The Cerulean

by Amy Ewing

  As soon as her skin touched the moonstone, her magic ignited and another vision swam before her eyes. It was a different room this time, smaller, with a large copper basin in one corner and a desk and chair in another. And there was someone in the room, someone with pale skin, turquoise eyes, and thick black curls. It was a person unlike any she had ever seen, and there was something off about her, besides her coloring, that Leela could not put her finger on. As if echoing up from the bottom of a dark well, she heard Sera’s voice.

  “Leela,” she whispered. Leela’s heart spasmed and the vision dissolved in a burst of blue sparks. When she looked at the statue again, markings had appeared, running down the length of Faesa’s robe.

  Show me, she spoke to the stone silently, as she had with the obelisk, but her heart was not as tentative this time, and she felt a force of will building inside her. Show me the secret that lies beneath you.

  Leela stepped back as the statue of Faesa slid to the side. She peered down at a set of winding sunglass stairs, vanishing into the darkness. She had never been more frightened in her life, her pulse racing, every hair on her scalp standing on end.

  “Is Sera down there?” she asked aloud, but Faesa was just a statue and could not answer her. Leela felt as if her bones had been replaced with air, a disorienting lightness filling her up.

  She sent up a prayer to Mother Sun and began to descend the stairs.

  38

  Agnes

  THE MARIBELLE THEATER WAS SWARMED.

  Agnes could not control her wildly beating heart as Eneas pulled up to the theater. She had spent the ride squeezed in between her father and her brother, trying to fidget as little as possible. In her beaded clutch were the thousand krogers, the letter from Ambrosine, and the photograph of her mother. It was terrifying having such illicit material so close to her father, but it was all she would be taking with her. She wondered if Leo had anything stashed away in his tuxedo jacket, something he could not bear to leave behind in Old Port.

  She hadn’t told Leo about the letter yet—there were more important things to focus on at the moment, and the letter wouldn’t matter if they didn’t make it to the Seaport. He’d relayed what Sera had told him, about Errol and Boris and the sprites. It all seemed unreal to her. So much could go wrong, so much was out of her control. If this plan failed . . . she didn’t want to think about that.

  The article about Sera and the others, about Xavier’s newest venture, had been published in the Telegraph that morning, which was probably why throngs of people crowded the streets leading to the theater. There were groups of Solit protesters proclaiming these creatures to be heretical, enemies of the One True God that should be burned at the stake, and clusters of Old Port’s poorest citizens begging for Sera to heal them. If Xavier took any notice of them at all, Agnes could not tell. Her father seemed lost in thought the entire ride, staring out the window with unseeing eyes, as if his mind was on other things. It seemed odd—this was the night he had been anticipating for months, perhaps longer.

  He roused himself as the car pulled to a stop. A reporter recognized them and there was a shout of “Mr. McLellan!” Suddenly, they were surrounded. Eneas pushed through the reporters to open the back door.

  “Smile, Agnes,” Xavier said without looking at her. She hated that her lips automatically pulled up in response. He was the first out of the car—Agnes and Leo exchanged a glance before Agnes slid across the seat and took Eneas’s offered hand. Leo followed after her and the two of them flanked their father, Leo right by his side, Agnes a little behind him—this routine was familiar to them both, after so many premieres.

  This is the last time, Agnes realized. No matter what, I’ll never have to go through this awful charade again.

  Bulbs flashed behind the red ropes that kept the press at bay. Questions were shouted and everything felt too loud and too bright. Whenever her picture appeared in the paper, Agnes looked like she was staring directly into the sun—eyes squinting, cheeks scrunched up. The questions pelted her like pebbles, pinging between her ears.

  “How does it feel to be engaged?”

  “Give us a smile, Miss McLellan!”

  “Agnes, who are you wearing?”

  They never asked Leo who he was wearing, and he was the one who picked out this damn dress. Agnes smiled as hard as she could and said nothing.

  “Xavier, what made you decide to leave the theater business and start up this Pelagan venture?”

  “Pelagan venture?” Xavier stared down at the reporter with an expression of utter contempt. “My only aim is to right the wrong that has been done to this country. My goal is to return Kaolin to its former glory, and I will use any methods at my disposal. I am a patriot, sir. All I do, I do under the eye of the One True God, and he knows what is in my heart. These creatures I have discovered will make our land and seas healthy again. Where they were found has no bearing on what they can do.”

  “They’ll make you a pretty penny, though, won’t they?” another one shouted, and Agnes recognized him vaguely as one friendly to her father.

  Xavier’s eyes glinted in the flash of the bulbs. “Why, my dear Rudolph, they already have.”

  Then it was more fake smiling, their father between them, his hands on their shoulders, the picture of a perfect Kaolin family man.

  If only he knew what his children were really up to.

  That thought made Agnes smile for real.

  Finally, they were ushered into the huge marble foyer. Bars were set up at either end, bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, crystal flutes standing neatly side by side. Waiters carrying platters of hors d’oeuvres glided through the crowd, offering smoked salmon pinwheels and caviar on toast. A string quartet played softly in the corner by the stairs to the mezzanine.

  Xavier McLellan spared no expense when it came to self-promotion.

  There were photographs set on large tripods, the same ones from the house along with one of Sera in the pink lace gown, her hair done up like a Kaolin girl. She looked frightened. Men were lined up to make bids, mostly men who owned cattle ranches or large farms in the west for Boris, shipping and fishing industrialists from the Gulf of Windsor for Errol, but Sera’s line was the longest. A drop of blood that could cure all? People were going nuts over it. The prices were sky-high, simply because there was so little to be sold. There was a small photograph of the vial Kiernan had taken from her at the party, which seemed to be all that was for sale at the moment. Xavier was not foolish enough to bleed his golden goose dry.

  Agnes stared at the picture of the vial with hatred in her heart. That was all her father was going to get from Sera. He wasn’t going to take a single drop more.

  “Leo.” Xavier didn’t even need to raise his voice and his children’s heads swiveled in his direction. He was standing with the mayor and two city council members. “Come, they wish to hear the story of the capture of our Azure.”

  “Ugh,” Leo muttered. “I’ll be back.”

  “Play the part,” Agnes reminded him.

  “Of course, darling sister,” he said, putting on his most debonair smile and striding over to the four men. The mayor shook his hand and Agnes watched, fascinated, as Leo began to tell the tale of Sera’s capture with great gusto, as if he really was his old self.

  “Your brother seems to be enjoying himself.” Ebenezer Grange appeared at her elbow, two champagne flutes in hand. He offered one to Agnes.

  “Yes, he’s never happier than when rich old men are showering him with attention,” she said.

  He laughed. “So how did it go at the Wolfshead?”

  Her face went hot. “Oh, it was fine, just fine.”

  “No one tried to steal your virtue, I hope?”

  Agnes choked on her champagne. “No, no. Thank you again for the ride.”

  “Anytime.” He clinked his glass with hers and gazed at the photographs. “It feels just as unpleasant now as it did back at your house,” he said. “Seeing everyone clamor for pieces o
f them.”

  “It does,” she agreed.

  “Have you seen any of the show?”

  “No, Father would never allow it. Leo used to get to see some dress rehearsals of his other shows, but not me. It wouldn’t be appropriate, he always said. Though I don’t think even Leo has seen any of this production.”

  “Strange that it’s only one night,” Ebenezer mused.

  “Well, he’s got the whole country of Kaolin to save,” Agnes said dryly. “He can’t waste time with theatrics.”

  They exchanged a grin as the lights flickered in the foyer, indicating that the audience should begin taking their seats.

  “See you after the show,” Ebenezer said.

  Agnes was surprised by the knot that rose in her throat. She wanted to tell him that she was leaving, that she was sorry, and that if she had to marry a man from Kaolin, she was happy it would have been him. But she couldn’t say any of that, so she smiled and nodded, passing her glass off to a circulating waiter. Leo entered the theater first, and she was about to join him when her father pulled her aside.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” he said quietly. Agnes’s heart dropped to her stomach like a stone. “I know you’ve been poking around the Seaport. How many times must I tell you, Agnes—you are never going to Pelago. If any one of my men sees you there again, I will call off this wedding and have you locked up somewhere dark and silent where you can never hurt this family or its reputation again. Do I make myself clear?”

  It took every ounce of will she had to jerk her chin down in a quick nod. She felt light-headed, her fingertips numb, as her father strode away and she followed weakly behind him.

  He knew about the Seaport. But he did not know about her true plans—if he did, she would surely have been thrown into Larker Asylum already. She took her seat, avoiding Leo’s eyes, unwilling to reveal anything else to her father. Her resolve began to harden as her pulse slowly returned to normal.

  This plan would work. It had to.

  And Xavier McLellan had no idea what was in store for him.

  The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed as Martin Jenkins emerged in front of the curtains to thunderous applause.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the very exclusive, one-night-only premiere of The Fabled Fate of Olverin Waters and His Triumph Over the Mistress of the Islands!” There was more clapping. “Most of you have likely seen the day’s paper, so you know this production features some very unique performers as well as Kaolin’s most seasoned actress, the Lady Gwendivere, and its rising star, the one and only Mr. James Roth!” Cheers and whistles drowned out his voice for a moment. “Of course, it is a tragedy that we are losing such a pillar of the community in our noble patron Mr. Xavier McLellan, but we wish him the best of luck with his new venture, one that will surely strengthen Kaolin’s land and seas and, most importantly, its people. Thank you, Xavier, for all you have done for theater in Old Port. And now, without further ado, I invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!”

  39

  Leo

  THE PLAY WAS A VERY HIGH-QUALITY PRODUCTION, LEO had to admit.

  Boris’s lush gardens gave more life and color to the stage than any set or scrim ever could. The flowers around Errol’s pond glowed faintly and the pond itself seemed to lend a certain magic, as if the audience was really peering into a faraway forest. The glass ceiling, while of course highly unusual for a theater, actually added to the ambiance, creating the sense that the viewer was outside with stars twinkling overhead. James Roth was spectacular, Grayson Riggs was as hilarious as he always was, and Lady Gwendivere played the part of the evil Pelagan to absolute perfection.

  Errol made his debut about halfway through the first act, when the net was lowered from the ceiling and he was scooped up inside it. His scales flashed jade, copper, scarlet, peach, as he wriggled and struggled, while the audience oohed and aahed at the colors, and Leo’s entire opinion of the play soured. He caught sight of Agnes, seated on their father’s other side, a half-horrified, half-awed expression on her face, and he remembered she had never actually seen Errol, only that murky photograph.

  As Lady Gwendivere cackled and explained to the audience how she planned to keep the mertag all for herself so that the pond by her house would never run dry and she would never go hungry, Leo found his attention wandering to Sera. Was she still in that awful crate, or had they moved her somewhere else to make space backstage? He wondered if she was as nervous as he was right now.

  He pressed his palm against the pocket of his tuxedo pants for the millionth time that evening, feeling the comforting prick of the star pendant through the fabric. He and Agnes had agreed to bring only what was absolutely necessary, and even then only what they could carry without alerting their father. Leo was willing to bet the four thousand krogers he had stashed away in various places—the inner pockets of his tuxedo jacket, the toes of his shoes, tucked beneath the waistband of his underwear—that Agnes was bringing the photograph of their mother. Leo didn’t own anything of sentimental value, but he had promised to return the necklace to Sera and he would be damned if he broke that promise.

  He had left his favorite pair of cuff links on the vanity in his room for Janderson. With them was a note that simply read, Thanks for putting up with me. He felt the man had earned them.

  The first act ended with James setting sail for Pelago to free Errol and Boris from the clutches of Lady Gwendivere and bring them back to Kaolin to save his farm and end the famine destroying the country. The curtain closed and the audience erupted in applause. Xavier stroked the point of his beard and did not clap. He never clapped for his own productions. Leo used to think it a sign of strength and power. Now he just thought it made his father look like an asshole.

  The lights came up and Agnes seemed pale and sweaty, like she might throw up. She had to keep up appearances better, Leo thought. If Xavier began to suspect anything, they were screwed. Fortunately, their father didn’t even glance at her as the mayor and his wife, sitting in the booth behind them, had leaned forward to offer congratulations.

  “My god, that fish creature was something else, Xavier. I thought Arabella was going to faint.”

  “But that tree is absolutely lovely. And the garden—I’ve never seen flowers like those before!”

  “I beg your pardon, Father,” Leo said. “But Kiernan told me to check on the creatures at intermission, just to be sure everything was going smoothly.”

  Xavier’s eyes glossed over Leo, and began moving toward the throngs below waiting to congratulate him. “Yes, of course,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Leo shot Agnes a hard look and she stood.

  “I’m going to get a refreshment,” she said in a stilted voice. Their father gave no sign that he had heard her—he had already turned back to the mayor. She and Leo made it down to the lobby and he gripped her elbow.

  “Get it together,” he hissed. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

  “Father knows I’ve been to the Seaport,” she said.

  “What?”

  “He told me before the show started. Threatened me, really.” She tugged at her dress. “Guess he’s going to be disappointed on that score.”

  “Does he know about us working together?”

  She shook her head. “He thinks I’m trying to flee my engagement and run off to Pelago.” Her face turned sad. “Poor Errol,” she murmured. “In that net . . . and Boris is so lovely. They’re real, Leo. They’re marvelous and real and . . . god, he’s such a monster, keeping them like this.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve established that. But we’ve got our own jobs to do. We’ve got to trust Sera now. She’ll get them out.”

  “Not Boris,” Agnes said. Leo thought she might cry, but instead she took a deep, fortifying breath. “I know. You’re right. It’s just all so overwhelming, now that it’s happening.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “I should’ve known one of his spies would have seen me at the docks.”
>
  “At least he doesn’t know what you’re really up to,” Leo muttered, glancing around at the attendees milling about, gossiping over the first act in between sips of champagne and bites of caviar. He had to get backstage. He wanted to see Sera one last time before this whole plot began—or ended. One way or another. “I’ll get us a cab and have it waiting at the corner by the backstage door. You leave when—”

  “Right as James Roth and Grayson Riggs start to sword fight. I know.” Agnes pressed her clutch to her chest and gazed up at him, her cinnamon eyes full of anxiety. “We can do this, right?”

  “We can do this,” Leo said.

  She flashed him a wobbly smile.

  Leo wove his way through the crowds and platters of canapés back to the theater, where he pretended to check on the moss in Errol’s pond just in case his father happened to be looking.

  “Get ready, Errol, you’re almost up,” he muttered. Then he climbed the steps to the stage and slipped behind the curtain. Crew members were clearing props and rolling on set pieces for the beginning of the second act. Sera’s crate was nowhere to be found.

  “She’s in dressing room three,” Francis said softly, and Leo whirled around. “The one with all the Pembertons by the door.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I won’t let her down,” he promised.

  “I know,” Leo said, and he found he truly believed it. Whoever this slight young man was, he had a big heart and his every word rang with sincerity. Leo wondered how someone like him had ever come to work for Xavier McLellan.