by Heidi Heilig
His footsteps echo crisply across the inlaid floor, each step punctuating his displeasure. I glance at Theodora, unmoored, but her own expression is as hard as the marble tiles.
She starts after him, and I follow. The room is impossibly long, with more than a dozen arched windows looking out over a vast garden to the south. The opposite wall is lined with hundreds of mirrors, and the silvered glass—such a luxury!—reflects my image back to me like a mockery. I am bedraggled and out of place. When I reach the plush velvet couches, I hesitate to touch the soft cloth in my stained gown, but Theodora takes a seat opposite the king as though she had invited him.
“My goal is not to embarrass you, uncle,” she says firmly, though the way she’d made the avion circle above the growing crowd belies her claim. “My goal is to prevent a humanitarian crisis.”
“Alas, the deportation seems inevitable after your brother’s defeat in Le Verdu,” the king replies. “I have written to the Boy King, but he will not rescind his order. He has lost trust in the armée’s ability to protect his best interests against the rebellion, and so like many failed rulers, he is turning to populism to try to appease his people.”
“It isn’t inevitable,” Theodora says. “The rightful king is still trying to stop the deportation.”
“The rebel prince?” With an amused expression, the king leans forward to study the food laid out on the low table between us: delicate morsels of pastry, pungent cheese, and dried fruit scattered like gems on the tray. “I wish him better luck than he’s had ascending the throne.”
Theodora doesn’t take the bait. “If the Aquitans must be deported, let them go safely on ships meant for passengers.”
“The Prix de Guerre leaves in . . . two days, is it?” The king selects a tartlet. “Even my fastest ships couldn’t get to Chakrana in time.”
“I agree that it would have been preferable to send them sooner,” Theodora replies pointedly. “But with lives at stake, we must do all we can with the time we have. If you send them tonight, they can still meet the Prix de Guerre halfway.”
“My ships are bound for other ports,” the king says, taking a bite of the tart. The buttery crust flakes like nacre over his lap. “Our interests in Chakrana are not our only holdings, and far from our most profitable ones, these days. I swore months ago that the Prix de Guerre would be the last ship I sent to Chakrana.”
“Profit and promises mean nothing to Le Trépas!” The words tumble out of me—Le Roi’s reasoning makes me furious. Theodora shoots me another look, but I have to make her uncle understand. “He’s the one behind all of this, Your Majesty.”
“Le Trépas?” The king laughs, his voice tinged with scorn. “The great Chakran boogeyman. Someone can’t trip in Chakrana without it being Le Trépas’s fault. I must confess, I have no idea how such an unremarkable man became so feared, but I suppose superstition is native to your people.” He finishes the tart, then waves at the tray. “Try these, they’re very good.”
“Le Trépas—unremarkable?” I blink, taken aback, but Theodora interjects smoothly.
“You met him once, didn’t you?”
“Years ago. Of course, he was only known as Kuzhujan back then.” The king butchers the name as he reaches for a piece of cheese. “That was when he was still hungry for an alliance between us.”
“An alliance?” I am no politician, but it is hard to imagine Le Trépas wanting to ally himself with Le Roi. “Wasn’t there already one in place?”
“Between the King of Chakrana and myself, yes,” Le Roi says. “Unfortunately, the monk found the king’s rule too secular for his taste. Le Trépas felt he could do a better job on the throne, so he asked for my help ending the Alendra line. Of course, as Theodora knows, I cannot lend my support to an upstart,” Le Roi says with a pointed look at his niece. “No matter what he offers in return.”
It is clearly a barb—why doesn’t Theodora defend Camreon? Especially knowing that Le Roi had in fact ordered the deaths of King Alendra and his family, only to blame the murders on Le Trépas. The truth burns on my tongue, but Theodora’s careful expression reminds me to school my own. Politics is clearly a stage I am not yet used to, and I do not know my lines.
Leaning across the table, Theodora speaks softly. “What did Le Trépas offer you, uncle?”
“Oh, his gifts were quite princely,” the king says, inclining his head so the sapphire in his crown catches the light. A Chakran sapphire. What god’s eye had it once adorned? Still Theodora does not lose her focus.
“Did he give you anything else? A book, perhaps? It’s a traditional gift in Chakrana,” she lies smoothly. “Sometimes the contents are intended to be meaningful.”
The king laughs. “Fitting that the book was blank. Perhaps Le Trépas was smarter than he seemed.”
“Blank?” I frown—that can’t be right. “Can I see it?”
The king cocks his head at me, puzzled. “Why?”
“Superstition,” I shoot back, but he narrows his eyes.
“You must eschew such things,” Le Roi says, taking another piece of cheese from the tray. “They don’t do you or your people any favors. Especially in your new life in Lephare.”
“Lephare? No, uncle,” Theodora reminds him firmly. “As I said before, we’re going back, and I strongly request you reconsider sending ships. I don’t know what my . . . what the general has written to you, but Jetta is right. I don’t think his reports can be trusted.”
“Why not, Theodora?” The king’s expression softens, as though for the first time he is seeing his niece and not a fellow politician—or a rival. “You and Xavier used to hold each other in high regard.”
“There are . . . forces at work in Chakrana,” Theodora says carefully. “Forces that are difficult to explain. The book itself might shed some light on the matters. It’s one reason I came to speak to you in person.”
The king is still watching her with sympathy in his eyes. “What forces do you mean?”
Theodora hesitates, glancing at me, then back at the king. “There may be more to Chakran superstition than we used to think.”
Le Roi frowns at her, then at the cheese he’s holding. “This is troubling, Theodora,” he says, putting the cheese back on the tray. Then he brushes the crumbs from his lap and onto the thick carpet. “Let me think about what to do. We’ll discuss it further in the morning.”
“Another favor, uncle,” Theodora says as the king stands. “Jetta suffers from the same malady you do, though of course we don’t have Les Chanceux in Chakrana. I was hoping you’d be willing to give us some elixir.”
“Elixir?” The king looks from her, to me, then back. “That is a simpler request. I’m happy to grant it in exchange for a shadow play.”
“A play?” I bite my lip, frustrated—this should have been an easy bargain, but I haven’t put on a show in months now, and I am far from prepared. “All of my fantouches are back in Chakrana, Your Majesty.”
“I have an extensive collection to choose from,” he says, waving away my concerns. “I keep my best ones in the Salon des Merveilles.”
The words take me a moment to translate. “The Room of Wonders?”
“One of my treasuries. The book is there too,” he adds with a significant look at Theodora. “I can show you tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Theodora agrees, though I can see the impatience in her eyes. The king only smiles.
“If you’re as good as you say, Jetta, I’ll send you home with a ship as well, to carry your supply.” Le Roi gestures to the servants still standing by the hall, and they swing the doors open wide. I am eager to speak to Theodora in private, but to my surprise, the courtiers are still waiting outside, peering at us through the open doorway. “Show my guests to the Chakran suite,” Le Roi adds, and the servants race to obey. “And fetch them a flask of the water from Les Chanceux!”
I stiffen as a dozen voices echo his words: Les Chanceux, Les Chanceux. The courtiers must know what the water i
s for. Will they be speculating about me? About my malheur? The king might be cavalier about signing his own madness into his name, but of course he could afford to be. As the servant leads us through the crowd, I can feel eyes following me. When we finally turn down an empty hall, I have never been so relieved to be rid of an audience.
Act 2,
Scene 11
The square outside the Ruby Palace. In better days, visitors of state would parade past the tall stone statues—dragons and tigers, leaders and heroes, and birds that rise fully fledged from the gilded shells of stone eggs—and up the wide steps, where the carved doors, ten feet high, would be pushed open on silent hinges by guards in red uniforms.
Now the doors are shut tightly, and the guards are nowhere to be seen. Instead, Aquitans pack the square. Businessmen. Sugar barons. Plantation owners. Not men used to waiting on the wrong side of a locked door.
Some hold copies of the Boy King’s recent decree—the demand that all Aquitans leave the city on the next ship. Others have a different letter in their hands: the flyer making the case that all “Chakratans” must stay. It is an unfamiliar position to them. Never before had they considered they might not belong.
As CHEEKY and LEO skirt the edges of the plaza, the Aquitans eye them, suspicious. CHEEKY blows a kiss at a man in a suit, who glares and turns away. The showgirl sticks her tongue out at his back.
CHEEKY: I hate crowds.
LEO: You love crowds.
CHEEKY: I hate this crowd.
LEO: You can still go back to the opera house.
His tone is earnest, but she bristles.
CHEEKY: And leave you and Akra without any moral support?
She winks at another Aquitan businessman.
Or immoral support, as the case may be. But when they’re looking at me, they’re not looking at you.
Indeed, the Aquitans who eye LEO for his mixed features turn away quickly when CHEEKY returns their brazen stares. LEO ignores all of them, craning his neck to scan the crowd.
LEO: Do you see him?
CHEEKY: They’re up near the front.
CHEEKY points toward the steps of the palace, where AKRA and CAMREON lurk half hidden behind the statue of a dragon. LEO shakes his head.
LEO: I meant Xavier.
CHEEKY: Oh. Not yet. But—
Before she can finish her sentence, a shout rings out across the plaza.
AUDRINNE: Vive les Chakratans! Vive les Chakratans!
A ripple goes through the crowd as a carriage arrives, all polished ebony and gold detailing. BERTRAND AUDRINNE himself stands in the driver’s seat, wearing not a plantation suit but an old armée uniform, and chanting with the élan of someone half his age.
The crowd parts, cheering, as the horses stride to the center of the plaza. AUDRINNE reaches out as he sees familiar faces in the crowd.
AUDRINNE: Charles, so good to see you again. Albert, how is your cousin? Send her my best.
As AUDRINNE shakes hands, AKRA nudges CAMREON. Then he points to the back of the carriage, where a small boy stares out with frightened eyes.
AKRA: What kind of fool brings his child to a fight?
CAMREON: He might not expect a fight.
AKRA: Then he’s forgotten his time in the armée.
AKRA jerks his chin toward the rooftop of the Ruby Palace, where guards in red peer over the upswept eaves. Here and there, the afternoon sun glints off the barrels of their rifles. But CAMREON shakes his head.
CAMREON: I think he remembers it too well. The armée he knew would never hurt an Aquitan.
Reaching the steps, AUDRINNE yanks the reins, and the horses bluster as the carriage rolls to a stop. Turning to scan the crowd, AUDRINNE raises a hand to quell the chanting.
AUDRINNE: My compatriots! My fellows! My friends. It gives me heart to stand with you today!
A scattered cheer goes up, but AUDRINNE brings his hand to his chest.
How I wish it were under better circumstances.
The crowd mutters as AUDRINNE draws a paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he shows it to the crowd: the deportation decree.
“All foreigners must report to the capital for deportation.” Simple words for a rallying cry. But as a policy, so hard to understand. What is a foreigner, here in Nokhor Khat, where an Aquitan fort guards the harbor and our armée guards her people? What is a foreigner when most of Chakrana’s business is done through Aquitans, and Aquitan currency is used? I may have been born in Aquitan, but I have lived in Chakrana for more years than the Boy King has been alive. I am more familiar with the paddies than the plaza of Lephare. Can I truly be called a foreigner?
AUDRINNE pauses for the crowd to answer. Their responses drift to his waiting ears—“No!” Then he returns to the flyer.
“All foreigners must report to the capital.” But who are we to report to? The palace is shut tight, and the Boy King has refused any audiences. Perhaps because he knows he cannot explain his decree. I would ask him, am I a foreigner? Are we?
AUDRINNE points at his friends in the crowd.
Charles—you work in imports. You provide jobs at your warehouses, not to mention brandy and fine clothing to all of us locals. Albert, you own several silk plantations in the mountains, and the economy there relies on your business. And in La Sucrier, my fields and my wife are waiting for me to come home.
The thought makes the crowd stir again. Not all of them have lived in Chakrana as long as AUDRINNE, but they have all carved a place for themselves here—some of them with knives. As AUDRINNE looks out over their heads, he catches sight of LEO.
What of the moitié? Is he a foreigner too? Where will he go?
AUDRINNE points, and the crowd turns to gawk at him. LEO stiffens, putting his head down, but CAMREON has already seen him. He swears under his breath.
AKRA: You can say that again.
Standing on tiptoe, he meets CHEEKY’s eye across the crowd and mouths the words.
Go back to the theater!
CHEEKY replies with the same exaggerated expressions.
CHEEKY: Make me!
Now AKRA is the one to swear. CAMREON waves him off.
CAMREON: Go. Get them out of here.
AKRA nods, pushing through the crowd and working his way around the square. But AUDRINNE has already turned back to his audience.
How can any of us be foreigners when we are a vital part of Chakrana? How can the Boy King expect us to abandon our responsibilities? Chakrana depends on us. Our businesses, our management, our money. If we go back to Aquitan, it all goes with us! And so I stand with you, to declare our right to stay.
The crowd murmurs as AUDRINNE draws the silver pistol from his belt, and the afternoon sun gleams on the epaulets on his old uniform.
And if the Boy King thinks otherwise, he must tell us to our faces why we do not belong!
Marching up the steps of the Ruby Palace, AUDRINNE uses the butt of the gun to knock on the door. The sound echoes in the hall beyond, but there is no answer from inside.
Meanwhile, AKRA continues around the restless crowd, as CAM checks his pocket once again for the pen filled with blood.
The crowd too is waiting for the Boy King. AUDRINNE raises his pistol and knocks again. As he steps back, the door begins to creak open at last. The crowd presses closer, but it is GENERAL LEGARDE who steps out from the palace.
LEO’s face goes pale. He grabs CHEEKY’s hand.
LEO: That’s Xavier.
When AUDRINNE sees LEGARDE, the man smiles tightly.
AUDRINNE: General. I am Lieutenant Bertrand Audrinne, and I am here to see the king.
LEGARDE looks at him with bright blue eyes, and his voice is pitched to carry over the crowd.
LEGARDE: The king is not accepting visitors. Now please. All Aquitans must report to the Prix de Guerre.
The crowd mutters, and AUDRINNE is taken aback. LEO’s own face falls, though it is hard to tell if he is disappointed or relieved.
LEO: No . . . not Xavier.
CHEEKY: How can you tell?
LEO: His accent. Xavier’s own Aquitan was flawless.
CHEEKY squeezes his hand, trying to comfort him. Then she spies AKRA making his way toward them.
CHEEKY: Akra’s coming to scold us. Should we go back to the theater?
LEO: Not yet.
He cranes his neck to keep an eye on XAVIER as AUDRINNE draws himself up.
AUDRINNE: As an officer and a veteran, I demand the Boy King explain how he can turn his back on us.
LEGARDE: It is not your place to ask for an explanation from the king.
AUDRINNE’s eyes widen; he is incensed.
AUDRINNE: My place? My place is in my sitting room, enjoying my brandy. Which I could do if you had known your own place and held the line. In fact . . .
The rest of his objection is lost in the sudden murmur that ripples through the crowd. The palace door is opening again, and a cold voice drifts out.
RAIK: Alas, your place is in fact aboard the Prix de Guerre.
Hidden behind the statue, CAMREON tenses as his own brother walks through the door. The last time he’d seen RAIK, the Boy King was lying motionless and bloody outside Le Trépas’s empty cell. Now RAIK looks pale and sallow but very much alive, and his familiar eyes are a warm brown.
As the Boy King approaches AUDRINNE, CAM pulls the pen from his pocket.
RAIK: You have no right to ask me anything. But perhaps grief has driven you mad. So in deference to your tragic loss, I will tell you to your face: go back to Aquitan.
AUDRINNE steps back, confused, and the crowd murmurs.
AUDRINNE: What loss?
RAIK: Your wife was killed last week when rebel forces overran your house.
AUDRINNE: My . . . wife?
RAIK: Perhaps you should have brought her to the ship as my decree suggested. But you can still save your son. Get to the Prix de Guerre. Those of you who stay will regret it soon enough.
His face red, his eyes lost, AUDRINNE turns to LEGARDE.
AUDRINNE: What do you plan to do about this?