and even though we don’t have to pretend anymore, we both still lean on each other.

  “He asked why I was still here when the Etralians left yesterday, so I told him that I’d decided to stay and marry you,” he explains through laughter. “And he got mad and said foreigners were stealing Sta’Criveran women. I told him he was welcome to go to Etralia and I would introduce him to my cousins. I think he might actually try to find me again and take me up on it.”

  Despite everything, I let out a snort of laughter. “Come on,” I tell him. Without thinking about it, I take his hand and pull him down the empty street.

  “You enjoy this, don’t you?” he asks, following me.

  “Running for our lives?” I ask him over my shoulder. “Of course not.”

  “The danger,” he clarifies. “The wolf at your heels. The purpose.”

  I consider it for a moment before shrugging. “I think I enjoy acting and not waiting for something to happen,” I say. “I enjoy having a plan and I enjoy following it through instead of being at the mercy of someone else’s decisions.”

  “This was not the original plan, though, was it?” he asks, a question I’ve been dreading since I handed him that sword in the dungeon.

  “No,” I admit. As we weave through the streets, I tell him about the plan I hatched with Erik, then about Hoa’s death, about Coltania and the poison and her body left in the garden.

  “I’m sorry,” he says when I finish.

  I glance back at him over my shoulder. “For what?” I ask.

  “I was wrong—you aren’t enjoying this,” he tells me. “You’re in shock. I’ve seen it on the battlefield—soldiers who’ve watched their friends die next to them or who made their first kill and watched the life leave another man’s eyes. They continue to fight anyway, because they have to. The blood pumps hotter in their veins. They’re always fiercer and stronger and sharper than they were before. Their minds seem to focus in on just surviving the battle…but the battle always ends and the shock ends with it. That’s what I’m sorry for.”

  I swallow and tear my gaze away from him. “We should hurry up,” I say softly. “Let’s put some distance between us and the city before King Etristo sends his guards after us.”

  SØREN USES THE MONEY ARTEMISIA gave me to lease a horse from the stable, and while the stablehand is saddling it up, Søren takes the opportunity to clean up a bit with a wet rag. It can only remove so much of the dungeon grime from his skin, but it does help measurably. He changes into a fresh set of clothes he bought off the stablehand, which are too big but at least more comfortable than Tizoli’s.

  We have a long ride ahead of us and I’m honestly not sure which I’d prefer—him smelling like the dungeon or him smelling like his usual self. Like sea salt and driftwood in a way that brings me back to times it’s better not to think about.

  When the stablehand brings the horse around, Søren helps me up onto its back before swinging on in front of me. He takes the reins from the man and with a lurch we are off. I wrap my arms tightly around Søren’s waist as the wind whips against my skin. Once we are outside the city, I finally push my hood off my face.

  We did it, I realize with a thrill. We made it out of the city before Coltania’s body was found and before the riser attendant could wake up and tell anyone what happened. Even if either of them is discovered now, the guards will never be able to come after us in time to catch up. When they do put the pieces together, they’ll assume we’ve left the same way we came, through ships in the harbor. They won’t think to look at the refugee camp.

  I tighten my grip on Søren’s waist.

  “All right?” he asks me, his voice all but lost in the wind.

  I nod against his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have left you, you know,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t say anything and for a moment I think he didn’t hear me at all—understandable since the wind is so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts. Just when I’ve given up on getting a response, he gives one.

  “You never have. Even when it would have made things much easier for you.”

  I think about the decision to save him from the dungeon and how much easier it truly would have been to leave him. I would be with my Shadows on a ship now, and we would have been spared an awful lot of trouble and eliminated plenty of risk as well. I remember my deal with Dragonsbane on the Smoke and the sacrifice I made to get Søren out of the brig. I remember when I myself was in a dungeon, telling Blaise not to save me because I knew Søren would and I knew we could use that to our advantage.

  Having Søren in my life has complicated things—but I realize now that I wouldn’t wish it to be any other way.

  In the garden, I told him that he couldn’t love me because he didn’t really know me, and I still believe that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I know him. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with him.

  * * *

  —

  By the time the walled camp appears on the horizon, the sun is rising, hanging low in the east with the bottom of it still grazing the sand dunes. It’s bright enough to see that we aren’t the first to arrive—there is a group already approaching the entrance with weapons drawn. From this distance, the only detail I can make out is the shock of Artemisia�
��s blue hair.

  Søren pulls the horse to a halt atop a sand dune that overlooks the camp, and we linger there, watching the fight unfold below us. A mere half-dozen guards rush toward the wall from their barracks nearby. Artemisia makes quick work of one of them, even though he wields two swords to her single blade. First she knocks one from his hand, but when he insists on keeping hold of the other, she responds by cutting off that hand in its entirety.

  I tear my gaze away, though the man’s screams carry up to our perch.

  “It’ll be over quickly—the guards are outmatched,” Søren tells me, dismounting and helping me down after him.

  I nod. “They were here to keep the refugees inside the walls,” I say. “They were charged with keeping thousands of unarmed people in a pen—little more than shepherds, really. They never dreamed anyone would want to attack from the outside.”

  Søren glances at me, and he must see my discomfort when another of our warriors runs a blade through a guard’s stomach, cutting straight through to the other side.

  “You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can tell you when it’s done.”

  For a moment, I consider staying to watch. I ordered this, after all—even if I’m not down there in the thick of it, all of this blood is still on my hands. The least I can do is bear witness to it. But as Søren said, the battle will be over quickly and there are still more preparations to be made.

  “Thank you,” I tell Søren, walking around to the other side of the horse and shedding my cloak. I smooth my crimson gown, but that does little to help the dirt and wrinkles it’s accumulated from the ride. It’ll have to do.

  Søren glances back at me with raised eyebrows.

  “I didn’t realize we were going to a ball. It would have been more practical to ride in trousers.”

  “Artemisia said I need to be aware of the image I’m presenting,” I tell him. “I need them to follow me, and they’re more likely to follow someone who looks like a queen than they are a dirty street rat.”

  Søren snorts. “Are those her words?”

  I shrug. “She has a point,” I say. “They already see me as a child with no idea what I’m doing.”

  His eyes linger on mine for a moment, even as another scream pierces the air.

  “I don’t know that it has much to do with the dress,” he tells me. “Maybe it does make you look more regal, but that won’t make them follow you.”

  My stomach sinks. “Then what will?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, eyes dropping away from mine as he turns back to the camp. “You don’t need to look like a queen—you already are one. Show them the girl who was brilliant enough to escape from under the Kaiser’s nose, who’s fierce enough to protect her people with her life, who’s strong enough to stand on her own two feet, even with the weight of the world on her shoulders. You are a queen, Theo, and they would be mad not to follow you.”

  He doesn’t look at me as he says it, and I’m grateful for that. He doesn’t see what the words do to me, how they cause heat to rise to my cheeks. After a moment, I walk toward him and straighten up. The guards all lie in the sand, dead or disarmed, and it is time to see if Søren is right.

  BY THE TIME SØREN AND I make our way to the entrance, the others are waiting. Amid the bodies of the guards, Heron and Artemisia stand together with their bloody swords still drawn. Dragonsbane is there, too, which surprises me. I thought she’d stay on the ship and out of what she thought was a foolish plan, but here she is. She looks my way when we approach, her eyes narrowing slightly. Though fury still burns through me when I think of her offering Etristo the Water Mine, I force myself to nod my thanks. We couldn’t have gotten this far without her help.

  I walk toward Heron and Artemisia. It’s only been a few hours since I saw them last, but part of me wants to embrace both of them. The blood staining their clothes and skin is the only thing that holds me back.

  “Well done,” I say instead. “What happened back in the harbor? Did you get enough ships?”

  Artemisia nods. “Plenty,” she says. “Food, weapons, all of it. My mother is still a bit begrudging about the whole thing, but her crew is much more enthusiastic—I think more than a few of them might join us at the mine.”

  I smile. “That’s wonderful,” I say. “And Blaise?”

  “We sent him ahead of us to meet with the Elders,” Artemisia explains. “He took them your offer so that everyone could think it over and would be ready to go by the time we got here.”

  I nod, swallowing down my nerves. “Let’s get them onto the ships, then. We can sort out who wants to fight and who doesn’t once everyone is safe.”

  * * *

  —

  When Heron and one of Dragonsbane’s men push open the door, I see that the entire camp has already gathered in the streets, huddling together, clutching loved ones tightly to them, with all their worldly possessions clutched to their chests in meager bundles.

  Even when I walk in with my Shadows at my back and Dragonsbane and her warriors behind them, none of the refugees appears terribly reassured. They came here for safety, after all, and now I am bringing war to their door.

  But they aren’t safe here.

  I watch as Elders guide them into a line that files past us and out of the camp that has been their only home for years. Decades, in most cases. I feel their eyes on me as they pass, and I stand up a little straighter, square my shoulders a little more. I try to look like a queen before I remember what Søren said—there is no such thing as looking like a queen.

  I’ve been trying to emulate my mother, I realize, who was always graceful and confident, but I am not her. I would be a fool to be confident and no one needs my grace. They need shelter and food and a path forward, and those are all things I can give them. They will have to be enough.

  Sandrin breaks through the crowd and comes toward us, bowing at the waist. Blaise follows him a few paces behind, dark eyes hard and wary. The circles under his eyes are starker than I remember them, and there is an energy about him that startles me. It seems to vibrate in the air around him.

  “Your Majesty,” Sandrin says, drawing my attention back to him.

  It’s the first time he’s called me that, and the title feels strange coming from his mouth. It doesn’t feel like something I’ve earned yet.

  “Sandrin,” I say, inclining my head. “Thank you for your help. As soon as we get everyone on the ships, we’ll depart. We have little reason to believe the Sta’Criverans will give chase. They aren’t much for fighting.”

  He nods. “I’ve passed your message on to everyone,” he says, glancing at Blaise behind him. “Many are still considering it.”

  “It isn’t a choice to be made lightly,” I say. “There will be time to discuss it more on the ship. You’ll stay aboard mine, won’t you? And all the Elders as well. I would appreciate all of your guidance going forward.”

  He looks surprised by that but nods. “I would be glad to,” he says. He bows again before joining the other Elders in leading the refugees out of the camp.

  Blaise approaches when he’s gone, thoughts clearly weighing heavily just behind his eyes.

  I’m not sure what to say, so I settle for thanking him.

  “I was glad to be of use,” he says. “Artemisia thought the battle would be too dangerous for me.”

  It was a smart decision, but Blaise doesn’t sound happy about it.

  “I needed you here,” I tell him. “How do you think it went? I know Sandrin said that many were still considering it, but…”

  Blaise knows what I’m asking and a grim smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I think that for most of those who can fight, their first impulse was to say yes and I think that impulse will end up outweighing their hesitations.”

  I smile, an ember of hope sparking in my belly.

  For a mom
ent, he mulls over his words. “I gave Art my gems,” he says. “It’s too dangerous for me to go on the ship with them.”

  He gave them to Art like before, for safekeeping. Not for good. He’ll still take them back; he’ll still try to do something stupid and noble. But not today. Today he is here and he is safe and he is just Blaise.

  He reaches for me, his arms encircling me. The embrace is too hot, especially under the Sta’Criveran sun, but I hold him back just as tightly. “We’re going home, Theo,” he murmurs in my ear. In his voice, the word home is spun sugar, sweet but delicate.

  It echoes in my mind long after he releases me—a word, a prayer, a promise that I will see fulfilled.

  TWO THOUSAND PEOPLE AGREE TO fight.

  It’s a tight fit on the fifteen ships Dragonsbane’s crew took from the harbor, but we manage to get everyone on board. Cramped as it is, I think they have more room than they did in the camp. Dragonsbane’s own fleet takes many of the refugees who can’t or don’t want to fight, though I’m not sure what she’s going to do with them.

  I might not trust Dragonsbane with much—I don’t always trust her loyalties or her judgment or her opinions of others—but I have to believe that she’ll do right by these people after failing many of them so terribly the first time around. We both want what is best for Astrea, even if we might disagree on what that is more often than not.

  When we go our separate ways, it’s difficult not to feel a twinge of sadness. She failed me, too, in smaller ways. Forgivable ways, if she ever gave me a chance to forgive her. That isn’t Dragonsbane, though. She doesn’t want forgiveness from anyone. She didn’t want it from my mother and she doesn’t want it from me. She won’t even ask for it from her daughter, though Art knows better than to expect anything else.