Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(75)

She looks at me with sad, heavy eyes, but when she speaks it’s with Dragonsbane’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she says. I wait for her to say more, to explain to me why she ignored her sister’s warning and let the Kalovaxians take us, how—with one decision—she let Astrea fall to ruin. How she so easily handed me over to a man who made my life a terror for a decade.

But it’s only a dream and she can’t have answers that I don’t already know, so all she does is apologize and apologize and apologize until I finally wake up, my mouth tasting of ash.

The sky outside my window is still dark, lit only by stars and a sliver of a moon, but I know I won’t be able to sleep again tonight. My mind is still whirring, repeating Dragonsbane’s words about my mother over and over again.

Artemisia is fast asleep on the other side of the bed—though it’s so big she doesn’t even stir when I slip out, carefully tiptoeing around Heron’s large form that doesn’t quite fit on the sofa. He refused both Art and me when we offered to switch with him. Blaise must have gotten restless and gone back to his own room at some point.

I remember falling asleep with all of them around me. There was never a conversation about whether or not they should stay. Whoever is actually working for the Kaiser is still on the loose and I don’t think any of us trust the Sta’Criveran guards.

I should wake one of them up—especially since someone tried to kill me last night—but it doesn’t seem right to force them up at this hour just because I can’t sleep.

Besides, I don’t want any of them with me when I visit S?ren.

Quietly as I can, I pull on a dressing gown and take my dagger from its place on my bedside table, wedging it between the gown and the sash around my waist. I step into the slippers next to my bed and tiptoe out the door, closing it behind me with barely more noise than an exhale.

Still, even with my dagger, I shouldn’t go alone—especially since I doubt I could do much more with it than wave it around and try to look menacing. Even just walking down the hallway, I find myself on edge, glancing behind me every few minutes as if another assassin is going to spring from the shadows. One very well could.

This was a stupid idea, but even as I acknowledge that fact, I can’t bring myself to turn around. I make it to the riser and step inside, relieved to be near another person.

As far as I know, he could be an assassin. If he is, though, he’s in no hurry. He stares at me blankly, waiting for a destination.

“Fifteen, please,” I say, naming the floor Erik directed me to before, where the Gorakian delegation has been housed.

He nods curtly and begins to crank, sending us gliding down. As smooth as the journey is, I still can’t help but grip the bars of the riser wall behind me. No matter how many times I do this, I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to it. Luckily, it’s only a moment before we pull to a sharp stop and he opens the door.

As soon as I’m out, he closes the door again and the riser lowers away, leaving me alone in a dark hallway, lit only by moonlight filtering in through the windows. Ahead of me, the hall is lined with doors on either side, but I have no idea which one is Erik’s. Though I visited Hoa here, it was an entirely different place then, bustling with life and people who directed my way. Now I don’t even know how to begin to guess which room is which.

I walk slowly down the hall, hoping for some kind of sign, but each oak door is exactly the same. Even the designs carved into them and the cut-crystal doorknobs are identical. Being alone again is beginning to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If an assassin wanted to attack, this would be the perfect moment—they could do the job without any trouble and then blame it on the Gorakians, who don’t seem to have many friends in Sta’Crivero to begin with.

Tilting my head, I look at the doorjambs for light bleeding out, a sign that someone inside is awake. It’s well past midnight, so most of them are dark, but eventually I find one that isn’t and knock softly.

There’s a long pause before footsteps thud softly toward me and the door creaks open. A small, wiry Gorakian man appears, with a gleaming bald head and round spectacles perched on the end of his hooked nose. He peers at me irritably, his forehead heavily creased. He might not be happy with me for interrupting whatever he was doing, but at least there is very little chance of him being an assassin.

“I…I’m sorry to bother you,” I tell him. “I’m looking for Eri—I mean, the Emperor. Which room is he staying in?”

He frowns and I realize that he doesn’t understand Astrean. I open my mouth to repeat myself in Kalovaxian since he’ll probably understand that after living through the Kalovaxians’ occupation, but he speaks first.

“Emperor,” he repeats.

Relief courses through me and I nod.

The man leans out the door and points down the hall away from the riser, but there are too many doors for me to make out which one he’s pointing to. He must realize this as well, because with a labored sigh he shuffles out of his room and leads me to the door he means, knocking much louder and longer than I would have. I suppose it’s a good thing, though, because it’s a few moments before Erik finally answers the door, eyes half-hooded with sleep. He blinks blearily at us for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the picture before him.

“Tho—Queen Theodosia?” he asks in Kalovaxian. “Master Jurou? What’s happening?”