All three sets of eyes go to Søren, who is standing just behind my shoulder. None of them speaks, but I can hear a dozen unspoken questions.
“He saved Dragonsbane’s life and proved his loyalty to us,” I say.
Artemisia isn’t fooled. Her eyes narrow, making her look frighteningly like her mother. “And?” she prompts.
I glance away. “And I pointed out that Søren’s diplomatic experience would make him a necessary asset to me if I were to agree to marry one of these suitors in Sta’Crivero,” I say, though the words come out pinched.
Blaise’s expression is a rolling thundercloud. “You’re a queen, you can’t marry a stranger.”
“It would have happened anyway,” I point out, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Dragonsbane would have goaded me into it, pushed me and pushed me until I was backed into a corner without another choice. It would look like she controlled me.” I draw my blanket around my shivering shoulders. “But by offering it up like that, I did it on my terms.”
Blaise makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t say anything. I look at Søren, still lingering in the doorway. The healing Heron did on him, though only superficial, was enough to make it look like he was a guest among us and not a prisoner, but away from the audience it’s clear he’s still in pain. He favors his right leg and grimaces whenever he moves either arm.
“This hostage, he didn’t try to go after you?” Artemisia asks me, drawing my attention away from Søren.
I can’t help but snort. “Thank you for that, Art, but no.”
She rolls her eyes. “I just mean that it’s surprising, considering the Kalovaxian I interrogated said there’s a bounty on your head.”
“I can’t imagine what thoughts were going through his mind. I suppose he must have known that he wasn’t going to survive, but if he could kill Dragonsbane, he would at least die a hero. I don’t think the reward even crossed his mind,” I say, though something about that explanation nags at me.
“Mattin always had fantasies of heroics, but never the brains to see them through,” Søren says, shaking his head. It’s a plausible explanation, but Søren’s an easy liar to read, and sure enough, there’s the tell—his nostrils flare.
“So there are bounties on both of our heads,” I say, turning away from Søren. “And there are Kalovaxian forces searching for us in Timmoree. And the Kaiser married Crescentia. Is that everything we learned?”
“He what?” Søren asks, face twisting in disgust.
“They were married two days after we left Astrea, and she was crowned the day after that,” Blaise confirms. “Each of the prisoners we interrogated said the same thing.”
“But…he was trying to betroth her to me,” Søren says, looking nauseous.
“You’re a lost cause,” I tell him. Even though my own stomach is twisting, I push my feelings down and try to stay logical. “The Theyn was growing more popular with the people than the Kaiser was. Being murdered would have added to that, turned him into a folk hero. That popularity would have even touched his daughter—Cress will be seen as sympathetic at court and that sympathy will now also spread to the Kaiser, who could sorely use some of it.”
“Not to mention she’s beautiful,” Søren adds. “There were dozens of men trying for her hand. My father likes to take what everyone else wants.”
She isn’t beautiful anymore, though, I want to say. Not in a way the Kaiser would appreciate, at least. Though maybe he finds her power frightening. Maybe that horror is its own kind of beauty, a kind the Kaiser would want to take ownership of. I don’t let myself say any of that out loud. Even thinking it makes me feel sick.
“Why would she do it, though?” Søren asks, horror still clear in his voice.
Because of me, I think, though again, I keep that to myself.
“Cress was raised to be Kaiserin,” I say instead. “I’m sure she would have rather married you, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She did what she had to, to get what she wanted.”
“You can’t pity her,” Art says, though I can’t tell if she’s saying it in disbelief or as a command.
“She was my friend,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve admitted that to them, though they must have known it to be true. “And as someone who came perilously close to being married to the Kaiser myself, of course I pity her.”
“You came close to what?” Blaise asks, eyes widening until they nearly bug out of his head.
I wince. I forgot that I hadn’t shared that bit of information with my Shadows.
“If you knew, you would have insisted on pulling me out of the palace too soon,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I didn’t tell you and we still got out before anything happened.”
It’s true enough, though I can’t help but think of that last banquet and the Kaiser’s hand on my thigh, his breath on me. I suppress a shudder and look to Søren. I think he’s remembering that night, too. If we’d left even a day later…no, I won’t think about that. The Kaiser will never touch me again.
But he’s touching Cress, I remind myself. She’s his wife now, and though I’m sure she married him willingly, I can’t imagine that she was too willing about what followed.
I push the thought from my mind and focus on the present, on what I do have control over.
“Søren, you need sleep,” I tell him before turning to Heron. Though I hate to ask more of him, I do. “Can you finish healing him? Please?”
Heron’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to answer, but Søren beats him to it.
“I’m fine,” he says, though he realizes how false it sounds. “I will be fine,” he amends. “Nothing fatal, nothing time and care won’t fix.”
Heron exhales slowly, shaking his head. “I can fix them.”
“I won’t take anything more from you,” Søren says. “It’s some cracked ribs, a sprained ankle. I’ve had worse. The rest of the world heals from injuries like these just fine without magic.”
For a moment Heron says nothing, only stares at Søren like he isn’t quite sure what game he’s playing. Finally he shrugs.
“You’ll need some help with the bandages,” he says. “Not to mention clean clothes. Mine will be too big, but Blaise’s will be too small, so you’ll have to make do.”
Søren nods. “Thank you.”
Art looks at Søren for a few seconds, as if she’s trying to decide something. “I know where my mother keeps the spare clothing. I can steal a couple sets for you tomorrow, and some boots.”
“Thank you,” Søren says again.
Blaise doesn’t look at Søren, even when he speaks to him. “You can take my bunk. I’m spending my nights here with Theo anyway.”
I want to pummel Blaise for the way he says that, like he’s staking some kind of claim on me. Like a dog urinating on a favorite tree. I open my mouth to say as much, but Søren interrupts.
“Is that wise?” he asks, concerned. His eyes dart to the others, brow furrowing. “I just mean…with everything we talked about,” he adds to me.
I bite my lip, glancing at Blaise, who is slowly putting the pieces together, then to Artemisia and Heron. I remember my talk with Søren when we were on our way to the Smoke, how he told me he thought Blaise was a berserker and I told him he was wrong, that it wasn’t possible, even when I believed it might be. Heron puzzled it out on his own and I would be surprised if Artemisia hasn’t done the same, but it isn’t something the lot of us have ever acknowledged.
“You’re wrong. Blaise isn’t dangerous,” I say after a moment, looking at Blaise as I say it. I half expect Søren to protest but he doesn’t. Artemisia doesn’t ask what we’re talking about and a quick glance her way confirms that she’s not having trouble deciphering what isn’t being said.
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” I say after a moment of uncomfortable silenc
e. “Heron, please get Søren something to sleep in for tonight. Blaise, show him the way to your room. Art, see if you can charm whoever’s working in the kitchen into giving you a few extra pieces of hardtack and a canteen of water. We’ll discuss more tomorrow.”
* * *
—
I have just enough time to change into my nightgown and swipe a damp towel over my face before Blaise returns, expression drawn tight. It should be unreadable, but I know him well enough to see the anger hiding in the corners of his mouth. It’s easy to guess what put it there.
“I didn’t tell him,” I say before he can accuse me. “He’s seen berserkers up close before; he knows the symptoms better than any of us.”
His mouth tightens even more but he nods. “And Heron and Artemisia know as well?”
I shrug. “Heron mentioned it. Artemisia hasn’t said anything to me, but she seemed to understand what Søren was alluding to and she didn’t look surprised by it.”
“Everyone knows, then.” He laughs, but there’s no joy to the sound. The walls and floor of the cabin suddenly thrum to life, beating like an erratic heart—like Blaise’s heart now, I’d imagine. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but when I place a hand on the wall, the thrumming grows stronger and my own heartbeat quickens. Blaise’s Earth Gift, I realize with a twisting stomach. It’s connecting with the wood of the ship, affecting it, though he doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t even notice, his eyes fixed only on me.
It’s a subtle enough tremor now, but he started an earthquake once. How easily could he turn the ship into splinters?
I swallow my panic and try to keep my voice calm and soothing. “Blaise,” I say, locking my eyes onto his. “They understand that it isn’t like that. They know better than to be afraid of you.”
Even as I say the words, though, I know they aren’t true. I might know Blaise better than anyone, but in this moment I am afraid of him. Not Blaise—not necessarily—but what he’s capable of. What he can do without even meaning to. I force myself to breathe, to speak softly. I don’t want to be afraid of him, but fear races through me all the same.
He would never hurt me, I remind myself, but fear is not a thing to be controlled by logic.
Blaise catches himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths until the room stills once more. Even when it does, I can’t bring myself to relax. I hear Søren’s voice again in my mind, telling me that Blaise is dangerous. He’s not, I argue to myself. Even if he loses his temper from time to time, he’s always been in control enough to stop it before it becomes serious. Blaise said it himself: his gift might not feel like a blessing, but it doesn’t feel like mine madness either.
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and hesitates for a moment before some of the tension leaves his body. “If Dragonsbane finds out,” he says after a moment, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him, “she won’t let me stay on the ship. Assuming she doesn’t have me killed on the spot, she’ll exile me.”
“I won’t let her do either,” I say.
Blaise shakes his head. “You just used the only piece of leverage you had to free the Prinkiti,” he points out. “The whole ship will be saying you’re in love with him by morning,” he says.
I turn away from him so I’m facing the bed, though I know he’s right. Agreeing to meet with suitors was the only card I had to use with Dragonsbane, and now I am fully at her mercy. I peel back the covers and slip beneath them before letting myself face him, careful to keep my face impassive. “I can’t control what people say.”
I hope he’ll leave it there, but I know Blaise too well for that. I’m not even surprised when he asks, “Are you?”
“No,” I say without missing a beat. “But I also don’t appreciate you treating me like a toy you’re carving your name into to keep it away from someone else.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” I interrupt. “You told him we were spending our nights together.”
“We are.”
“That’s not the way you said it, and you know it,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, standing in the middle of my cabin looking wounded and angry. “You’re agreeing to marry a stranger to save him. Him. A Kalovaxian.”
My stomach churns again, though I keep my voice placid. “I’m agreeing to marry a stranger for Astrea—because it’s the best chance we have of matching the Kalovaxians in battle,” I say. “But I didn’t see why I shouldn’t get as much out of the arrangement as possible.”
Blaise shakes his head. “You just put your own wants above the wants of your people, and they’ll remember that.”
The words are a stab to my gut.
“It was the right thing to do,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “For Søren, yes, but also for Astrea. It was the only way.”
He looks at me for a long moment, eyes bright and unflinching. “You keep telling yourself that, Your Majesty.”
Without another word, he turns and walks out my door, leaving me alone.
* * *
—
“You untied Mattin,” I say to Søren the next morning when we eat breakfast in the cabin he’s sharing with Heron. The others are all on duty, but Søren and I don’t have assignments, so instead I’m trying to teach him some Astrean before we arrive in Sta’Crivero tomorrow.
He looks up from the piece of parchment I’d given him, where I’d written down the sounds that make up our language, translated into Kalovaxian phonetics.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but his nostrils flare again and he glances away, focusing again on the parchment.
“It was smart,” I say. “And it worked—you’re free, in a sense. Unchained, at least. Pavlos is dead, though, and so are all the other hostages we tried to turn into spies.”
He doesn’t respond at first, though his face pales at the mention of the other hostages. He shakes his head.
“If I had untied Mattin, it would have been a calculated risk,” he says finally, his eyes not leaving the parchment. “I would have chosen the worst swordsman out of the Pride’s crew, but one with a history of doing foolish things in the name of bravery. I would know that in untying him, I would be telling him I was on his side, and in shielding you, I ensured that protection would apply to you as well. I would have known he would take Pavlos’s weapon and attack him first, but poor a swordsman as Mattin is, I would have hoped it wouldn’t have been a fatal injury. I would have been certain that I could get your dagger and stop him before he killed Dragonsbane.”
Even though he clings to his hypotheticals, he knows I know that’s the truth of it.
“You killed one of Dragonsbane’s crew in order to prove that she could trust you,” I say slowly. “Do you realize how convoluted that is? Why am I supposed to care about what you hoped would happen? You were wrong and a man died because of a risk he never consented to take.”
He says nothing, only staring at the ground, shame turning his cheeks red.
“Sacrificing someone else to improve your own lot—it sounds like something your father would do,” I say.
“I know,” he admits, though each word costs him. “When I was standing on that deck, going over all of it in my mind, it was his voice I heard.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, neither of us knowing what to say.
“I hear it sometimes, too,” I say after what feels like an eternity. “Any time I confront Dragonsbane or use the word queen as a weapon to get what I want. I heard it when I convinced Spiros to let you out of the brig.”
Søren lets out a mirthless chuckle. “The difference is, my father would have let me die in that brig without a second thought.”
I shake my head. “Not if getting you out gave him a tactical advantage, even as it hurt the people who were depending on him to help them,” I say.
“Getting you out was the right thing to do, I know that, but it isn’t why I did it. That’s what scares me.”
Søren hesitates. “A lot of awful things can be said about my father—we’ve said most of them. The idea of sharing anything with him is enough to make me want to tear my skin from my bones. But it can’t be denied that he wins his battles. He’s a monster, but maybe understanding him is the only way we can hope to beat him.”
His words reassure me more than they probably should. I still hate the idea of being like the Kaiser in any way, and I’m not sure that will ever change, no matter how Søren tries to justify it. Still, there is something to be said for someone seeing your darkest parts and accepting you anyway.
THE SMOKE GETS AS CLOSE to the Sta’Criveran shore as it can without the risk of running aground. Most of the crew will remain on the ship for the duration of our visit, but Dragonsbane and I are supposed to stay in the palace as King Etristo’s guests. I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to sleeping on solid ground again—no violent rocking, no moldy sea smell, no worry that a storm might come along.
As my council, Søren, Blaise, Artemisia, and Heron are allowed to join me in the palace, just as Dragonsbane’s council are joining her. Though she won’t be Dragonsbane here. She will be Princess Kallistrade, my beloved aunt, who came out of hiding when I escaped and has been aiding me ever since. That is the story Dragonsbane spun for King Etristo in their correspondence to keep her pirate identity secret. We all must remember to only call her Aunt or Princess but never Captain.
Though this was a directive, I didn’t miss the fact that it gives me an amount of power over her. With one word, I could reveal her identity as a wanted pirate and change her fate forever.
I cram into a small rowboat with my council, glancing after Dragonsbane, Anders, and Eriel in a second boat ahead.
“Any sign of trouble and we’ll get you out immediately,” Blaise says while Heron and Søren row us toward the shore. Blaise offered to row, but Heron and Søren are visibly stronger and Blaise begrudgingly agreed to let them do it.
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