A Kingdom for a Stage

by Heidi Heilig

  “That’s it, then.” Cam frowns, considering. “You can release him, Jetta.”

  My laugh is bitter. “You make it sound kinder than it is.”

  “Would you rather we take him outside and shoot him?”

  “That won’t work,” I say, but the Tiger shows his teeth.

  “Take him outside and burn him, then.”

  At Camreon’s order, the rebels pull the struggling soldat from the table, and his cries break my heart. Though he is the enemy, I can’t help the tears that spring to my eyes. So I do it—I mark him, I pull out his soul and watch it flee.

  How many have I already killed? Foolish things—the tears. The emotion. I dash them away, but not before Cam notices. He pulls a silk square from his pocket and tosses it to me. “It gets easier.”

  I toss the handkerchief back; it lands at his feet. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”

  “You’re still too soft,” he says, though there is no mockery in his voice. “When the fields are burning, you can’t mourn every grain of rice.”

  “I’m not made for war,” I tell him.

  “If you’re at it long enough, war remakes you.” His tone is gentle, but dread is a heavy weight in my gut. How many deaths till I stop counting? Leo puts his arm around me, reassuring, as the Tiger turns to the rebels. “Take care of the body. Leave the uniform, will you? You, organize a crew to get this place cleaned up. Jetta? Come with me.”

  “To the dragons?”

  “To the avion. Leo, you too.” The Tiger beckons us to follow as he strides across the floor. “We’ll use it to scout the entire area. I want to know how their forces are positioned. The last thing we need is to evacuate right into the armée’s claws.”

  I blink at him, nonplussed. Maybe he does want me dead. “You want me to go exploring in a flying machine when there might be dozens more at the end of the valley?”

  “Of course not,” Camreon says, cutting his eyes to Leo. “I want him to do it.”

  “What?” My voice has gone up an octave, but Leo cuts my protest short with a single word.

  “Bien.”

  “I need you to be thorough, but fast,” Camreon says to Leo, ignoring my shocked expression. “If they’re as close as the soldat claims, it shouldn’t take long.”

  “He’s not going,” I interject. “Send someone else.”

  “Who do you have in mind?” the Tiger replies, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Leo and Akra are the only ones who have ever been up in the air. Aside from you and La Fleur, and you’re both too important to risk.”

  “So is Leo,” I shoot back.

  “No more than anyone else.” Leo’s reproach is gentle.

  “Then I’ll go with you,” I tell him. “Or I won’t ensoul the bird.”

  “You’re not a talisman,” Camreon says. “You can’t keep him safe just by being there.”

  I open my mouth, close it again. I cannot say what I am thinking: that I might not be able to keep him safe, but I can keep him alive. But would he want me to? Given the choice, would he rather live bound to me, or die his own man? “Akra, then,” I suggest instead, ignoring the feeling that I am throwing my own brother into danger—after all, my brother is much harder to kill. “He can even report back while still on the wing.”

  Cam is already shaking his head. “We need him to watch Le Trépas,” he says. “Especially now.”

  “I want to go, Jetta,” Leo murmurs. But he hesitates. “Will you let me break my promise?”

  My heart quails; my head floods with ways to stop him. Refusing. Demanding. Pulling Leo into the avion and escaping into the sky. But could I leave Maman and Papa in the armée’s path? And the girls—Leo would never leave them in harm’s way. Neither would I, if it really came to it. And what about the other rebels?

  I understand then why Camreon calls me soft. To me, the choice is impossible. Then again, it isn’t mine to make. “I can’t stop you,” I say at last. “I never could.”

  “Find me as soon as you get back,” Camreon says as he starts toward the hall. “I’m going to go tell Raik what we know so far.”

  “Wait!” Leo digs into his pocket for his gun as Cam turns back. “First tell me where to find the munitions. I’m out of bullets.”

  I try to laugh. “The avion has flamethrowers, Leo.”

  He does not smile. “I’d still feel better with a gun. Just in case.”

  Wordlessly, the Tiger pulls out his own weapon, the one with the silent barrel, and trades it for Leo’s empty pistol. “I hope you don’t find yourself in a situation where you have to use it,” Cam says as Leo tucks the gun into his belt. Then, with a nod, he leaves us there in the vast and empty wreckage of the dining hall.

  But the Tiger’s parting words echo. The rebels don’t have poison to help us keep our secrets. Nor do the Aquitans have nécromanciens to pry intelligence from the dead. But they do have questioneurs for the living.

  It won’t come to that. Will it? There is no reason for Leo to land in the armée camp—not unless they shoot down the avion. And why would they? Up in the sky, he’ll be nearly indistinguishable from one of their own—especially if he’s wearing the soldier’s uniform. It’s sitting there, folded, on the table. I shake it out, glancing at the costume with a practiced eye. “You can hardly notice the blood.”

  Leo snorts, shrugging out of his jacket. “I suppose it’s not the worst outfit I’ve ever worn.”

  “Not even the worst outfit you’ve worn since we met,” I say, wanting to see him smile. But the joke falls flat. In the back of my mind, all I can think of is the time we wasted.

  Why hadn’t we found more time to laugh together? Why hadn’t I asked him for more music? Why hadn’t I kissed him more? I hold out the jacket, helping him into it, trying to memorize the curve of his jaw. He starts doing up the buttons, turning to look at me over his shoulder. “Cam was wrong,” he says at last. “You’re not too soft, you know.”

  “And you’re not a grain of rice,” I say, and when he smiles I feel the tears creeping back. “I feel . . .” What? Anger? Fear? Sorrow? It is impossible to pick one ending to the sentence. “Too much.”

  “Hold on to it,” Leo says, suddenly serious as he gathers my hand in his. “The emotion. The softness. The feeling. Don’t let war remake you. Remake the world instead.”

  “I can if you come back,” I say, but he raises an eyebrow.

  “You will, either way. And I will come back,” he adds. “No matter what happens.”

  The claim should comfort me, but it leaves me cold instead. Deliberately, I focus on his face, and not on the souls clustered thick in the corners. “Nothing’s going to happen,” I say, as though it is a mantra. But I’m not a good enough actor to keep the fear out of my eyes.

  To cover, I let go of his hand, pulling the pin from my hem and piercing the pad of my thumb. The blood wells up, and without hesitation, he presses his fingertip to mine. In the silence, I can hear my pulse in my ears, and the incongruous sounds of birds in the trees above. Then he turns toward the avion to make the mark, though only I can see the soul diving in. I frown. Is it the same carrier pigeon as before? It seems that way—but why would a soul I’ve only just freed be so eager to return to my command? Could it be that life is always better than the alternative?

  The avion shakes, trying to flex her wings; together, Leo and I press with all our weight against the crooked hinge until the steel bends straight and the wing slides shut. The metal clangs and squeaks as she fluffs what she thinks are her feathers.

  “Down,” Leo says, tapping the bird’s flank, and the metal beast crouches, waiting for him to climb aboard. But he hesitates, searching my face as though all the answers are there. “I keep wanting to kiss you,” he says at last. “But I’ve seen too many shadow plays. If this is a tragedy, it will be the last kiss we ever share.”

  “It’s not a play,” I say, taking his hand again. “Or if it is, let it be a love story.”

  He gives me that crooked smile, le
aning closer. When we kiss, it is not like a play, but a song, and it takes my breath away. And when he pulls away and steps into the avion, I do not say goodbye, but au revoir.

  Act 3,

  Scene 31

  In the sanctuary. The docteur is at work, bandaging the wounded. Various rebels stand in groups, talking in hushed tones about the message from the Aquitans. Camreon winds through the crowds, moving fast toward the door. He meets RAIK coming in from outside, a flyer in the Boy King’s shaking hand.

  CAMREON: Raik! I was just coming to find you.

  He nods at the paper in his brother’s hand.

  I see you found one of the love letters from the armée.

  RAIK pulls his brother aside, into the far corner of the sanctuary, out of the range of hearing of the others.

  RAIK: What are we going to do? The weapons aren’t ready. I never expected the Aquitans to be here so fast.

  CAMREON: We can still try to negotiate. We just don’t have as much of an advantage as I would have liked. But in case it goes wrong, I have someone scouting for evacuation routes by avion.

  RAIK: Avion?

  He frowns.

  How did you get one?

  CAMREON: Jetta brought it down. It isn’t important, Raik.

  RAIK: It is when you’re making decisions that should involve me! What if we need it for the evacuation?

  CAMREON: Exactly. We need to know what routes are open to the rebels—

  RAIK: I meant for us! You, me, and the nécromanciens! We could take the capital while the armée is distracted!

  The Tiger pulls back, staring at his brother.

  CAMREON: And leave the rest of the rebels to fend for themselves?

  RAIK: You said it yourself—most of them aren’t fit for fighting. Best if they go back to their villages.

  CAMREON: Most of the villages are gone, Raik! Besides, the avions only seat three.

  RAIK: Me and the nécromanciens, then. You can lead the rebels to safety. Then again, with Le Trépas’s help, perhaps we could go by dragon.

  CAMREON: Stay away from Le Trépas.

  RAIK (shouting): You’re not the one in charge, Camreon!

  Rebels turn to look as his voice echoes in the sanctuary. RAIK takes a breath, trying to calm down. The Tiger takes his brother’s arm, pulling him close, speaking softly.

  CAMREON: What’s going on, brother? This isn’t just about losing Nokhor Khat.

  RAIK: Yes, it is.

  RAIK pulls away, as though to leave. Then he turns back, his voice low.

  No. You’re right. It’s about losing everything.

  CAMREON: We haven’t lost as long as we keep fighting—

  RAIK: I lost it all the day you came home.

  His whisper is harsh, ragged. CAMREON looks at him, not understanding.

  CAMREON: You’re afraid I’ll betray you.

  RAIK: You’ve made me a traitor myself!

  CAMREON: What on earth do you mean?

  RAIK: Don’t toy with me, Camreon. I know what you see when you look at me.

  CAMREON: I see my brother—

  RAIK: You see an Aquitan!

  The rebels are still staring, but RAIK no longer cares.

  You think I’m useless. Or a burden. Or maybe even a pawn.

  CAMREON: No—

  RAIK: But the only thing I knew about being king was what the Aquitans taught me! And all of it was tainted the moment you told me what really happened the night our parents died!

  CAMREON stares at him, overwhelmed.

  CAMREON: Are you saying after all this you don’t want the throne?

  RAIK: Of course I do.

  A pause. He takes a breath, breathing hard.

  But I’m not proud of it. Not anymore.

  Another pause. He gathers himself.

  Come and find me the moment the avion returns.

  Turning on his heel, the Boy King strides through the crowd as they part, uncertain, around him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hours pass. Leo does not come back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tia and Theodora find me in the dining hall. When I meet their eyes, my neck twinges—how long have I been staring up at the sky? The gray day has long since faded. Now the edges of the clouds are silvered in the moonlight, and from time to time the stars wink through. I rub my tired eyes as the girls approach. Then I notice their faces are red from crying, and Theodora is carrying a familiar violin case.

  Instantly my heart sinks. I can only get out one word. “Leo?”

  “No news yet.” Tia’s answer is an attempt at reassurance, though I can see the truth in her eyes. No news isn’t always good news. “But Cam sent us to find you.”

  I scrub my palms on my sarong; they are clammy with worry. “What for?”

  “To tell you about the evacuation,” Theodora says. “We couldn’t wait any longer to get everyone out. That’s why I brought this,” she says, holding out his violin. “I think he’d want you to take care of it until he gets back.”

  I take the case, not trusting myself to speak. It’s lighter than I expect it to be. How can it hold so many memories? I long to brush the strings, to hear the ghost of Leo’s music—but I can’t bring myself to open it. After all, it’s still his, isn’t it?

  “The village in the valley was cleared this afternoon,” Theodora adds. “Just before the armée arrived.”

  “They’re here?” Blinking, I sit up straight. “Where are my parents?”

  “They got away safely before the Aquitans set up camp,” Theodora says, and relief floods through me. But why hadn’t I spared them a thought till now? Had they been wondering where I was? Why I hadn’t come to say goodbye?

  But perhaps it was for the best. I don’t know if I could have done it twice in one day. “Which way are they heading?”

  “Toward La Verdu,” Tia says.

  I look at her askance. “La Verdu is occupied.”

  “They’re going to travel at night,” Theodora says. “And official reports say the armée forces are spread thin there.”

  “Besides, the only other choice is farther into the mountains, and they can’t make a climb like that,” Tia says. “Not with your papa’s chair.”

  I frown. “But with his chair, they’ll have to stick close to the main roads, won’t they?”

  Theodora hesitates, but after a while, she nods. “Possibly.”

  Fear twists my gut in knots—without me, my parents are just two more refugees. I have to hope the armée will focus on the rebels instead of chasing civilians through the jungle. And that Maman and Papa can find food and shelter on the run. “What about you two?” I say then, trying to distract myself. “Where is Cam sending you?”

  “We’re not going,” Tia says, and La Fleur lifts her chin.

  “I still think I can strike a bargain with Xavier,” she says. “Cam agreed to go down to the village with me tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh?” I watch her face. Behind the brave facade, hope wars with doubt. If she’s uncertain, how must Camreon feel? But this is not the first time he’s trusted her with his life. I hope it won’t be the last. “Does the Tiger have a job for me?”

  “You’ll be up on the hillside to protect Raik and Le Trépas,” she says promptly. “The mines will give you some cover if something goes wrong. The rest of the rebels are going down the falls toward the shore. They can forage along the river and hide in the trees until the Aquitans are gone.”

  “Is that where you and Cheeky will be?” I ask Tia, but she laughs, a little too loud.

  “Cheeky and I agreed we’d rather face the avions than another jungle trek!” After a moment, her laughter fades into a sigh. “And it was hard being in the capital for so long, surrounded by the Aquitans. I don’t want to evacuate to La Verdu, no matter how thin the armée’s spread. She and I are staying here.”

  “I’ll keep you safe,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. Then I look around the wide dining hall, empty so late at night, except for the souls
that glow along the walls. “Where is Cheeky, anyway?”

  “Visiting Akra,” Tia says with a look. “She’s not wasting any more time.”

  “Smart.” I rest my hand on the violin case. “Neither should we.”

  “Oh?” Tia gives me a sly look. “Cheeky has some champagne in one of those trunks.”

  I raise my eyebrows, but what can it hurt? “Maybe just a glass.” I stand, my knees are shaky from sitting so long. But my friends match my pace as we walk back to the room we’ve been sharing.

  We pass rebels coming the other way—leaving the temple with bundles small enough to carry under one arm: everything they’d been able to bring with them from wherever they had come. How many times had I done the same? Despite the dread that approaches with dawn, I am strangely grateful I no longer have to run.

  In the few moments of peace and stillness we have left, the girls and I settle down among the pillows and toast to old friends and new, to Leo and Eve, to Cheeky and Akra, to family and hope and most of all, to tomorrow.

  Act 3,

  Scene 34

  The mine. CHEEKY picks her way down the tunnel, careful not to trip on the dragon bones. In one hand, she holds a lamp; in the other, a basket brimming with delicacies: lotus leaf packets of sticky rice, slices of sweet dried mango, roasted pork rich with fat and flavor, and a precious stick of real white sugar, boiled to crystals on a stick.

  At first, she walks boldly into the dark, but as the cell gets closer, her steps grow smaller, till she creeps to the edge of the circle of light.

  The ex-capitaine is sitting beside his lamp, his back against the iron bars, ignoring the old monk sleeping on the other side of the grate. When AKRA sees CHEEKY, his eyebrows go up. Then he frowns at the basket in her arms.

  AKRA: What is that? Dinner?

  Silently, she nods, passing it over. He looks inside, making a face.

  If I’d known the rebellion ate so well, I would have left the armée sooner.

  A smile flickers across CHEEKY’s face, but it falls when he sets the basket down beside the bars.