“Until we meet again.” Remembering his old promise, I wrap my own arms around him, more tightly than I ought to, but it’s easy to ignore the pain in my ribs for the pounding of my heart. We are interrupted by the sound of Theodora clearing her throat, and for a moment I wonder if I can let Leo go.
But his sister taps her foot in the doorway, arms crossed. “Ready?”
“No,” Leo says lightly, and when he pulls away, it feels like my heart is going with him. Are those tears in his eyes? He dashes them away with his free hand, still smiling. “But it’s time to go anyway.”
As he slips his fingers from my grasp, I open my hand to let him. He grabs his violin case, lifting it in a salute, and disappears down the hall.
With a sigh, I sit back against the velvet arm of the settee. Then I catch sight of Theodora. When she sees me looking, she turns away quickly, but I’ve already seen the tears in her eyes. “You can likely still catch him, if you have more to say.”
“Nothing I say can make my brother less a monster,” she says stiffly, and suddenly every muscle in my body is tense.
“Leo is not a monster.” My voice is a low growl, but Theodora only shakes her head.
“I wasn’t talking about Leo.”
As Theodora wipes her eyes with her wrist, I look at her anew. She hasn’t been herself the last few weeks; then again, neither have I. But I know why she is coming with me to the mine, rather than going to Nokhor Khat with the others. Hard enough for her when Xavier died the first time.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I say at last, but the girl only grimaces, gesturing to the floral-patterned dressing on my ribs.
“You’re bleeding again. Let me change your bandage and get you more painkiller.”
I sit back in silence. As she ministers to my wound, I stare at the painting of Les Chanceux—the lovely women, the sapphire pool—and I know what it’s like to mourn something you never really had to begin with.
Dear Maman and Papa,
It is strange, in a way, to join the rebellion only to resurrect a tradition I started while in the armée. But writing to you before a mission has always been a comfort, and while most of my letters never found their way home, I did, eventually. So I thought I would continue the tradition. Just in case.
We’re traveling to Nokhor Khat tonight to stop the deportation of the Aquitans. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write, but Camreon hopes that the Aquitans will join us if we pull them out of the fire. With Le Trépas on the loose, quite a few of the rebels have disappeared back into the jungle. I can’t blame them for being afraid—for trying to protect their families. I would do anything to protect ours. But with no armée at his back, Camreon is a paper tiger.
Jetta will not be coming with us. Before you worry, she is well enough. Before you call me a liar, she has been better. Cheeky actually suggested sending her home so you could keep an eye on her, but I don’t dare mention the idea to Jetta. After all, she’s practically the only thing that can kill me.
This way, at least, she’s out of the fray. Theodora is taking her to find her elixir. Don’t worry—I will keep in touch with her our usual way. I’m also going to send Miu to you. You remember the fantouche Jetta ensouled? There is no way to bring her with us, and you could use the company. And this way, if you don’t hear from us for a little while, you can watch the fantouche, and know that Jetta’s still alive as well.
As for me, you’ll just have to keep your fingers crossed.
I’m joking. I’ll be fine, and with any luck, this will all be over soon. The next time I write, it will likely be with an invitation to toast the new king in Nokhor Khat, and tickets to a show at the Royal Opera. Then we can all take turns watching out for Jetta. Until then, she and I will look out for each other.
Your son,
Akra
Act 1,Scene 5
The rebels have spent most of the night on dragonback to travel from Malao to Nokhor Khat. Now the moon is setting, and the rainy-season drizzle masks the fading stars. The dragon slips easily through the tattered clouds. Though her once-white bones are singed and blackened, and the tip of her long tail is missing, her soul is as strong as ever.
From his vantage point astride her neck, CAMREON steers her in a wide circle around the capital. LEO keeps glancing back north, while AKRA grimly refuses to look down. CHEEKY and TIA peer eagerly at the city as their silk sarongs ripple in the wind.
Nokhor Khat sits in the broken bowl of an old caldera. Jungle lines the northeast slopes, and the Hundred Days Sea pours into a protected bay to the south. The dark mass of the fort looms over the water, ostensibly to protect the Ruby Palace and the old temple of Hell’s Court, but the Aquitan stronghold had always seemed more like a threat.
Artillerie lines the parapets, but the guns are unmanned, and the once-busy harbor now cradles a single ship: the Prix de Guerre, which had carried weapons and warbirds from Aquitan. Now she waits, empty and quiet like most of the city.
TIA: When I was here last, Nokhor Khat was full of light.
LEO: It’s three in the morning.
TIA: Precisely when you need light most.
The showgirl shakes her head in mock disappointment. The passing breeze ruffles her short black hair; it’s grown a little in the three months since she last saw the city. Back then, she’d
