“You and I are artists,” she says. “Not fighters. Not saviors.”
“Why not all three?” I say. Know yourself.
“If you want to excel, you must choose . . . especially here.” The advice is not so strange, but the look on her face is. As though she is afraid—not of me, but for me.
“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “What’s so different about Aquitan?”
She wrings her hands, her knuckles pale and taut. Where is her poise now? “There have been artists who tried to fight,” she says at last. “To bring politics into the theater. But Le Roi doesn’t only reward the people who please him. He will punish the ones who don’t.”
Despite the fire in the hearth, a chill goes through me. But before I can ask what punishment she means, a firm knock echoes through the room. Without waiting for an answer, a servant opens the door, and behind him, I catch sight of a gaggle of courtiers in the hall.
For a moment, I fear Le Roi had somehow heard us talking about him, and that the courtiers have come to see me arrested, or worse. But the servant bows so low that his lips nearly brush his knee. “Mademoiselle Chantray,” he murmurs to the carpet. “Le Roi requests your company.”
The request itself is a mere formality—the servant is barely done speaking when the king himself breezes through the door. Though his smile is warm and bright, it does nothing to dispel the cold feeling in my chest. But Ayla’s poise has returned; she bows, and I do the same, smoothing my features into a smile. “Your Majesty.”
“Good morning, Jetta,” Le Roi says, inclining his head to us both. “And Ayla. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. Ayla makes a habit of welcoming all newcomers from Chakrana.”
“I appreciate the visit,” I say softly. “It’s always good to know more about my audience.”
“After all these years, she is still one of my most prized players,” the king says fondly. “You would do well to learn from her.”
Ayla’s smile deepens at the praise—just so—and she presses a hand to her heart, moving so deliberately that she might as well have been a puppet herself. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Speaking of shadow plays,” the king says, turning back to me. “It is time to choose your fantouches. Allow me to show you the Salon des Merveilles.”
Outside, the courtiers echo his words in a susurration of whispers. I am reluctant to leave, but when I turn back to Ayla, her smile hasn’t budged. “A pleasure,” I say. “I hope we meet again.”
“So do I,” she says, but despite the pleasant look on her face, the words feel ominous. As I hurry to the king’s side, the crowd parts around us, and Ayla’s whispered warning seems to follow.
I wish Theodora was here. I am ill at ease in the king’s company, especially without her. I glance back over my shoulder, but she is nowhere to be seen among the following courtiers. “Is La Fleur waiting for us in the salon?”
“Alas,” the king says. “My dear niece is . . . otherwise occupied.”
The tone of his voice gives me pause, but I can’t imagine a single thing that would keep Theodora from the Book of Knowledge. “With what?”
“Her health, I’m afraid.” The king shakes his head sadly. “I have long heard stories of the madness brought about by the jungle, but I had hoped Theodora’s strong mind would resist it.”
“Madness?” I stare at the king, sure for a moment I am misunderstanding his Aquitan. “Theodora?”
“You heard her last night, talking about dark forces and evil influences. And of course, her request for the elixir,” he adds with a pointed look. The marble floor seems to shift beneath my feet. The flask is heavy in my own pocket; I’m sure the king had heard her say it was for me. But the courtiers hadn’t—they’d only known a bottle was being sent to our rooms. The king sighs heavily, loud enough for them to hear. “But don’t worry. At Les Chanceux, she has the best docteurs, and excellent care.”
“She’s at the springs?” I say, my heart racing. “When will she be back?”
“Not the springs,” the king says, stopping briefly before a wide doorway. The servants rush ahead to open it, and late-morning light spills through. Outside, a carriage waits in the square, and the king glides blithely toward it. “I had a sanatorium built there years ago,” he says over his shoulder as I rush to catch up. “Sanatorium—do you know the word? Less educated people might call it a madhouse.”
Act 2,Scene 13
Back at the Royal Opera House. TIA and ELLISIA sit cross-legged on the stage, playing a card game. There is a small stack of Aquitan bills between them, as well as a much larger stack in front of Ellisia.
ELLISIA: I win again.
She puts down her cards with a flourish and adds the smaller stack of money to her own.
I’d say we should play double or nothing, but we’re already there.
TIA: It was your money in the first place.
ELLISIA laughs, handing the entire stack of bills back to TIA.
ELLISIA: Aquitan money. It’s worth as much as you paid for it, these days. At least winning it back passes the time.
TIA: I’m definitely grateful for that.
Chewing her lip, TIA glances at the door, the way she has two dozen times over the last few hours. With a sigh, she takes the deck of cards to reshuffle. She is dealing when she hears the creak of the stage door. Cards scatter as she springs to her feet.
Oh, thank the gods. There are only so many times I can lose at cards.
CAMREON and CHEEKY slip inside the theater, followed by AKRA. He shuts the door behind them, leaning heavily against it, his hand over the wound at his side. CHEEKY sinks down into the nearest velvet chair, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. But TIA looks at the door, then
