Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(48)

“This one has such a sense of humor,” King Etristo says to me. “And charm, that’s why almost half the people in his country voted to elect him.”

The dagger is unmistakable, but again, the Chancellor continues to smile as though everyone in the country were watching him.

“Make sure to make my home your home, Marzen,” King Etristo says, reaching out to shake the Chancellor’s hand. “I’ll have someone explain how the bath works. I know it’s a foreign concept in Oriana.”

“Ah, but I’m simply excited to try some of this Sta’Criveran wine I’ve heard about,” Marzen says, matching the King’s tone. “Is it true it can be used to clean carpets as well? How magnificent to have so many uses for a single product!”

Again, both men laugh and shake hands, though their grips are white-knuckled.

When Marzen disappears into the palace, I lean toward S?ren.

“Did I fall asleep at some point and miss the part where they compared the size of their—”

“You see, my dear,” the King interrupts, drawing me back to him, “I’ve found you some fine prospects. What are your thoughts so far?”

I consider my words carefully before answering. “They were all wonderful, to be sure,” I say with a smile. “And I’m so pleased that they all left their homes to come and meet me.”

“You’ll get to know some of them better at dinner tonight,” he says.

Without waiting for my response, he waves his hand and a group of attendants rushes over to lift him out of his chair and into a transport similar to the one he used when we first met in the desert. They carry him inside and the gathered Sta’Criverans follow.

“Thoughts?” S?ren asks me as we stand as well.

I think my expression manages to say it all better than words ever could, because S?ren stifles a laugh. He eyes me for a long moment. “As badly as I’d like to go back to my room and sleep off this infernal headache, you look like you have other plans.”

“I was hoping to visit the refugee camp,” I admit. “But King Etristo refused. He said it was no place for a girl like me.”

“Something tells me that isn’t enough to dissuade you,” S?ren says.

I smile. “Tell the others. We’ll leave in an hour’s time.”





MARIAL DOESN’T LOOK AT ALL surprised when I say I’m not feeling well and would like to rest, which makes me think that I must look as awful as I feel after last night. Which means the suitors were awful liars for telling me how lovely I was all morning.

After Marial and the rest of my attendants help me out of my suffocating dress and unpin my hair from its elaborate style, they leave me tucked into bed in another gauzy nightgown. When the door closes behind them, I wait a moment to make sure no one comes back before throwing the satin quilt off and climbing out of bed again. Comfortable as my bed is, I’m worried that if I stay in it for another moment I actually will fall back asleep, and I can’t do that.

My wardrobe is so full I can’t move the hangers more than a hair’s breadth, and almost all the dresses are embellished and heavy with layer upon layer of material, with so many hooks and buttons and ribbons that I could never put one on myself. After searching for a few minutes, I finally manage to find one that might perhaps be described as plain, if only by Sta’Criveran standards. Bottle-green silk with cap sleeves and a bodice that is somewhat looser than the other dresses I’ve worn. The skirt bells out in a cascade of chiffon, trimmed with small jewels along the waist and hem. Even with the embellishments, it’s far lighter and simpler than anything else in the wardrobe. It will have to do.

It’s a struggle to fasten the hook-and-eye closures that run up the back of the dress without assistance, and for an instant, I nearly call for help from one of my Shadows before remembering that this is a different palace entirely and one without holes in the walls.

I’ve just managed to hook the last closure when there’s a soft knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, Artemisia slips in. She’s wearing her tunic and leggings from the Smoke again, and her cerulean hair is gathered into a messy pile on top of her head. Her dark eyebrows arch almost into her hairline as she looks me over from the top of my head to my toes.

“We’re going to the refugee camp,” she says slowly. “Not a ball.”

My cheeks warm. “If you can find something less flashy in there, I’ll gladly change,” I say, gesturing to the wardrobe.

“Hmmm,” she says with what might be a scoff or a laugh—it’s difficult to tell. “It’s almost as if the King doesn’t want you sneaking out of the palace to go visit the camp. You didn’t bring your clothes from the Smoke?”

“It didn’t occur to me to,” I admit. “And even the purple gown I wore to shore would have been better, but I think they sent it to the launderer when I got here. Or the furnace, maybe,” I add, thinking about the disdain with which Marial’s attendants handled the patched and fraying dress that had been through far more than it was made to withstand.

“I’ll see about getting you something for the future, but this time—”

She breaks off when the door opens again and Blaise, S?ren, and Heron slip in, all dressed in plain clothes from the Smoke and long cloaks.