The Boundless

by Anna Bright

  It was a gown. But it looked—it felt—like armor.

  I had never been fond of black. But I’d never loved anything more for a night like tonight.

  Sitting in front of one of their dressing tables, wearing Greta’s gown and Hannelore’s shoes, I lined my eyes with kohl and painted my lips red, the only spot of color on me besides Torden’s engagement ring on my index finger. I rubbed the back of the band, wishing he weren’t a sea away, an empire apart from me.

  What would he think of me, in this gown, with this plan spooling out before me? Would he be proud of what I was about to do? Or would he condemn me as his father had, a traitor and a spy?

  When Margarethe pressed a circlet of black pearls onto my head, I didn’t protest.

  I’d once thought to myself that I hadn’t been born to wear a crown. But the mirror reflected a girl I believed could walk into a room of resistance fighters and negotiate. A girl who could sit down with Gretel and her Waldleute and hold her weight on the other side of the table.

  I looked powerful.

  “You look like Midnight herself,” Margarethe said, smiling grimly.

  “Midnight is a woman?” I asked with a laugh.

  She shook her head. “Hope that you never meet her.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should,” Cobie said with a laugh. “I’m impressed. But not surprised.” She squeezed my elbow, grinning tightly, looking tired. “Remember—you float just fine on your own.”

  Tonight, Cobie and I did not slip out after the freinnen. We did not swim across the river in silence or borrow a boat under cover of dark, did not slip into the ball quiet as secrets.

  The twelve of us left together, rowed out of the belly of the Neukatzenelnbogen and up the Reyn together, docked together. We disembarked and stalked through the woods in one long, silent line, an unkindness of ravens in our black gowns, Leirauh on my left, Ursula on Cobie’s right.

  The revelry didn’t exactly cease when we entered, but the musicians seemed to hesitate; the partygoers startled as we strode inside, an assemblage of beautiful wraiths.

  The freinnen dispersed through the room, Margarethe pushing back her long hair and murmuring something about looking for Fritz, and turned me loose to work my magic.

  Now, we simply had to wait.

  The dance soon reassembled, and the party carried on around us. Lang came out of the crowd, straight for me.

  “They found you out,” he blurted, looking around at the freinnen. Lang planted his hands full on my shoulders, broad palms and lean-boned fingers splaying across their breadth. “You didn’t say anything at dinner—”

  “No—I mean, well, yes,” I said quickly. “But it’s all right.”

  I hadn’t said anything to Lang, hadn’t let on that anything had changed.

  I told myself it was for fear of giving anything away to Perrault, who was ignorant and needed to remain so for his own safety. Or, worse yet, to Duke Maximilian, who still eyed me with suspicion, the foulness in his expression running as deep as the rot in the castle walls. But I couldn’t tell Lang my entire plan, either.

  I wasn’t angry at Lang, exactly—not anymore. But we had butted heads since we’d set out for Shvartsval’d, striking out at one another again and again. I’d learned caution. And I couldn’t risk him interfering.

  He stepped back and studied me, eyes narrowing. “You’re terrifying.”

  “That’s what Margarethe said.”

  “You and Margarethe are friends now?”

  I smiled at Lang and he raised an eyebrow, drawing back a little as if surprised, as if to take me all in. I lifted my chin and let him.

  We danced, and I watched the room, waiting for my time to move. The freinnen were scattered, but it was impossible to miss Leirauh. Admiring eyes watched her wherever she went, black gown floating around her soft figure.

  Above, finer than all the jewels and clothes in the room, the stars wheeled through the sky, crows circling beneath them. I watched them as I spun, my stomach reeling as we moved in opposition to one another, kaleidoscopic and dizzying.

  “Selah?” Lang’s voice was quiet, barely a breath on my skin. I returned my eyes to earth and found his brows arched over his stubborn upturned nose and his delicate mouth.

  “What is it?” We switched partners briefly, and my pulse quickened as we came together again. I glanced around, wondering if he’d seen something. Or someone.

  “You just look so—serious.” His dark eyes skated over me, as if he were trying to sketch me out. “Older.”

  “It’s all the black.” I grinned.

  “No, it’s not that.” Lang’s feet followed the dance, but he seemed to hover over me, too close. “I wish you weren’t here,” he blurted.

  My heart kicked painfully against my ribs. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you distract me.” Lang’s fingers curled around mine. My pulse jumped as he brought my knuckles to his mouth, his sweet-bowed upper lip parting ever so slightly from the lower.

  I ached, remembering once again the night I’d gone to his room to search out his secrets. Remembering the pictures of me spread across the floor.

  “This was all easier when I could pretend you were a child.” Lang’s voice was quiet but so heavy. “Just a job. It was so much simpler before.”

  “Before I knew the truth?” I asked. “Before I made this my problem, too? I’m not a child, Lang,” I said as evenly as I could.

  His throat bobbed. “Manifestly not.” Lang eyed Torden’s ring on my index finger. I squeezed my fist shut.

  Perrault had insisted I was unpromised. Regardless of what Torden and I felt, we were not engaged, and I clung to that distinction. My place on this side of that fine line made me not a traitor to Torden, whatever of him still belonged to me.

  Guilt stung me at the sight of the ring. Guilt, and frustration.

  But was I only an adult—a worthy participant in this mission, in Lang’s eyes—because Torden had made me so?

  I pushed my anger aside and let anticipation fill me instead. Lang would see, soon enough.

  Some part of me had wished for this since the day I had met him. To prove to him—the handsome young captain who’d traveled everywhere—that I could handle myself.

  There was something sweeter about earning admiration from those reluctant to grant it.

  Then, over his shoulder, I saw her.

  Gretel was exactly as Margarethe and Fritz had described her.

  The freinnen had not told Lang who she was. But seeing her now, it was impossible not to notice the deference the other partygoers paid her. Lang might notice, too, if he was looking.

  I had to get to her first.

  “Margarethe will be looking for you,” I said to him.

  “Forget about Margarethe.”

  “We can’t. Not yet.” I cut a glance over to where the oldest of the freinnen waited with Ursula and Hannelore. “Go to her for now.” I stretched up, whispering in his ear. “You and I have time.”

  Lang bent his temple to mine. His skin was warm. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted with you,” he whispered. “Time, and a chance.”

  And a little part of me wished for it, too.

  Guilt and want pinched me near to bruising.

  I lifted my chin and kissed Lang softly on the cheek. “We’ll have it.” I nodded at Margarethe. “Now go.”

  His midnight eyes watched me for a beat before he left me. And as he walked away, I shoved all my feelings aside.

  This was the moment I’d prepared for. My one chance to make all my pain, all the days and miles, worthwhile.

  When I was sure Lang wasn’t looking, I nodded at Fritz—at Hansel. It was time.

  The night air swept over me, clearing my head as Fritz strode my way. “Are you ready to begin? Or do you need more time?” He glanced at Lang, crisp tone belying his evident curiosity.

  “No,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  This was my quest. It always had b
een.

  I straightened my shoulders and met Gretel’s gaze.

  “Well, now.” Her voice was high and sweet as it had been on the radio all those weeks ago. “What have we here?”

  24

  We left the hall and the dancers behind, slipping through a corridor near one of the drinks tables into a tiny room beyond. The three of us sat in a small grotto, our faces lit and shadowed by the half-dozen candles set amid its stones, the stars winking overhead.

  Across from me sat Gretel.

  The leader of the Waldleute was a beautiful girl, tall and black-skinned with an ethereal cloud of black hair around her temples. The sable chiffon of her gown complemented her skin perfectly, and its swoop and drape emphasized her elegant neck and lean, strong arms.

  I knew immediately I didn’t weight my side of the table as she weighted hers, but I had to try.

  “I’d heard you were courting a young lady, Hansel, but I must say, I’m impressed.” Gretel crossed her arms. “I’d figured you were one for a submissive little wife, given the way your father treats his daughters. I wasn’t expecting the type of woman who’d seek me out.”

  “I think by now you ought to know that I’m not my father,” Fritz said. His even tone impressed me; the comment would’ve made me angry—though, once upon a time, I almost never got angry. Bolder emotions had tended to escape me then.

  But anger was becoming a familiar friend to me, in the way many strange new things were growing comfortable. Black dresses and forbidden places and meetings arranged without a protocol officer in sight.

  Poor Perrault. He’d be so worried if he knew. Yu and Homer would be proud.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gretel,” I said carefully. “Though I’m sure that’s not your real name, any more than his is Hansel or this is a woodcutter’s cottage.”

  “It’s all the name you’re going to get.” Her tone was light. “I’m sure you know what Baba Yaga does to the families of those who dare defy her.”

  “I wouldn’t ask for more than you wish to offer.” I shook my head, glancing between her and Fritz. “Most of us want nothing more than to protect our families.”

  I had practiced that line in my head as I’d buttoned my gown, as I’d pressed paint into my lips and kohl against my eyes.

  It still brought with it a surge of memories and worries.

  But I forced away thoughts of my father, of my stepmother, of my new little sibling, of home. There was no time now.

  Gretel shoved back from the table. “Not this again.” She frowned. “Hansel, we’ve discussed this. I feel for little Leirauh, I do. But we’re fighting a war. Can you imagine what my people would say if they heard we’d diverted our efforts to rescue a princess?”

  “How can you justify ignoring her situation?” I countered. “You have resources. The worth of the gems and the gowns on your people in that room alone—”

  “You can’t eat jewels,” she said keenly. “You can’t fight wars with them, either.”

  “You can purchase food with them,” I said, baffled. “You can purchase arms.”

  Gretel shrugged. “If there are any arms to be had,” she said. “If anyone will risk getting them to you. Transporting contraband—damsels in distress included—is a dangerous business.”

  “Danger is everywhere here. You can run into danger on a stroll through town or a walk in the woods,” I snapped. “And speaking of risk, you’re taking one by throwing parties with deafening music every night. You could help her, and you’re choosing not to.”

  Gretel planted her hands on the table. “Music is resistance in the Imperiya’s world of silence. And we aren’t responsible for these parties. We’re invited guests.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “But I’ve got more concrete rebellion in mind.”

  She and Fritz watched me, not speaking. I felt the pressure of the weight I had taken onto my shoulders. I tried to let it steady me and not crush me.

  “I didn’t come here to ask for favors,” I said. “I came here to make you an offer.”

  This was it. This was my shot to rescue Leirauh. To show Lang and the rest of them I was not to be trifled with. To make everything—leaving Torden behind, abandoning my father to Alessandra’s manipulation, crossing into the Imperiya, all of it—worth it.

  I straightened and readied my fire.

  “My ship is carrying a large quantity of guns and gunpowder,” I said. “I’m offering it to the Waldleute, in exchange for your assuring Leirauh safe passage to a court outside the Imperiya. Or to another place of her choosing. Swear to set her up safely and the arms are yours.”

  Fritz drew in a quiet breath.

  I hadn’t told Fritz or his sisters my plan. Perhaps the cards in my hand were higher than even I’d hoped.

  Gretel’s beautiful face had gone sharp. “Details.”

  I racked my brain, thinking again over the memory of the day I’d seen the crates in the hold, not knowing what they were. I’d never asked Homer what kind of guns the zŏngtŏng had provided, or how many. I hadn’t thought to ask how much gunpowder we were ferrying.

  The arms weren’t mine to bargain with. And I didn’t want to hurt Yu, or any of the rest of them, because the crew had never meant to hurt me. They’d agreed to their mission before they’d ever met me—before they could’ve cared what smuggling could mean for my safety, or for Potomac’s politics.

  But this voyage was mine. It had been coopted. And I was taking it back.

  I was taking it all back.

  “Six crates of guns,” I said, praying I remembered right. I tried on a grin, felt its wry stretch over my red lips. “And enough gunpowder to blow my ship to the skies.”

  Gretel gave a dry laugh. “Those are hardly details.” She paused. “Still, that’s more weaponry than we have on hand at the moment.”

  I let out a tiny, tiny breath. “Do you need to confer with anyone else? Are you in charge of all the resistance—the Sidhe and the Rusalki and all the rest?”

  “No. We’re too spread out to have a single leader. But the Waldleute will accept my judgment.” Gretel’s gaze narrowed on me again. “How do I know you won’t betray me? How do I know you’re not with her?”

  “My ship’s on the Reyn. I can take you there tonight, show you the goods, and you can do with them what you will—as long as you take Leirauh with you. I don’t want her coming back to the castle; Margarethe packed her a bag, and she’s ready to go.”

  Fritz glanced at me, startled. But I had taken no chances tonight.

  “Fascinating.” Gretel’s deep brown eyes were inscrutable.

  I watched her weigh my offer, praying fervently, thumbing the rosary beads in my pocket.

  Finally, Gretel smiled.

  “Agreed.” She raised her eyes to the heavens, looking like a queen. “We move now. I want it done before sunrise.”

  25

  Gretel led Fritz and me back into the ballroom, nodding at the fürst. “Three minutes. Get your sisters out of here.”

  As Fritz hurried after Margarethe, Lang raced to my side. “Where have you been?”

  I tipped my chin toward Gretel. “I found them.”

  Lang stared at us, dumbstruck. “You found—”

  “No time to waste,” Gretel cut him off. She slipped away, too, weaving through the crowd of dancers and tapping people on the shoulder. One by one, they slid away from the revel and out Burg Rheinfels’s door. Fritz and the freinnen followed.

  Lang pushed through the crowd again, asserting himself at Gretel’s side. “If you’re who I think you are, I need to speak with you,” he tried again. “I’m prepared to make a deal, on behalf of—”

  “The deal has been negotiated,” Gretel said shortly. “Your princess handled herself well.”

  Lang’s gaze snapped to me. I didn’t acknowledge the betrayal in his eyes.

  I told myself there was no time. Perhaps I was just a coward.

  “Come on,” I said, my throat tightening. “We need to get to
the ship.”

  Lang didn’t speak, but his eyes darted to me again and again as we threaded the mile and a half through the woods to the Beholder. Trained as my ears were on the crunch of grass and leaves beneath my shoes and Leirauh’s quiet talk with Gretel, I couldn’t miss the tension radiating through his body.

  Part of me wanted to crow over him. See? I’m not a child.

  Part of me wanted to beg his forgiveness.

  But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be petty, and I wouldn’t ask him not to be angry for what I’d done. I had more to worry about. I would accept the consequences of my choice.

  I forgot about it all when the prow of my ship emerged from the mist.

  The Beholder’s figurehead still stood at its fore, arms as open as ever, eyes still wide with wonder despite all she had seen. Though her fine polish had faded from salt water and miles at sea, she was still beautiful. The stuff she was made of, it seemed, was stronger than the stuff she’d been gilded with.

  I wanted to cry with relief. I wanted to fling myself on her mercy and beg her to carry me home.

  Almost. Almost. Just a bit longer.

  Jeanne and J. J. and Andersen and Homer raced to the deck rail as we approached, and I raised a hand in greeting. Homer smiled when he recognized me. For the first time since we’d left Norge, I let myself bask in his pride.

  “Here we are,” I said to our navigator. Lang stood beside me, not speaking. Andersen and Yu came to join us.

  Homer put a hand to my epauletted shoulder, bracing warmth in his fingers and in his gray eyes. “Here you are,” he agreed.

  I nodded at Gretel and her people, looking like ghosts in their finery in the early-morning dark. “And here they are.”

  “You did it,” Andersen said, relieved, to Lang.

  “No.” Lang jerked his chin at me. “She did it.” A beat of silence reverberated between us.

  Yu went very still. “What did you do?”

  Vishnu and Basile and the rest had helped the Waldleute into the hold below. They began now to emerge with barrels and crates in their arms, carrying them down to the bank where Leirauh waited. Her blue eyes watched the woods, black gown standing out beneath the lightening sky.