Lady Smoke

by Laura Sebastian

  “No,” I agree, though I’m surprised that Cress kept her word at all. She must think I’m dead, I realize. “And Søren?”

  I hear her swallow. “They took him when they left, said he was a Kalovaxian traitor and he belonged to them. Erik tried to stop them—Heron and Blaise, too—but Søren agreed to go with them to keep anyone else from getting hurt. You’re both noble idiots,” she says, but there’s no mistaking the fondness in her voice.

  “Blaise?” I ask. “He went into battle. Is he—?” I break off, unable to finish.

  “He’s alive,” Artemisia says. “He’s been lingering nearby, but he said you wouldn’t want to see him.”

  I’m not sure how wrong he is. Our argument still echoes in my mind and I see him leaving, no matter how I begged him to stay. But I’m alive and he’s alive and both of those facts feel like miracles, so how can I be angry?

  “You saved me,” I tell her, remembering how she used her Water Gift on me. The poison would have killed me otherwise, or disfigured me like Cress, if nothing else.

  “You saved everyone else,” she says with a shrug. “It was the least I could do. How do you feel?”

  She asks the question like she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. Because she isn’t asking about my pain—she’s seen that clearly in my winces, heard it in my groans. She’s asking about something deeper.

  “The same, mostly,” I tell her, unsure how to explain how different I feel.

  Artemisia touches my cheek. “Your skin is still warm,” she says. “We thought it was a fever at first, but Heron couldn’t heal you. He said it was something else.”

  I swallow and stare harder at my palm. I saw what Cress was capable of. If I’m going to stand against her, I can’t be afraid anymore. I summon fire, imagine it leaping to life there, but something feels wrong. I can feel the fire in me, but it’s buried deep. I have to dig for it, fight for it, but at last, with some effort, a small flame appears in my hand.

  Artemisia doesn’t even jump, she only stares at the fire with a vague sort of curiosity.

  “It’s different than it was before,” she says. “You can control it.”

  “Yes,” I agree, frowning. “But it’s not like I imagined. It’s weaker.”

  She nods. “Well, you won’t have to hide it anymore. A queen who sacrificed her life for her people only to rise even stronger like some sort of…” She trails off, unable to think of the right term.

  It comes to me right away. “Like some sort of Phiren,” I say. She looks confused and I elaborate. “A bird in Gorakian mythology. Hoa told me about it—it turns from ash to smoke to flame and back again.”

  The thought of Hoa hits me with fresh agony. “How’s Erik?” I ask her.

  Before Artemisia can answer, the tent opens and Dragonsbane slips inside. When she sees me, she actually smiles, though there is still something feral about it that looks nothing like how I remember my mother’s. It looks like Art’s smile.

  “You’re up,” she says with a curt nod. “How are you?”

  Instead of answering, I light up my hand again. Seeing her eyes go wide with fear and awe makes me happier than it should. “I know that you don’t believe in the gods, Aunt,” I say. “But it seems they still believe in us.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Does it hurt?” she asks finally.

  I close my hand and the fire is extinguished. “Everything hurts,” I tell her. “I owe you my thanks. Without you, we would have lost many more lives.”

  “It was a good battle,” she says. “What you did was admirable. Foolish, but admirable.”

  I nod, knowing that from Dragonsbane, that is the highest praise I can expect.

  Artemisia clears her throat. “I’m glad you came as well,” she says, her voice surprisingly small.

  The sharpness in Dragonsbane’s expression softens slightly, but she can’t seem to form words. The energy in the room is fraught, delicate as a spider’s web, but when Dragonsbane and Artemisia lock eyes, a thousand silent words pass between them and I feel like an interloper.

  Dragonsbane told me that I was lucky my mother hadn’t lived to disappoint me, but with a lump growing in my throat, I realize that also means I’ll never have a moment like this, to look my mother in the eyes and forgive her for her flawed humanity.

  * * *

  —

  Erik comes to visit me after Artemisia and Dragonsbane leave. In his undershirt and trousers, with his hair down loose around his shoulders, he looks younger than he is. Someone told him about Hoa already, and I hope whoever it was did it kindly.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, though the words are pitifully lacking.

  He sits down beside my cot and takes my hand in his. If he’s surprised at how hot my skin is, he doesn’t show it. I wonder if word is already spreading.

  “The Kaiser will never do what he did to her to another woman.” His voice is cold steel. “He’ll never hurt anyone else. I wish she could have lived in this Kaiser-less world for just a day.”

  “Me too,” I tell him before taking a deep breath. “I killed the woman who killed her. I can tell you it was self-defense and that I had no choice and those things are true, but it’s also true that I killed her for what she did to Hoa and I will never regret that.”

  He considers this for a moment before nodding. “One day, I would hear about it in detail,” he says. “But I’ve seen too much death lately. Even that one won’t bring me any joy.”

  I bite my lip. “Do you think Søren’s dead?”

  Erik’s eyes find mine again. “No,” he says after a moment. “He’s a traitor, and the Kalovaxians don’t show mercy to traitors, but in this case, I would imagine Crescentia is keeping him alive. Her position as Kaiserin is precarious—they’ve never had a female ruler, and they won’t be keen on the idea. She needs to marry him to keep the throne.”

  The thought sickens me, but at least it will mean that they won’t kill him. Not yet. As glad as that makes me, I can’t help but think that death would be merciful compared to whatever hell he’s being put through now.

  “We’ll get him back before that happens,” I tell Erik, as if it’s that simple.

  Erik must know it isn’t, but he nods. “We’ll get him back,” he echoes, squeezing my hand.

  * * *

  —

  The Kaiser’s body is already burnt, but we erect a pyre for him anyway. I stand beside it now, close enough to touch his charred skin. I’m barely strong enough to stand for more than a few moments, but I force myself to manage. I remember what I told Blaise what feels like a lifetime ago.

  “When the Kaiser is dead, whenever that may be, I want to burn his body. I want to put the torch to him myself and I want to stay and watch until there is nothing left of him but ash.”

  I believed that when the Kaiser was dead, it would bring me peace, but even as I stare at his dead body and his empty eyes, peace still feels miles away.

  My mother was the Queen of Peace, I think as the men building the pyre finish and leave me alone with the body. But I am not that sort of Queen.

  I turn away from the Kaiser to look at the crowd of refugees and freed Astreans who have gathered to watch him burn. It’s a good moment for another speech, perhaps, but they didn’t come here for speeches. Blaise approaches, torch in hand, eyes downcast. He hasn’t looked at me since I woke up, and I’m still not sure if I want him to or not.

  I don’t take the torch. Instead, I turn toward the Kaiser and hold out my hand. Again, it takes some coaxing. For a moment, there is a hushed, anticipating silence before the small flame appears, licking at the palm of my hand. Feeble as it is, it’s enough to elicit gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

  I touch the flame to the bed of straw beneath his body and watch the fire catch.

  Behind me, the crowd’s gasps turn
to cheers. Artemisia was right, they don’t hold this power against me—they believe it’s a new gift, given by Houzzah for my sacrifice.

  Maybe it is, but it isn’t enough. I saw how Cress wielded her power. She didn’t have to dig for it; it was always there, as much a part of her as her skin and sinew and bones.

  I barely hear the cheers. I keep my eyes on the Kaiser’s corpse and I don’t even let myself blink as the flame catches and licks at his already blackened body. It’s only then that I notice the faint glimmer of the red gem at his throat, covered by ash and soot but unmistakable. Ampelio’s Fire Gem pendant. I reach into the flames, take hold of the gem, and pull it free.

  Blaise’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, trying to lead me away from the growing fire, but I don’t let myself be moved.

  I want to see it all, the moment the Kaiser disappears into nothing but ash. I hold Ampelio’s pendant tight in my grip, feeling its power tug at my own.

  I would wear a crown of that ash, I think.

  Finally, when the flames grow so thick I can no longer see him, I turn and walk away without a backward glance.

  * * *

  —

  I find Mina in one of the Kalovaxian barracks, with a boy and girl a little younger than me. The bunks have been pushed to the edges of the room, leaving a large open space in the middle of the stone floor where the three of them stand. Lingering in the shadows of the doorway, I watch them for a moment, unseen.

  “Show me, Laius,” Mina says, placing a bowl on the floor between them. When she sets it down, some water sloshes over the sides.

  The boy swallows, fidgeting with his hands behind his back. At first, I think he must have been one of the slaves we freed from the mine, but then I notice the marks on his arms, places blood must have been drawn from.

  He’s a Guardian. The Kalovaxians must have been studying him before the battle. The thought sickens me, and a quick glance at the girl confirms she has the same marks. How many are there?

  The boy—Laius—finally lifts his hands, holding his palms toward the bowl. Instantly, the water streams upward, hovering in the air at eye level in a perfect crystalline sphere.

  Mina nods. “Can you turn it to ice?” she asks.

  Laius’s brow furrows as he focuses on the sphere. It shifts, the candlelight making it glow, before the surface turns frosted and hard, spreading until it is entirely ice.

  “Good,” Mina says. “Release it.”

  Laius drops his hands and the sphere drops, shattering on the stone floor.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  “Quite all right,” Mina says. “How do you feel?”

  She steps toward him to feel his forehead, and when she does, she catches sight of me. “Your Majesty,” she says, inclining her head in my direction.

  Laius and the girl fall into a clumsy bow and curtsy as I step entirely into the room.

  “Mina,” I reply before smiling at the other two. “You found Guardians.”

  Her mouth purses. “I did. There were ten altogether. Nine fire, including Griselda here. Laius was brought from the water mine so they could be studied side by side. Laius, Griselda, would you allow Queen Theodosia to touch you?”

  “Why?” I ask. I frown, but they seem to understand what she’s asking and nod. Mina beckons me forward.

  “Feel their foreheads,” she instructs.

  Warily, I reach a hand out to each of them: when I touch their skin, it’s hot, like Blaise’s. And now that I’m close enough, I can see the dark circles under their eyes, like neither has slept in a long time.

  Mina sees the understanding dawn on me. “Why don’t you two go get lunch?” she suggests to Laius and Griselda. “We’ll continue lessons afterward.”

  The children hurry off, and I wait until they’re out of earshot before speaking again.

  “There are more,” I say, not sure what to call them. Berserkers isn’t inaccurate, but the word feels like a death sentence.

  Mina nods. “The other eight are Guardians in the traditional sense, but Laius’s and Griselda’s abilities are unlike any I’ve seen before. Like the hypothetical friend you described. Is he still hypothetical?”

  I hesitate. “It’s Blaise. He’s an Earth Guardian.”

  “I figured as much. I saw what he did to those ships—more than any Earth Guardian should be capable of.”

  “It almost killed him,” I say.

  “But it didn’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

  I don’t have an answer for that. “You said you were giving them lessons. Is that true, or are you studying them?” I ask instead.

  “A bit of both, I suppose,” she says with a heavy sigh. “The stories I heard said that Guardians like them were rare—there were records of one a century perhaps. Now, there are three altogether and we haven’t even seen the other mines. Who knows how many there are in total?”

  “What does it mean?” I ask her.

  She shrugs, glancing at the door the boy and girl just left through. “If you were to ask Sandrin, he would tell you that it’s part of the gods’ plan, and maybe he’s right. But maybe there’s a higher percentage of people going into those caves, so there are more people who have just enough room for the exact amount of power they are given. Maybe the gods have a hand in that as well.” She turns her gaze back to me. “You didn’t come here about them, though, did you?”

  I hesitate before shaking my head. I hold out my hand, palm up, and after a moment of concentration, a small flame appears, nestled in my palm. Mina watches, her eyes thoughtful.

  “It’s not much,” she says after a moment. “It’s more than mine, I’ll give you that, but if this were before the siege, it wouldn’t have been enough to make you a Guardian.”

  I close my hand and smother the flame. “Crescentia—the Kaiserin—the one I told you about who drank the Encantrio…she oozes power. It comes to her as easily as breath. She doesn’t even have to reach for it, it’s just there.”

  “You want to know if you’re a match for her, but you already know the answer to that,” she says. “You are a pot half full, and she is close to brimming.”

  I swallow down my disappointment. It’s nothing I didn’t already suspect, but it hurts to hear all the same.

  “All those people, they’re treating me like a Phiren who rose from the ashes,” I say, my voice trembling. “Like I’m the hero they’ve been waiting for. And I’m not. I can’t protect them from her, from any of the Kalovaxians.”

  Mina’s jaw hardens. “You survived a stand against the Kalovaxians—few can say the same. You’ve protected us this far; who’s to say you need a gift to keep doing it?”

  I smile and thank her, but deep inside, I think we both know she’s wrong.

  We survived this fight because of luck and little more. Next time, we might not.

  THE KALOVAXIANS ALWAYS SPOKE OF battlefields with more reverence than they spoke of their temples. There was even a popular court ballad about one, with its “grass streaked red with the blood of enemies,” that made a battlefield sound beautiful in its own, violent way.

  Walking around the Fire Mine and the ruins of the temple that once stood here when I was a child, I know there is nothing beautiful about a battlefield. Erik and my Shadows are quiet as well, though I’m grateful for their presence. The last thing I want is to be alone right now. My strength is returning, slowly but surely, and I relish every moment I get to spend out of bed.

  Like that Kalovaxian ballad, the grass is more red than green now, but the ballad didn’t mention that most of it would be covered by bodies, or parts of them, and that it would be impossible to tell which parts belonged to which side. The ballad didn’t mention the smell of decaying flesh that would hang in the air, making it putrid and nauseating. The ballad didn’t mention that enemy or friend, they would all be mourned by real peopl
e.

  “A pyre,” Erik says from beside me, breaking the silence. “It’s the typical burial for Kalovaxian warriors.”

  “For Astreans, too,” I say, surprised that two cultures as different as ours could have anything in common. “And the others?”

  He hesitates before shaking his head. “Gorakians are buried, but the rest—”

  From my other side, Artemisia speaks. “Yoxians are buried,” she says. “Brakkans as well. Vecturian custom says that their warriors should be put to sea in flaming boats.”

  “We can’t do that,” I say, my stomach clenching. “We need all the boats we have.”

  Artemisia nods in agreement. “I don’t know the customs of the others, but there are enough living that we can figure it out.”

  “There are so many,” Heron says, looking around. Apart from the small section where our camp is set up, bodies stretch around us as far as I can see. Hundreds, or maybe thousands. I don’t know how we’ll be able to sort out which body belonged to which country.

  I swallow. “They’ll come back, and when they do…” I trail off, unable to put it into words.

  “We’ll be ready,” Erik says. “This was a victory for us and that means more than just that we survived it. We stood against the Kalovaxians. We are no longer a poor investment. We can ask for help from other countries, and this time we might actually get enough.”

  “Might,” I repeat.

  “The gods blessed you, Theo,” Heron says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And in doing so, they blessed all of us. They’re on our side.”

  I tear my gaze away from him. Even Heron doesn’t know how long I’ve had this gift, how long I’ve kept it secret from him, how weak it is now that it’s been dragged to the surface. Like most, he believes it was a reward for my sacrifice. It’s a pretty story, but it’s not who I am. I glance between Heron and Artemisia. “How does it feel for you? Being blessed?”