“A ship,” the king repeats dully. “I see.”
“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. We’ll send it back with any refugees that may wish to return to Aquitan. It is a good start to the new alliance between our countries.”
“Indeed,” Le Roi says. “With the rebel king, I suppose.”
“And the nécromancien,” I say as the griffin begins to circle lower. Have we reached the springs already? “But I’ll leave it to Theodora to discuss the details. She’s always been a better diplomat than me.”
“I’m very much looking forward to those discussions,” the king lies, but I hardly hear him. Instead, I am scanning the ground below.
Despite having the Keeper’s book and the king’s offers, there is a deeper thrill at the thought of seeing Les Chanceux. The spring is the source for the treatment of my malheur—the inspiration for my desire to come to Aquitan in the first place. With the wind in my hair, I wait for my first glimpse of the hazy blue water and the craggy limestone rocks. I half imagine the women in the painting will still be there, bathing. But all I see as we descend is a circular courtyard before a tall limestone building.
“Where is Les Chanceux?” I murmur to the king, but he nods down at the sanatorium.
“If you set down in the courtyard, I’ll have Theodora brought out,” he says.
“Bien,” I say as we circle lower, still scanning the terrain, but there is no sign of the pool in the painting.
The griffin touches down on the wide cobbled court, and the king dismounts on his own. Without his servants and his audience to see, he doesn’t bother with fanfare as he strides up the steps. I do not follow him; part of me still fears a trick, or that I will be locked inside if I get too close.
The other part of me still wonders where the spring is hidden. I turn the griffin in a slow circle, her claws clacking on the stones. Then I see it, dead center—and it is nothing like I expected. The craggy stone pool has been cleared and tamed, replaced by a carved limestone basin with a little font inside. Something gleams in the lamplight . . . a little brass plaque set into the rim. Nudging my mount closer, I can just make it out: LES CHANCEUX.
What has become of the springs in the painting? The blue waters, the hazy air, the languid bathers—had they ever existed outside the frame, or was it all an artist’s vision? Putting my hand beneath the trickle of water, I lift my cupped palms to my lips, tasting the bitter tang of the minerals inside. That, at least, is the same.
“Jetta?”
Turning, I see Theodora flying down the steps, her blond curls disheveled. Her uncle walks behind her, but for a moment, I see not Le Roi, but his own half-brother—Theodora’s father, the Shepherd of Chakrana, a country with no sheep.
He stops halfway through the courtyard, as if he is not eager to continue our negotiations, and I don’t blame him. As Theodora approaches, I can see the pink spots on her cheeks that always appear when she is furious, and I wonder what she said to him inside. But when she reaches my side, the anger on her face fades into relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” she says fervently. Then she hesitates, looking at the griffin. Her eyes widen when she sees the book still clamped in his beak. “Is that . . . ?”
“It is,” I say as she reaches for the book. Gently, the griffin releases it. Clutching the book tightly, she climbs up behind me. “I have the elixir too,” I add; the flask is still heavy in my pocket. “And your uncle should be sending a ship soon enough.”
“Then let’s go home.” Theodora says, and the word makes my own heart ache. Beneath us, the griffin crouches, ready to fly, but before I can give the order, something flits past my cheek.
A night moth? No—a note. It flutters back, a folded piece of paper like the one I’d sent to Ayla. But I had burned that letter in the lobby of the theater. Where did this one come from? Camreon? Leo? But why hadn’t they just asked Akra to speak to me? Shame grows in my breast as I remember our argument. Taking the letter, I unfold it, dreading the contents, but they are even worse than I could have imagined.
Cursing, I stuff the letter in my pocket and push the griffin into the sky. The bone wings beat, made frantic by my own fear. “What is it?” Theodora says.
I brace myself to say the words, to make them alarmingly real. “Le Trépas has Leo.”
If you will not come for your elixir, come for your moitié, or I will send him after you.
Act 3,Scene 25
In the cabin of the Prix de Guerre. LEO still sits, cross-legged, as AKRA paces across the floor, thinking.
LEO: It’s strange. I don’t even remember dying.
AKRA: Be glad of that.
AKRA shudders at his own memories.
Why would you be so reckless?
LEO: Le Trépas took Jetta’s blood from me. I had to get it back.
AKRA glances at the mark on LEO’s wrist.
AKRA: And so you did.
LEO: He was going to use it to get us to Aquitan faster.
AKRA: So?
LEO: When we get there, he’s going to turn the Aquitans belowdecks into an armée of the dead. I saved their lives, Akra.
AKRA: You bought them some time.
LEO: That’s all any of us have. Time.
LEO looks back at the bloody mark on his wrist.
Some of it stolen.
He sighs, then runs a hand over the carvings on the floor.
At least I finished her song.
AKRA (gruffly): Well. That’s something.
AKRA looks down at the carvings as well, then looks away, embarrassed.
Did Le Trépas give you any other orders?
LEO: No. Just to stay. Like a dog. I hate it.
AKRA: Tell me about it.
LEO: Does
