The Cerulean

by Amy Ewing

  He wanted to say more but didn’t have the words, and even if he did, they would be too dangerous. So he held out a hand.

  Francis grinned and shook it. “Good luck,” he said. “Take care of her.”

  Leo nodded, a lump growing in his throat. He found the dressing room easily enough, and the men stepped aside at the mention of his father. The room was small and warm, a copper basin in one corner and a desk in another. Sera was sitting in a stout leather armchair, and she stood as he entered.

  “Leo,” she said, a smile breaking across her face. A smile. For him. Leo felt a sudden wave of light-headedness. They had bathed her and done up her hair in a pile of soft blue curls. She wore a stupid crown in the shape of the sun on her head, but her dress was magnificent—champagne satin that clung to her body in a way that suddenly had him feeling very distracted. He buttoned his tuxedo jacket and cleared his throat.

  “It’s almost time,” he said. “I’m off to get a cab to take me and Agnes to the Seaport. Agnes says our ship is small and at the very northern edge of the docks. It’s called the Maiden’s Wail.”

  “Got it,” Sera said with a nod. “Errol says he can find any ship, day or night. He’s very confident.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  Sera took a step toward him. Leo could feel the heat from her body, the floral-starlight scent of her surrounding him.

  “I misjudged you,” she said.

  He swallowed, trapped by her sapphire gaze.

  “No,” he said. “You didn’t. But you changed me. And I . . . I’m grateful for that.”

  Then he bowed low, as he would to a Kaolin woman of high birth. But Sera was so much worthier than that. He felt his face go red and he straightened, feeling like a bit of an idiot. But she looked pleased.

  “Is that the way Kaolin people say goodbye?” she asked.

  “Er, no. It’s the way they show respect,” he explained.

  “Ah.” He could see her filing it away in her sharp mind. Then she bowed to him.

  “Did I do it right?” she asked.

  “You did,” he said, unable to suppress his grin. “Oh!” He reached into his pocket. “I brought it back like I said I would. It will be yours again once we’re all safely on our way to Pelago.”

  The pale stone gleamed in his palm as he held the necklace out. Sera took it, tears filling her eyes.

  “Leela,” she whispered, cupping the pendant in her hands.

  “Five minutes to places, folks!” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Five minutes!”

  “I’ve got to go,” Leo said. She handed the necklace back to him. “I’ll see you at the Seaport.”

  She nodded. “The Seaport.”

  “Good luck, Sera.”

  She shot him a rueful look. “I do not need luck. I have Mother Sun watching over me.”

  “See if she can look out for me and Agnes, too, while she’s at it,” Leo said. He would take all the help he could get at this point.

  Sera’s smile shone brighter than her sun crown. “She will.”

  40

  Agnes

  “WHERE’S YOUR BROTHER?” XAVIER ASKED AS THEY took their seats for the second act.

  “He came to tell me the girl was having a bit of a fit,” Agnes said, repeating the line they had practiced the night before. “He’s staying back there to keep her calm.”

  “Let’s hope he is capable of that,” Xavier muttered. Agnes felt it best to keep her mouth shut. She was not the liar Leo was.

  The lights dimmed and the curtain opened. She barely heard the lines being spoken onstage. Was Sera up there behind the top curtain right now? She hoped they could really trust this Francis person to leave her unchained on the swing. And besides that, would Errol actually be capable of breaking the glass ceiling?

  Agnes would not be around to see any of these questions answered. She waited and waited, fighting the urge to fidget, her hands clenched so tightly around her clutch that her fingers were starting to go numb.

  At long last, Grayson Riggs appeared onstage, unsheathed his sword, and challenged James to a duel.

  “Father,” Agnes whispered. He waved her off. “Father,” she said again more insistently.

  “What?” Xavier snapped.

  “I’ve got to use the restroom.”

  “You can wait until the show is over.”

  “No, I must go now. It’s . . .” Agnes steeled herself. “It’s my monthly cycle, Father.”

  All the color drained from Xavier’s face. She might as well have just confessed to murdering someone.

  “Go,” he said without looking at her. She hurried out of their box and rushed down the stairs to the foyer, wishing she could throw her arms up in triumph. How easy Kaolin men could be manipulated by a simple mention of “ladies’ matters.” When she’d relayed her idea to Leo, the look on his face was proof enough that it would work.

  The foyer was deserted except for the waiters cleaning up glasses and dirty plates and crumpled napkins. Agnes pushed through the doors and hurried past the hulking Pembertons, fanning her face as if to indicate she only needed some air. The dress did not allow for much movement, and she teetered in the stupid high heels Leo had made her wear until finally she reached the corner and turned.

  Her brother was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to be at the end of the block, but the block was empty. And not just of Leo, but of anyone. There were no people—but more importantly, there were no cars. She looked behind her and realized the block in front of the Maribelle was the same. She lifted her skirt and walked as quickly as her shoes would allow, passing two Pemberton guards beside the stage door and keeping her face averted.

  “All right, miss?” one of them asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice was high and breathy, and she did not stop walking until she reached the corner. The block behind the theater was empty too, but to her left she saw that it was because the police had cordoned off the area. There were crowds filling the surrounding streets. Her father must have someone in his pocket at the police department. There was no other way to explain the presence of so many officers.

  But that didn’t give her any clue as to where Leo was. She crossed the back of the theater, but there was no sign of him. What should she do? She didn’t believe he had simply left her—once she might have assumed it, but not anymore. He was as invested in this plan as she was.

  She walked down Fifty-First Street back toward Loxman Avenue and the main entrance to the theater. Perhaps she should try and find a car herself. She’d nearly reached the corner when Leo came running down Loxman from the north.

  “There you are,” she said. “Where have you—”

  “No cabs,” Leo gasped, panting as he leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “Some streets are filled with people, some with cars.” He gestured to the theater. “Fancy cars. Police. It’s a nightmare. We have to get to Oxbridge or maybe even Wellfleet Avenue. There’s no way a hansom can get through all those cops.”

  “But that would take us too much time, wouldn’t it?” And the police might recognize them. And the crowds might be too dense to get through. And . . . and . . . and . . .

  “Won’t Vada keep Sera safe until we get there?” Leo asked.

  “She doesn’t know who Sera is,” Agnes said miserably. “Oh, Leo, what do we do, what do we do?”

  She wrung her hands, cursing herself for not seeing this coming, for not being more prepared for any situation.

  “I don’t know,” Leo said. “But we’ve got to move. We can’t stay here or Father will—”

  “Can I help you two?” A Pemberton with broad shoulders and a nose that looked to have been broken more than once had approached them from the theater.

  Leo came to the rescue with a perfect lie. “I’m just looking for our car,” he said pompously. “The play was a bit too much for my sister. I think that horrid fish man frightened her. Frightened me too, if I’m honest. Have you seen that thing?”
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  “No,” the Pemberton said.

  “Well, I don’t recommend it. Old Xavier’s off his rocker if you ask me.”

  Agnes was wondering how long Leo could keep this up when a green motorcar pulled up to the curb. Eneas hopped out and circled around to open the back door for them.

  She stared at him in shock. Thankfully, Leo’s reactions were quicker than hers.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded. “We’ve been waiting a full five minutes.”

  “Apologies, sir,” Eneas said, bowing as Leo gripped Agnes’s arm and steered her into the back seat.

  “Well, take us home at once,” he said. “Good evening to you, sir,” he added to the Pemberton, who was watching them with far too suspicious an expression for Agnes’s liking.

  Eneas pulled away from the theater and waved at a police officer, who seemed to know him and allowed him past the barricade on Fiftieth Street. No one spoke until they had left Central Square and were driving through the smaller, residential streets of Graham Hill. Eneas headed straight to Seaview Drive, which wound along the shoreline and would take them directly to the Seaport.

  “How did you know?” Agnes asked. “That we needed help?”

  “I saw your brother running through the streets like the dickens and figured that whatever you two have been up to over the past week, it wasn’t working out the way you planned.” He gave her a wry look in the rearview—Agnes could feel her mouth hanging open.

  “You knew?” Leo asked, also looking astonished.

  Eneas chuckled. “I’ve known you two since the day you were born, and not in all that time have I ever seen you be anything but combative with each other. And then all of a sudden you talk together politely with no fights and no snapping?” He shook his head. “You are lucky your father hates to look at you,” he said to Leo. “Or he might have noticed as well.”

  The line of tension in Leo’s jaw stood out in sharp relief in the light of the gas lamps that lined the road.

  “And you,” Eneas continued, turning his attention to Agnes. “I heard there was a wealthy Kaolin girl at the Wolfshead talking to a Pelagan sailor. The Wolfshead, Agnes, of all places? Do you know how dangerous that was?”

  Shame crept into her belly, and embarrassment—she’d thought she was being clever, but really she stood out like a sore thumb.

  “I know,” she said. “One of Father’s men saw me.”

  “I’m not surprised. Thank the goddesses he did not lock you up immediately,” Eneas said. He eased the car past a slow-moving horse and cart. “I assume you booked passage to Pelago? Or did Ambrosine send a ship? You never told me what was in her letter.”

  “What let—” Leo began, but Agnes held up a hand to silence him.

  “She didn’t, but she wants to meet me. Someone at the university told her I had applied. She knew I was coming.”

  “What univer—”

  “In a second, Leo,” she said. “Eneas, we’re trying to get Sera—the girl Leo and I found in the plains—we’ve got to get her to Pelago. And Errol too, the mertag. They don’t deserve the fate Father has in store for them. And I want to help Sera get back to her home if I can, and we think the ruins are connected to her city somehow.”

  Eneas kept his eyes on the road, and she could tell he was debating what to say next.

  “And he is part of this?” he asked, glancing at Leo. “He is going against that man?”

  “I am,” Leo said, jutting out his chin.

  Eneas studied him in the mirror; then his face broke into a beaming smile. “Well,” he said, “perhaps you’ve got more of your mother in you after all.”

  At last they reached the Seaport, and Eneas pulled up to the docks.

  “What about you?” Agnes asked. “What if he finds out you helped us? Won’t you be in trouble?”

  He turned and set his warm brown eyes on her. “My dear, I made your mother a promise. I would watch over her children and make sure they were cared for, that they were loved. No matter what, she said. I have not always been able to honor that promise. But my oath is to you, not to him. I will not be staying in this hateful city. Do not worry about me.” He looked from Leo to Agnes, and when he spoke again, his voice was strained. “She would have been very proud of you both,” he said. “Very proud.” He cleared his throat. “Now off you go. Good luck. If you stop at Arbaz, drop my name at the market there. My sister can give you help if you need it. Her name is Phebe Ofairn.”

  “Thank you,” Agnes said. “Feados na thaeias dul leatsou.”

  He smiled. “May the goddesses go with you, too.”

  Leo opened the door, and they were about to get out when Eneas said, “One more thing.” He hesitated. “Be careful around your grandmother. I know you are eager to meet her, Agnes, but . . . try to see things as they are, not how you wish them to be. Now go!”

  They hurried out and shut the door. Eneas threw the car into drive and they watched the taillights vanish. The Seaport was not quite as busy as it was during the day, but there were far more people than normal for this time of night. Music and laughter could be heard from a nearby tavern. A drunk man stumbled past them, whistling. Agnes was suddenly very aware of her expensive gown and the money in her clutch. She tucked it under her arm and turned to Leo, who was staring up at the stars.

  “Look,” he said, pointing. “Aetheus’s Harem.”

  She smiled weakly. “The Knottle Plains feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded, still gazing at the constellation, and Agnes got the sense he was thinking of something else, something private.

  “She’s coming, right?” he said. “She’ll make it out. She’ll get here.”

  “Yes,” Agnes said, touching his arm and wondering if there was more to her brother’s devotion to this trip than a sudden burst of conscience. “She’s coming. Let’s get to the ship.”

  41

  Sera

  SERA WAITED ON THE SWING AS THE PLAY CONTINUED beneath her.

  She could still feel Leela’s moonstone in her hand, as if it’d left an imprint on her skin. It had always been warm, but this time when she touched it, it was hot, like the High Priestess’s hands. True to his word, Francis had helped her onto the swing and closed the iron bracelets but not locked them, so once she had been hoisted above the stage, it had been a simple matter of wriggling her wrists until she was able to slip free.

  Free. She clutched the chains tight—not because she was fearful of falling, but as a way to channel her nerves. Freedom was so close, but there was still much to be done. Her magic was like fire inside her, popping and crackling, as if it knew how crucial this moment was, that a time was approaching when she would be on her way to the tether.

  She peered beneath her as James and the man named Grayson pretended to fight with swords. She wondered what her life would be like in the City, if she were able to make it back, knowing now how she felt about males. She supposed it was better than thinking she was incapable of love. She would simply resign herself to a life without that sort of desire, those sorts of wants. But she would have her mothers back, and Leela, too. That would have to be enough.

  For some reason, Leo’s face popped into her head. The way he had bent his body toward her as a sign of respect. And he had brought the necklace back like he said he would. Not all males were terrible, she thought, even ones that had been at first. People could change, it seemed.

  The fight ended and Gwendivere came onstage. She and James had their argument and then she pretended to stab him.

  Here we go, Sera thought as her platform was lowered. Mother Sun, give me strength.

  There were shrieks and cries as she appeared, followed by thunderous applause. Sera didn’t understand what they were clapping for—she hadn’t done anything. Not yet at least. She felt one of Boris’s leaves caress her bare foot.

  I can do this.

  “Go, little sapling,” Boris whispered, and her branches bent back, then slammed into the swing, pushing Sera out o
ver the pond. The people watching gasped, but then Sera was swinging back over Boris, and suddenly, the air was filled with sprites. They spilled out of the earth like golden bees, sparking and twirling, darting this way and that, forming and re-forming, and the crowd went wild, getting to their feet to clap and stomp and whoop. James and Gwendivere stood by, stunned. Sera swung back through a cloud of shimmering sprites and yelled, “Now, Errol!”

  The mertag burst out of the pond, his skin a green glow, his arms raised toward her. She almost missed him but managed to grab one of his wrists as she fell back through the sprites and over Boris.

  Once more, she thought as Errol swung himself onto her back. She released his wrist and he clung to her tightly, his clawed fingers digging into her skin. He was a little heavier than she had expected. She leaned back to gain momentum and suddenly a cloud of sprites was behind her, pushing her forward with more speed. She kept her eyes focused on the upper balcony, a private box where only four people were seated.

  She sent up a final prayer, held her mothers’ faces close to her heart, and jumped. For five or six endless seconds, she was airborne and the freedom was exhilarating. She pointed her lithe body toward the balcony, her arms outstretched, and when her fingers closed around the polished wooden banister, she wanted to cry with joy. But there was no time for tears. Her body slammed into the front of the balcony, knocking the air from her lungs. She held on, determined, as all the sound around her dulled and sparks exploded in front of her eyes.

  Her breath returned in a sudden, painful gasp, and it was as if someone had turned up the volume louder than it had been before. People were crying out with uncertainty, shouting or cheering, as if unsure whether this was part of the show.

  “Go, Sera Lighthaven!” Errol cried. “The ceiling, the ceiling!”

  Sera gritted her teeth and pulled herself up. The people in the box were hysterical, one woman shrieking, “Get it away, get it away!”

  She shimmied to the wall, her hands sliding over the banister, until she reached the wooden carvings that adorned this part of the theater, making perfect handholds and footholds. She climbed up as easily as if she were back on the temple’s spire, and when she reached the ceiling, she turned and looked back.