CHEEKY: We’re following them, aren’t we?
LEO: Of course not.
He jumps off the edge of the stage onto the dusty carpet.
They’ll see us if we try, and we already know where they’re going. We’ll take the long way to the plaza.
Chapter Ten
It is past sunset by the time we see Lephare glimmering on the horizon. Like Nokhor Khat, the capital of Aquitan sits at the mouth of a river that flows into the Hundred Days Sea, but as we approach, the differences become much clearer.
Instead of the organic sweep of the streets in Chakrana, this city grows outward from the docks in a strange geometry—almost crystalline, with straight roads that break suddenly around gemlike buildings. At home, the nights are lit by a patchwork of torches and lanterns, cookfires and electric bulbs, but here, lamps line the thoroughfares at regular intervals—fire and glass, like the souls of diamonds. In Chakrana, roofs are made of thatch or colorful tile that turns up at the eaves, but the buildings in Lephare are topped with steely slate, like stone scales, and it seems that every window is covered not with carved screens or shutters, but glass.
Is it to keep out the chill? The night air here is so different from the warm humidity I am used to. Now the long sleeves of my borrowed Aquitan dress make more sense. I wrap my arms around myself as we circle the city. “Are you looking for a place to land?” I say at last, shivering, but Theodora shakes her head.
“I’m counting the ships in the harbor.” She points at a veritable forest of masts and smokestacks. “There are more than enough to safely transport the refugees from Chakrana.”
“Xavier must have told your uncle that the Prix de Guerre was sufficient,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“He may have,” she says. “But my uncle should know better than that.”
“Le Roi Fou—the Mad King?” I say, raising an eyebrow, but Theodora gives me a look.
“You should know that the malheur you share doesn’t make you forget facts.”
“Not exactly,” I agree. “But it can make you ignore them. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.”
“We’ll know soon enough, I suppose.” Theodora’s frown is skeptical, but as she turns the avion away from the docks, my heart quickens. I must admit, I am eager to meet the Mad King of Aquitan. All I know about him are the stories I’ve been told—his love of shadow plays, his use of Les Chanceux. What is he like in person, this man who openly shares my malheur, who has found a way to manage it, along with an entire kingdom? When Theodora points at a cluster of grand buildings along the curve of the river, I lean out of the avion to get a better look. “There it is,” she says. “The palais du roi.”
I cock my head, trying to make sense of the profusion of slate roofs and tall chimneys ahead. How can Theodora pick it out? “I thought you hadn’t been here in years.”
“I’m a general’s daughter,” she says. “I’ve studied the maps.”
“I’ve only seen the paintings,” I say, but as we approach the city center, another building catches my eye, wreathed in smokeless flame.
It is the cathedral of Lephare, illuminated by the fire of a thousand souls. Light flickers around the famed spire and gleams through a stained-glass window bigger than a rice barn. As we swoop closer, I can see that every glass pane is intact, as are all the carvings—monstrous faces and men in robes with flowers at their feet. I stare, half in awe, half in jealousy. I have never seen a temple so unspoiled.
But as we pass over the cathedral, light gives way to shadow in a pit like a scar on the earth. Along a low wall that edges the street, mounds of dank soil are piled high and scattered with shovels and barrows and broken boards. “What’s that?” I say, pointing—the muddy hole seems so out of place in the city center.
“It looks like one of my uncle’s public health initiatives,” Theodora says as we circle lower. “He’s excavating the boneyards across the city center.”
“Boneyards?” I shudder at the thought of planting the dead in the earth, like rotting fruit. “You mean graves?”
“Thousands of them,” Theodora confirms. “Lephare is an old city, with far more dead than living. Whenever it rains, bodies practically climb from the cemeteries. My uncle often complained about the smell in his letters,” she adds, and my stomach turns at the memory of the dead man in the rice paddy. “I actually suggested once that he burn them, but apparently the priests found the idea blasphemous. So I told him to move them instead.”
I look at her askance. “He has time to move the dead but not the living?”
“The dead raised a bigger stink,” she says with a wry smile. “At least, until now.”
Past the cathedral, I can finally get a clear look at the palais: an enormous limestone building erected around a central courtyard, facing the cathedral. The shape of it is unfamiliar, but the layout reminds me of Hell’s Court, with the Ruby Palace nearby. All the seats of power, close together—where the gods can watch the kings, and vice versa.
As the bird drops lower, I see we already have an audience. Even at this late hour, there are people watching us, their pale faces shining like small moons in the light of the gas lamps. The courtyard spreads below us like a stage, but my stomach drops as Theodora pulls up again to circle. Why wait to land? Ah—as I watch, the crowd swells, with courtiers and servants alike rushing out from inside the palais. La Fleur takes us around once more in a slow descent, giving the gathering time to grow. I am cold and tired, but I admire her commitment to showmanship.
The avion touches down at last, bronze claws
