She raises a hand to her forehead, rubbing away the mark I had made. Then she sits down beside the altar, her back against the stone, and beckons me closer. Taking my bloody hand in her own, she traces the mark of death on her own skin. Her body sags sideways as her soul bursts free.
Gently I lay the monk’s wrinkled hand in her lap, stepping back just as Theodora turns from her pacing. “We have to go to Aquitan,” she says, but I had already guessed she would say so.
“We came here for the elixir,” I remind her.
She raises an eyebrow. “There’s elixir at Les Chanceux.”
I chew my lip, but in truth, I cannot muster many other objections. Our friends are in Nokhor Khat, and the fight there still draws me, but Le Trépas lurks behind it all like a shadow. If he wants me to come to the capital, even I know it is wiser to stay away and to gather what knowledge we can.
Before we leave the temple, we grant the monk’s last request. Theodora empties the accelerant from the reservoirs of the flamethrower, and we burn the corpse as the akela looks on. Then, as the wind in the tunnels clears the smoke, we return to the avion.
By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, the tide has begun to rise around the warbird’s bronze feet, and she shakes the salt spray from her wings as she takes to the dawn sky. As the shore of my country fades into the distance, my heart is racing again—not with the thrill of flight, but the thrill of what’s over the horizon.
Act 2
Act 2,Scene 9
Afternoon in the Royal Opera House. The previous king commissioned it in imitation of the one in Lephare, but the Aquitan-style decor doesn’t hold up to Chakran humidity. The brass chandeliers are tarnished, and there is a musty smell in the red velvet curtains. The stage is still set for the last show: a romance performed in celebration of the Boy King’s coronation. Now dust gathers on the wide boards, and the painted backdrop is fading; the air that once shook with laughter and applause is still and stale but for the gentle sound of LEO’s violin.
He sits cross-legged on the stage, plucking at the strings of the instrument in his lap. Every few notes, he stops to pull the pencil from behind his ear and scribble on the sheaf of staff paper beside him. TIA and CHEEKY look on from the audience as they share a jar of pickled eggs. Both girls have clearly found the costume shop, taking the opportunity to change out of their damp trousers and into ruffled dresses, along with, in TIA’s case, a lush auburn wig.
TIA: You know I love your music, Leo, but if you’re hungry, you better hurry. Cheeky is eating all the pickled eggs.
LEO: I just want to finish the chorus.
He plucks out another few notes.
CHEEKY: Are you going to play it for Ellisia?
LEO: No.
LEO chuckles as he marks the notes on the page.
It’s a love song.
CHEEKY turns to TIA.
CHEEKY: Maybe Tia can sing it to her, then.
TIA: I told you, Ellisia is not the girl I meant. The innkeeper’s daughter is tall and graceful. With the darkest skin and eyes like . . . like . . .
CHEEKY: Pickled eggs?
TIA takes off her wig and throws it at CHEEKY, who cackles. AKRA lifts his head from the back of the velvet chair. The armée cap he found in the costume shop falls away from his face.
AKRA: Some of us are trying to get some rest.
TIA: I thought you didn’t need to sleep.
AKRA: I wouldn’t if you all weren’t so exhausting.
Lifting the cap once more, he puts it back over his eyes. Then he snatches it away and stands, his hand going to his gun at the sound of the theater door creaking.
Who’s there?
CAMREON (offstage): It’s only me.
AKRA relaxes as CAM appears at the end of the aisle, one of the protest flyers in his hand.
Has Ellisia come by?
CHEEKY: We’re still waiting. What’s that?
CAMREON approaches, holding out the flyer. CHEEKY takes it, puzzling out the Aquitan words.
CAMREON: It’s posted everywhere downtown.
CHEEKY: Do they actually think it will work?
CAMREON: If I was Raik, I would respond.
CHEEKY: What if you were Le Trépas?
CAMREON makes a face.
CAMREON: The response would be a little different. But with the palace locked up tight and guards at all the doors, it’s my best chance to see Raik in person.
His hand drifts to his pocket, as though to confirm that the fountain pen containing Jetta’s blood is still close at hand.
With any luck, this will be over in a few hours.
TIA raises an eyebrow, then turns to CHEEKY.
TIA: Give me back my wig, will you? If I’m going to die surrounded by Aquitans, at least let me do it with good hair.
A smile ghosts across CAMREON’s face.
CAMREON: Akra and I will be going alone. A larger group of Chakrans would call too much attention. Besides, I need someone to stay here and wait for Ellisia.
AKRA sighs as he stands, brushing the wrinkles out of the costume-shop uniform, and LEO looks up from his violin.
LEO: I’m coming too. To look for my brother.
CAMREON: Xavier isn’t your brother anymore, no more than Raik is mine. And if something goes wrong, I expect the rest of you to pull us out of the fire. You still have your supply of blood?
LEO draws the fountain pen out of his pocket with a flourish.
Good. If we’re not back by nightfall, I’d appreciate it if you came looking. If Ellisia does show up, ask her to wait till we return.
TIA: She’ll charge by the hour.
CAMREON: We’ll go as fast as we can.
TIA: That’s what they all say.
AKRA chuckles as they slip out of the theater, but CHEEKY watches them go, her face troubled. When she hears
