After the seven of us pile out of the carriage, we’re escorted through the arching palace entrance by a quartet of guards dressed in pressed cerulean uniforms with gold epaulets. The entryway is dominated by a large spiral staircase with tiled stairs in a rainbow of colors and a gold railing. When I look up, the stairs spiral high enough that I can’t see where they end.
“You must be our Astrean guests,” a female voice calls out, echoing in the large space. I glance around, but it’s impossible to tell where the voice is coming from. Finally, my eyes fall on a woman stepping around the edge of the stairway, dressed in a draping gown of peach cotton cinched at the waist with a thick yellow ribbon. She’s maybe five years older than I am, with bronze skin and dark brown hair that falls to her shoulders in loose curls. She has a kind face, but I’ve learned not to trust appearances.
She smiles, showing two rows of gleaming white teeth. “My name is Nesrina. King Etristo has asked that I show you to your rooms so that you can settle in before dinner. We realize that the palace can be quite confusing to newcomers.”
Nesrina gives a light chuckle that sounds rehearsed, and I wonder how many times she’s given this tour.
Dragonsbane clears her throat. “I’m Princess Kallistrade,” she says, though she can’t manage to say princess without wincing. “This is Anders and Eriel,” she says, motioning to them; each man gives a nod of acknowledgment. “Artemisia. Blaise, Heron, Prinz Søren…and, of course, my niece, Queen Theodosia.”
Nesrina nods to each of us as Dragonsbane points us out, but when it’s my turn, she dips into a graceful curtsy with a few extra flourishes worked in.
“Your Majesty,” she says. “If you will all come with me, we’re going to head upstairs.”
Again I look up at the seemingly endless spiral staircase. My legs already ache at the thought of climbing them. The prospect of sleeping on the rocking ship is suddenly not as disagreeable as it was this morning.
“How far up is it?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound rude. The last thing I want to do is insult my host.
Nesrina laughs and shakes her head. “Not to worry, Your Majesty. We have a riser—we aren’t savages.” She turns and motions for us to follow.
I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know what a riser is, and I don’t want to show my naïveté by asking. Warily, I trail behind her until she stops before a large brass cage at the base of the stairway, nestled in the center of its spiral. Inside is plush red carpet and a shirtless man, skin the same color as the bars behind him, standing at attention. His shoulders are broad and his arms are the biggest I’ve ever seen—I think each one might be bigger around than my waist.
Nesrina steps into the cage and gestures for us to follow, but I hang back, my mind circling over every way this can go wrong. It’s a trap. King Etristo thinks I’m foolish enough to step into a cage so that he can deliver me to the Kaiser and collect his five million gold pieces. I know I’m supposed to play the fool, but not that much a fool, surely.
Søren lingers by my side. “The risers are the easiest way to get to the tops of the towers,” he murmurs. “The man uses that crank to lift the box up, bit by bit.”
I glance sideways at him, unable to keep the disbelief off my face. “We’ll fall to our deaths,” I say.
He shrugs. “The Sta’Criverans have been using them for decades, and they’ve sold the design to other countries around the world. We even adapted the design to use in the mines in Astrea. No deaths have been reported. They say you’re more likely to fall by taking the stairs.”
Though my stomach is still churning, I follow the others into the cage. When the door closes behind me with a clang, my whole body goes tense. I force myself to take deep breaths, but I know it’ll be difficult until I’m out of this contraption. With the rest of our eight packed in, giving the riser attendant plenty of space, there’s barely room for me to move my arms.
“To the twenty-fifth floor, please, Argos,” Nesrina says. She’s perfectly relaxed, as if she does this all the time. She likely does.
The riser attendant—Argos—nods and takes hold of the large crank, beginning to turn it. His muscles bulge with the effort.
“There’s a jolt to start,” Søren whispers to me an instant before the jolt comes. Søren’s warning aside, it still scares me and I jump, reaching out to grab whatever I can, which turns out to be Søren’s arm and Artemisia’s shoulder. Art shrugs me off and at first I think Søren does as well, but after a second, he takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. The riser is so crowded that no one can see him do it, but I feel the urge to pull away. Though I know I should, I can’t bring myself to.
We rise slowly at first, but gradually get momentum and pick up speed until we’re ascending at a decent clip—much faster than we would if we took the stairs. The stairs pass in a blur of colors, but even though it’s easier than I expected, I can’t bring myself to relax. I feel my shoulders bunched all the way up to my ears, and I squeeze Søren’s hand like I’m trying to break it.
To his credit, he doesn’t pull away and I can’t help but think of the last time we did this, in the dark dungeons beneath the Astrean palace, racing through the corridors with the Kalovaxian guards and their dogs getting closer with each passing second. I don’t want to think about that, but I suppose it’s somewhat preferable to imagining what would happen if the crank broke and the cage plummeted to the ground.
“Last time I was here,” Søren says quietly, though I’d imagine everyone in the riser can hear him, “was when my father sent me on a diplomatic expedition to try to make the Sta’Criverans allies. It was the first time I was ever in a riser and I think I nearly fainted, which was not exactly the image of strength my father wanted to project. Of course, the Sta’Criverans had no interest in an alliance, as I came to find out. But they wanted to make sure I—and my father—understood how strong they were and how, even if we weren’t allies, it would be a mistake to consider them enemies.”
“It’s true,” Nesrina says, glancing at us over her shoulder. “The Kalovaxians would never dare invade Sta’Crivero. Which is precisely why it’s the safest place for you, Your Majesty.”
“I’m so grateful,” I say with my sweetest smile, as if she’s given me a gift by extending to me what should be a basic human courtesy.. “Your kindness to me will never be forgotten.”
Yet, as the elevator finally lurches to a stop so sharp it makes my stomach tumble, I can’t help but wonder what Sta’Crivero’s kindness will cost me.
NESRINA ESCORTS US DOWN A long hallway, passing half a dozen doors before stopping at the one at the very end. She twists the gold and crystal knob and pushes the door open.
“For the Queen,” she says, inclining her head toward me. “We hope that it is to your liking.”
I step inside and the room swallows me. It’s an expansive space, with high, vaulted ceilings painted with clouds and cherubs and so big I think merely walking from one side to the other would take some effort. In the center is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen—a family of six could sleep in it comfortably—draped in fire-coral satin with a jewel-box array of pillows covering most of it. Yards of matching silk canopy over it, dancing in the breeze coming through the open windows that line three of the walls. Midafternoon sunlight pours in, making the lapis lazuli tile floors glow beneath my feet.
In one corner is a cluster of plush chairs around a mosaic table set with a glass water pitcher and four cups. On the other side of the room is a lacquered armoire with bone-inlay doors and ivory handles. There is also a writing desk and chair, a table with a water basin, and a basket of sponges and soap that’s been carved into birds that look so real I half expect them to fly out the windows. Next to the basin is a large vanity with more birds carved into the mahogany edge of the mirror.
Even the Kaiser would find the decadence of this room to be too much. I certainly feel out
of place, like an alley cat that’s been dropped into the middle of a ball. Though Astrea’s palace was opulent, it was nothing like this. I try not to let my discomfort show.
“Will cots be brought in for my advisors?” I ask Nesrina.
Her forehead furrows and she shakes her head. “You misunderstand me: this is your room. They will be close enough—just down the hall—but the Sta’Criveran palace is certainly grand enough to afford you your own space, Your Majesty.”
The words grate. In a strange palace in a strange country, the last thing I want is to be alone and in a room this size—I feel like I could get lost in it and no one would ever be able to find me.
“There are no guards outside,” Blaise says, sounding as alarmed as I feel. “King Etristo guaranteed the Queen’s safety, but without guards—”
“Crime of any kind is not tolerated in Sta’Crivero,” Nesrina interrupts with a patient smile. “Even petty theft has been punishable by death for many decades now. As a result, we have wiped out crime completely. I can assure you, there is no safer place than this palace.”
“I don’t think the Kaiser would care about your laws or the lives of the assassins he would send after her,” Blaise counters.
Nesrina’s smile falters only for an instant. “I can, of course, bring up this concern with King Etristo,” she says.
“There’s no need to concern the King with a boy’s unfounded fears,” Dragonsbane tells her, giving Blaise a severe look. “In order for an assassin to get into Theo’s room, they would have to get past the guards at the gate, past the guards at the palace doors, and past the riser operator. As I understand it, this is the same level of security given to the King himself.”
Nesrina nods in agreement. “The King would wish Queen Theodosia no less security than he requires,” she says. “She is in very good hands here with us.”
Blaise looks ready to argue but I stop him with a hand on his arm. Though it may be my imagination, his skin feels even hotter than normal.
I only realize I’ve done something wrong when Nesrina’s smile slips from her face altogether. Her eyes are locked on my hand where it rests on Blaise’s arm. I can practically see her thoughts turning.
I drop my hand, but the damage has already been done. Though on the Smoke it was nothing to touch Blaise—or Heron or anyone else for that matter—we are not on the Smoke anymore. My actions will be monitored more closely here and I need to remember that. It’s difficult not to feel like I’m back in the Astrean palace, where I had to constantly be aware of how I was being viewed.
“This room will do just fine,” I tell Nesrina. “Please pass along my gratitude to King Etristo.”
Blaise simmers next to me, but he says nothing.
Nesrina nods, her smile back in place but stiffer at the corners. “We’ll leave you to freshen up, then, and I’ll show the others to their rooms.”
As they file out, Blaise catches my gaze, his expression loaded with worry. I give him a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to do much to lift his mood.
I watch them walk back down the narrow hall toward the other guest rooms before I close the door, letting out a sigh of relief. At least there are no holes in these walls, no spies watching me in my own room. That is something of an improvement.
Pacing the room, I examine all the fine decor and furniture, running my fingers over the lacquered armoire and the plush silk canopy over the bed. I feel a bit like a marble rolling around the too-big space, but I can’t deny the overwhelming beauty of it.
Sta’Criverans value pretty things, Artemisia told me, so I shouldn’t be so surprised, but still. The Kalovaxian courtiers rarely met a surface they didn’t want to gild or embellish, but this is a different sort of beauty—a more ephemeral one without any strength or purpose behind it. It’s pretty for the sake of prettiness, a silk flower with no life and no perfume.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m tumbling into the mountain of pillows and satin face-first with my dress and shoes still on.
After a week in a narrow bed with a thin mattress, this bed feels like a cloud. I never want to get up. Surely there’s a way to save Astrea from right here?
Before I can relax too much, a sharp knock sounds at the door. I bolt back up and smooth out my dress, trying to look somewhat presentable. I can’t bring myself to get off the bed completely, but I scoot to the edge and cross my ankles primly, setting my hands in my lap the way I remember Kaiserin Anke used to sit.
“Come in,” I say, trying to ignore the pang brought on by the memory of the Kaiserin.
I expect a single woman to come in to help me dress, but instead the door opens and a small army pours in. There must be more than ten people but they all flitter around so quickly that it’s difficult to get a proper count. Two women cross to the wardrobe while another three settle in near the vanity, unloading various pots and powders and brushes from the baskets they carry. The rest flutter back and forth, a couple of them surrounding me and combing their fingers through my tangled hair, circling my waist, chest, and arms with a measuring tape, tilting my face toward the sunlight and eyeing me critically without ever saying so much as a word.
“Queen Theodosia,” one woman finally says, pausing in front of me to dip into a curtsy. Her silver hair is pulled back from her face in a severe bun that does little to soften the wrinkles around her forehead, eyes, and mouth. She has sharp, dark brown eyes that flitter from the top of my head to my boots, her nostrils narrowing more the more she looks at me. “My name is Marial and I’ll be the head of your staff while you’re with us.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marial,” I say.
Her pinched mouth and narrowed eyes don’t move and she doesn’t bother with a reply. “You’re to attend a dinner with the King and his family tonight. A bath first, then we’ll try to do something with your hair. I understand you’ve brought no suitable clothing of your own?”
I don’t let my smile waver. “I had to leave Astrea in something of a hurry to avoid my own execution,” I tell her. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to take anything more than the dress I was wearing. This one.”
Her smile is so tight-lipped that it’s hardly a smile at all. “Yes, well, we had the foresight to prepare for such an occurrence.” She gestures to the wardrobe, where the women who just took my measurements are now pulling out various draped gowns and attacking them with threaded needles, their nimble fingers moving quicker than I thought possible. “We’ll have some options ready by the time you’re out of the bath. Come.” She snaps her fingers and two women appear, one on either side of me, pulling me to my feet and helping to remove my dress, while another woman twists a knob on the bathtub. After a moment, there’s a gurgle and water begins to spew from the curved pipe into the tub.
It’s difficult not to stare at it in wonder, especially once steam begins to rise from the water. Where is the water coming from? In Astrea, boiling water was brought up a pail at a time, so that by the time it was full, the water had gone cold. The Kalovaxians used Fire Stones to keep the water warm, but the Kaiser never trusted me enough to get that close to them, not that I would have used them anyway. The thought brings back the memory of the scorch marks on my bedsheets, and I quickly push it away. It’s surprisingly easy to pretend that it never happened. Most of the time, it lingers on the outskirts of my mind like a bizarre dream that only appeared to bleed into reality. It’s impossible that it truly happened. But I know what I saw and touched with my own hands.
I want to ask what kind of magic the Sta’Criverans have to summon water out of nowhere, but I remember what Anders said earlier—what they lack in magic they make up for with science and technology. Something tells me that asking Marial questions will only earn me more pinched, impatient looks, so I swallow my curiosity and resolve to ask someone else later.
The women strip me naked, and a distant part of me
knows that I should feel uncomfortable being nude in front of strangers, but I suppose my sense of modesty was broken a long time ago.
When I finally slip into the bath, the hot water envelops me and I want to just sink to the bottom and stay there forever, wrapped in warmth. The feeling doesn’t last long, though. As soon as my hair is wet, three women begin to attack it, combing through the tangles and nests that have grown during my week on the Smoke. By the time they’re finished, my scalp feels raw, but my wet hair hangs down in a heavy sheet, finally smooth. But they aren’t done with me yet. They move on to my body, scrubbing every inch of my skin with rough, wiry sponges and soap, until the water turns grimy and dark. They help me out of the bath and towel me off before rubbing on oils to soothe the skin they just abraded until I’m as smooth and shiny as a pearl and I smell like jasmine and grapefruit.
Marial flitters over from where she’s been inspecting the seamstresses’ handiwork, her hands clasped tightly in front of her and her forehead even more creased. She purses her lips and eyes me critically. My sense of modesty might be broken, but I still feel the need to pull the towel tighter around my torso under her gaze.
“Better,” she proclaims. “But there’s still much to do. Come.”
I follow her back to the wardrobe area, hurrying to keep up with her brisk pace.
“Who else will be joining me at this dinner?” I ask, trying to make my voice commanding even though Marial terrifies me.
“I already told you,” she says slowly with a belabored sigh, though she doesn’t spare me a glance. All of her attention is focused on examining one of the seamstresses’ stitches on a sapphire-blue gown with an intricately beaded bodice. After the seamstress knots and cuts the thread, Marial takes the gown and brings it to me. “The King and his family.”
“And what about my advisors?”
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