“Just a minute,” I call back through the door, but my brother’s presence is already fading from my head. “Akra?”
There is no answer. With a sigh, I rest my forehead against the gilded panels. I’ll have to apologize in person. But no matter—I’ll be there soon enough.
Gathering my composure, I pull the door open. The Chakran woman is standing just outside. “Pardon the intrusion,” she says, and now I can tell what reminded me so much of Maman. It is her poise. Her posture is impeccable, her hands folded neatly in front of her, and she wears a friendly smile like an accessory. This is a woman used to being watched. “Court is abuzz with news of the latest shadow player,” she continues. “And possibly the last. I had hoped to introduce myself and hear some news from home.”
The word—home—is rich in her mouth, and looking at her in her Aquitan gown, I can imagine how much it might mean to her to sit and talk about Chakrana. But I need to get home myself. “I’m sorry, jie jie,” I say—older sister—and her eyes crinkle as her smile broadens. “But Theodora must be waiting.”
“You mean Mademoiselle La Fleur?” The woman turns, glancing across the sitting room to the open door of Theodora’s bedroom. “I heard that the king summoned her early this morning.”
“She didn’t wait for me?” I cross the sitting room, peering into Theodora’s bedroom, but the room is empty, the bed already made. I frown, glancing out the window once more. Perhaps it is later than it seems. Or maybe Theodora was only eager to see the book.
I return to the sitting room, unmoored. Suddenly I realize I do not know how to deal with the king without her help. Am I expected to wait for my own summons, or can I go to him myself? But I can’t let local customs stand in my way. “I should go find them,” I say, with more certainty than I feel.
The woman’s smile freezes. “Dressed like that?”
I falter on my way to the door, looking down at my gown. It was bad enough last night, travel stained and oversized, but now, rumpled from sleep, it’s even worse. “I don’t have many options,” I say, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “I had to pack lightly aboard the avion.”
“Very lightly,” she murmurs. “I heard you need to borrow fantouches for your upcoming performance.”
I frown, trying to tame my tangled hair with my fingers. “Is there nothing the court doesn’t gossip about?”
“Any shadow player knows that the only thing worse than an audience is no audience at all,” she says wryly, and the claim brings me up short.
“You’re a shadow player?” I say, but of course she is. I had been too distracted to recognize it before.
The woman only smiles, reaching out to take my hand. At first, I think she means to shake it, Aquitan style, but instead, she turns my palm up, placing her own beside it. “I always look at hands,” she says softly. White scars shine on her own skin, so similar to mine, though she must have gotten all of hers by working with leather—making fantouches. “Art always leaves its mark. I’m Ayla,” she says then, releasing me. “Of the Ros Sook.”
“The Ros Sook!” My eyes widen, I can’t help but bow. The troupe had been famous when I was a girl, but I hadn’t heard of them in years. Of course—they’d won recognition at the Fêtes des Ombres and went off to Aquitan, never to return. “It’s an honor to meet you,” I say at last. “I’m Jetta of the Ros Nai.”
“The honor is mine,” she says warmly. “I’ve never heard of a one-woman troupe.”
“I usually perform with my family,” I tell her, trying to ignore the pang in my heart. “But they’re still in Chakrana.”
“Ah,” she says, her expression turning sympathetic, her eyes lost in memory. “When my own troupe first traveled to Aquitan, it took me years to save enough to bring the rest of my family here. It seems much harder to do it all alone. If you ever need help, I’d be happy to give it.”
“Thank you, jie jie,” I say—the offer is a kind one, and if I were to stay, if I had more time, I would love to take her up on it. What stories could she tell? “But I plan to return to Chakrana as soon as the show is over.”
“What?” Her face is a cascade of emotions—shock, worry, confusion. “Why?”
I stare at her, taken aback. It is one thing to hear such a question from the king, but quite another to hear it from a Chakran. “Chakrana is my home,” I say—hadn’t she just said the same?
The look she gives me reminds me once more of Maman, so much it makes my heart ache. “A home is hard to defend, with war and hunger knocking at the door. Not to mention Le Trépas,” she adds with a shudder. “He’s on the loose once again, I hear.”
My face falls; my back stiffens. Guilt floods in. “Le Trépas will be stopped,” I say firmly. “The war will end, and Chakrana will be stronger than ever.”
“But how long will that take?” She shakes her head sadly, and anger pushes the guilt aside. I glance pointedly at her Aquitan dress.
“It would certainly be faster if our best hadn’t fled to Aquitan.”
Ayla only raises an eyebrow. “Do you think no one suffered in Chakrana before the Aquitans came? There are rich and poor in every country. The real enemy is want,” she adds, but Le Trépas’s words echo in my head. Know your enemy. “Here in Aquitan, you can defeat it.”
“That’s wonderful for the Aquitans,”
