by Heidi Heilig
“Theodora and I were worried about you,” I say, but he snorts.
“Me, or Leo?”
I can’t help myself; at the mention of Leo’s name, my heart quickens. “Both of you. Have you found him yet?”
“We’re together in the cabin of the Prix de Guerre,” Akra says, and I sag in relief.
“He’s alive,” I say, and behind me, Theodora sighs.
“Thank the gods,” she says. “And . . . Xavier?”
I repeat the question to Akra, but he hesitates before answering. “The general is beyond the monk’s reach,” my brother says at last, and I can’t help the relief that I feel. I have no sympathy for Xavier Legarde, but the horror of seeing him raised was not easy for Leo or Theodora. “Unfortunately, the rest of us aren’t so lucky.”
My relief vanishes. “What happened?”
“The ship has left port,” Akra says slowly. “Le Trépas is aboard.”
“Probably coming to find me,” I say. “I got a note from him.”
Akra’s response is careful. “What did it say?”
“He told me he had Leo,” I say. “I’m glad to know he’s safe with you.”
“Right,” Akra says, his voice gruff. His tone gives me pause, but behind me, Theodora leans close over my shoulder.
“Is that the ship there?” The girl points at a dark tide on the horizon—the soulless depth of a bottomless hole—and I see it too now. The Prix de Guerre. But there are lights on the bow—a few torches, gleaming. That must be what drew Theodora’s eye. In the flickering light, I can make out the silhouettes of people gathered there. Theodora lowers her hand. “What are they doing?”
“I’m not sure.” Speeding toward the ship, the souls around me fall away, too afraid of Le Trépas to follow. I try to make out the scene in the dark—the white water like a wake before the ship, the figures struggling on the bow. Then I gasp as a man falls, arms windmilling, into the dark water. “They’re pushing people off the ship?”
“Where are you?” Akra says, confusion in his voice.
“I can see the Prix de Guerre,” I say, my heart pounding—the monk is there too, on the bow. “I can see Le Trépas.”
“I thought you were still in Aquitan!” Akra’s own voice is panicked, but I am staring in horror as the soldiers drag another man to the bow.
“No . . .” Despite the smell of salt spray and the wind in my face, for a moment, I am back in the paddies at Malao. But this prisoner is alive—for now. He struggles as they tie a harness around his waist. “I’m here,” I say through my teeth. “I’m going to stop him.”
“But what’s the plan?” Akra’s voice is sharp. “You can’t just rush in again!”
Trying to focus, I tear my eyes away from the soldiers. “Theodora, you stay with the griffin,” I say, loud enough for both her and Akra to hear. “Take the book to Nokhor Khat. I’ll get to the ship and deal with Le Trépas.”
“Just like that?” Akra snorts again. “There are no souls here for you to use. You don’t even have a gun, do you?”
“Don’t you?”
“Me and the other dead soldiers,” Akra says. I grit my teeth, but my thoughts have scattered again, fleeing like the spirits as we draw ever closer to Le Trépas. A gun won’t work, anyway. How will I kill a man with no soul? I have to find his soul first—bring it back to his body. That’s what the Keeper told me. Where would Le Trépas have hidden it? I had thought we’d have more time to figure it out.
Something nags at the back of my mind . . . something like the answer. Know your enemy and know yourself. I know Le Trépas, don’t I? I should know this.
Then, in a flash—clarity. I don’t need to know where it is. The monk himself had taught me how to find it: how to rip old souls from fresh bodies. How to call them back from wherever they’d gone. All I need is a drop of his blood.
“Does the cabin door lock?” I call to Akra.
“It should,” he replies.
“Can you shoot him, then shut yourselves inside?”
“Of course,” my brother says. “But it won’t kill him, will it?”
I scoff, disbelieving. “You sound worried that it might.”
“No,” Akra says quickly. “It’s just . . . the door won’t hold forever.”
“All I need is his blood,” I say. “It won’t take long.”
“You sound a lot more sure than I feel,” Akra says, and I can’t help but smile.
“I’m playing my role,” I say. “Can you play yours?”
“I have four bullets left. Just give me the cue. Wait,” he says then, hesitating. “Leo wants me to tell you something.”
“Leo?” I say, my heart quickening. At my back, Theodora stiffens. “What is it?”
“He says . . . he says he finished your song.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
Behind me, Theodora taps me on the shoulder. “Tell my brother I love him, will you?”
“Theodora sends Leo her love,” I say to Akra, and my own brother groans.
“I’m more ready to die than ever,” he says, and I laugh again. Then I push the griffin down toward the ship.
The night is deep, the moonlight thin, but if the monk were only to look up, he would surely see us silhouetted against the sky. But he is too focused on the soldiers’ work at the bow, so I take a deep breath and call out in my best stage voice. “Le Trépas!”
His eyes flash white in the dark as he sees me, but Akra knows a cue when he hears one. At the stern, the cabin door swings wide. Over the sound of the waves, a gunshot rings out, then another. Le Trépas stumbles, falling to one knee. The monk whirls, furious, sending his soldiers toward the cabin as Akra ducks back inside and shuts the door. The dead men crowd close, hammering at the door with bloody hands.
If they can break through to the cabin, I have no doubt they’ll tear my brother and Leo to pieces. I need to hurry. Pushing the griffin lower, I leap from her back, rolling as I land. When I gain my footing, I catch a glimpse of Theodora’s pale face as the skeletal beast carries her off. “Keep her safe,” I shout as the creature wheels away. “Take her to Nokhor Khat!”
At the sound of my voice, Le Trépas turns. Blood trickles from his side, and from a wound on his right leg; my brother is a good shot. Still, there is a smile on his face, as though he can’t feel the pain. Can he feel anything? He takes a step toward me, leaving a scarlet footprint behind him. “Did you think a bullet could stop me?” Le Trépas drags his fingers through his own blood. “Not even the old general made that mistake.”
I take a breath, stepping back, staying out of reach. “I only wanted to know if the rumors are true,” I call. “If you’re really immortal.”
“I told you once that I could give you the powers of the gods,” the monk says, taking another step. “You didn’t believe me.”
“I believe you now,” I say, letting fear creep into my voice. My eyes flick from his face to the open threat of his bloody hands. I need his blood for my plan to work—but I’m sure he wants mine too. “What do you want from me?”
“I want your help, of course,” the monk says, as though the answer is obvious.
“To defeat the Aquitans?” I circle as I back away, trying not to get trapped against the curve of the bow.
“That’s only the beginning,” he replies, creeping ever closer. The blood on his fingers gleams wetly in the torchlight. “Just imagine how powerful we could be. Life and death, hand in hand.”
Life and death. What of knowledge? Know your enemy . . . I shake my head, trying to clear it. I have to focus. The monk is so close. I can read the tattoos that spill over his shoulders and down his bare arms: death, death, death, death. I have to be brave; I need that blood. So I plant my feet. “You want to work together?”
Reaching out, I take his hand, as if to shake it, Aquitan style, but he seizes my wrist so hard that my bones grind together. “In a manner of speaking,” the monk hisses. “With my soul in your skin.”
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“What?” I can’t help but recoil at his words, but his grip is too tight to escape. Under my fingers, his blood is warm, sticky. Frantically, I trace a mark on his wrist. I know he feels it. The monk quirks an eyebrow. Then he grins, drawing me close enough to whisper in my ear.
“Did you think your own blood could pull out my soul?” He draws a knife from his belt, the blade long and wicked. “I am not one of your puppets, child.”
“I know,” I say, my heart hammering in my chest as I twist in his grip. Does he mean to kill me here and now? “The Keeper told me,” I say, trying to stall. “I found the book in Aquitan. Forbidden magic. Stolen blood.”
“So you know the spell?” Le Trépas cocks an eyebrow, the knife still high. “Life, death, and knowledge. And now, two of those gods will exist in one body,” he adds. I cringe away, but his grip is too strong to break. “I always envied the power in the Maiden’s blood.”
“I didn’t use my blood this time!” The blade shines in the moonlight, but as my words sink in, Le Trépas hesitates. Then he looks down at the symbol on his other wrist: not death, but life, traced out in his own red blood.
His eyes widen, and now he is the one to recoil. Releasing me, he drops the knife to scrub at the symbol. I stumble back out of reach, breathing hard. Will the magic work? Le Trépas seems to think so, but as I search the wide sky, there is no light but the moon. Then I see it, on the horizon—a blue glow, far away but speeding closer, faster than a falling star. Blue as a flame, blue as the ocean, blue as the heart of a sapphire. As I watch Le Trépas’s soul returning, I suddenly know where he must have hidden it for so many years. The crown jewel had winked as I held it in my hands just hours ago. Before I had left it with Le Roi, just as Le Trépas had.
The monk follows my eyes, and the color leaves his face. “What did you do?”
“I gave you life,” I say. “We’ve seen enough death, don’t you think?”
The monk shows his teeth, his face ghastly in the light of his own spirit. Then he staggers backward as it pours into him like water into an empty vessel.
Le Trépas’s back arches, taut as a violin string. Then he crumples like a page as the blue light fades, and blood pours afresh from his wounds. But he isn’t dead—not yet. Slumped on the deck, he lifts his head to glare at me, his eyes a vengeful blue. Then he pushes himself to his feet, the knife still clenched in his fist.
“Kill her!” he shouts, and as one, the dead soldiers turn from the cabin door, their dead eyes fixed on me.
Act 3,
Scene 27
In the captain’s cabin. LEO sits on the floor, his hands and feet bound once more, this time by AKRA. Now AKRA leans against the door, holding it shut against the dead outside. Suddenly, LE TRÉPAS’s voice echoes across the deck.
LE TRÉPAS (offstage): Kill her!
The pounding stops, followed by a storm of trampling feet racing across the deck. AKRA sags against the door, breathing hard, but LEO’s face goes white as he begins to tug at his bonds.
LEO: Akra? What’s happening?
AKRA cracks open the door, peering outside.
AKRA: Le Trépas is on his knees. But the soldiers . . . she’s going to be surrounded.
AKRA flings the door wide, but LEO’s voice stops him before he can race to JETTA’s aid.
LEO: Shoot him, Akra!
AKRA: What?
Shocked, AKRA turns to LEO, only to find him struggling against the already frayed ropes.
Leo—
LEO: He gave an order. I—ah!
Gritting his teeth, LEO pulls his hands free of the rope; fantouches are so strong. Fighting the command, his hands shake as he starts to undo the knots at his ankles. Still, AKRA hesitates, unsure whether to stop LEO or save JETTA as the soldiers close in.
Shoot him, please!
AKRA: It might not kill him.
LEO: You have to try.
AKRA: But it might kill you!
LEO: Better me than her!
As the ropes fall away, LEO pushes himself to his feet, stumbling toward the door. AKRA grabs him by the wrist, trying to hold him back with one hand. In the other, he raises his gun, aiming at LE TRÉPAS, but his eyes are on LEO’s face.
LEO speaks slowly through his teeth.
Shoot him. Save her.
From outside, JETTA’s voice rings out.
JETTA: Akra!
Swearing, AKRA sights down the barrel and fires once, twice. Through the open door, he sees LE TRÉPAS stumble and fall, and the soldiers around him drop to the deck like the fruit of a poisoned tree.
Then AKRA turns, just in time to catch LEO as he too falls lifeless to the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Le Trépas’s soul is surprisingly bright.
It gleams on the deck, casting long shadows behind me. All around, other souls rise from the corpses of the soldiers, until the fading night glows bright as noon.
My body feels like it’s floating too. I can’t feel my feet. Is this what death feels like? But I am alive. It’s hard to believe.
“Akra?” My brother is the one who saved me. Now he stumbles out of the cabin at my call. His face is a mask of relief—and something else. “Akra!”
“Jetta!” He’s running toward me, his gun jammed in his belt. When he wraps his arms around me, he smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder, but he is undeniably alive as well. The comfort of that calms my racing heart, bringing me back to the ground. I don’t know how long we stand that way, but when he finally pulls back, I can feel my feet again.
Then I look around the deck. “Where’s Leo?”
My brother doesn’t answer, so I look past him to the cabin. There, in the doorway, the golden light of another soul is gleaming.
My heart drops. I stumble closer, tripping over the bodies of the soldiers and falling to my knees. I try to get back up, but my legs are too unsteady, so I scramble closer on my hands. I can see his face long before I reach his side: Leo lying there, still, on the floor.
I sit back on my heels. The numb feeling has returned. It moves up my legs to my stomach, my heart, my head, swallowing me whole. Is this what death feels like? I thought I had survived, but now I’m not so certain.
“Jetta . . .” Akra’s voice. He has followed me to the cabin, but I don’t dare turn. I don’t want to see him. “Le Trépas had already killed him by the time I got here. Are you . . . going to bring him back?”
My entire body tenses at the question. I look down at my bloody hands. I could do it. It wouldn’t even hurt him. With no wounds, there would be nothing to heal. Just a gentle ushering, a whispered word, an open door. The mark of life—like the one he wore on his shoulder. But I can’t bring myself to answer my brother’s question.
“Leave me alone,” I say instead.
Akra hesitates—fighting the order—before he walks away.
He cannot disobey.
Act 3,
Scene 29
Dawn breaks over the Ruby Palace. Corpses litter the plaza—lying where they fell when LE TRÉPAS died. But as the griffin circles, THEODORA spies familiar faces below.
THEODORA: Camreon! Cheeky!
The two of them look up as THEODORA comes in for a landing. CHEEKY and TIA still wear their fine dresses, but CAMREON has changed into a pair of fine trousers and a white shirt. The outfit belonged to his brother, but the crown on his head was always supposed to be his.
Sliding from the griffin’s back, THEODORA’s legs shake as she races into CAMREON’s arms. They hold each other tight as CHEEKY and TIA look on.
THEODORA: I’m so glad you’re safe.
CHEEKY: Get a room.
TIA: They’ve got a whole palace.
THEODORA pulls back, looking around at the bodies, lying so still in the dawn light.
THEODORA: Is the palace . . . secure?
CAMREON: It is. From what I can see, Jetta found Le Trépas.
THEODORA nods.
There aren’t many living soldiers left, but those wh
o remain seem loyal to their paychecks. And I’ve sent word to my local contacts. They’re gathering in the throne room.
THEODORA: And Raik?
CHEEKY interjects.
CHEEKY: Succumbed to his wounds.
CAMREON gives her a look, then puts his hand over his brow.
CAMREON: I’ll tell you the whole story when there’s more time. Is the Prix de Guerre safe?
THEODORA: I didn’t stay to watch.
She hesitates, chewing her lip. Then she looks down to the book she holds.
Perhaps the Keeper can tell us how it ended.
CAMREON’s eyes widen.
CAMREON: That’s the Book of Knowledge?
In spite of herself, THEODORA smiles tightly.
THEODORA: It’s been hidden in Aquitan for years. As soon as we’re able, we can bring it back to the temple at Kwai Goo. It takes ink rather than blood. Do you have a pen?
CAMREON: Inside. Come.
Leaving the griffin on the plaza, the rebels return to the palace to look for ink and answers. They do not like what they learn.
Chapter Thirty
It takes me some time to realize the boat is moving. When I do, I stand, feeling dizzy. Crossing the cabin, my feet feel like stones.
Passing through the doorway, I find a crowd on the deck. The Aquitans have emerged from below, hungry, tired, shivering from their ordeal—but they are alive.
There are souls here too, glimmering: the armée soldiers that Le Trépas had animated. Le Trépas’s own soul must be somewhere among them. Should I find him? Trap him? Keep him from being reborn?
No—the Keeper had spoken of balance, and if a servant exists for the Maiden, one must exist for the King. Besides, I won’t live forever, and my death would free his soul if I trapped it. Better to let it go now, while I’m here to keep watch.
His body has been piled with the rest of them: the soldiers who had fallen, and the ones who had been thrown overboard to pull the ship. They’ll be burned properly once we return to shore.
At some point, the ship had turned around. Now, we are close enough to Nokhor Khat that I can make out figures waiting at the dock. The crowd parts around me as I walk toward the bow. Akra is there, but he avoids my gaze, keeping his distance. A single long chain leads into the water. There is the dragon, toying with the swirling waves as she tows us into the harbor.