Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(116)

Artemisia nods, her eyes drifting to Blaise and then back to me. “We’ve sent word to the other ships and they’ll meet us there. We should make landfall in an hour.”

When I don’t reply, she continues.

“You should try to get some rest, Theo. It’s going to be a long day,” she says, her voice surprisingly gentle. Still, the words rankle me.

“You think I could sleep while Blaise is like this?” I snap. “He might never wake up, Art, and—” My voice breaks and I take a deep breath before forcing myself to continue. “And if it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t even be that possibility.”

The confession comes out in a whisper, but it hangs heavily in the air between us. The mattress gives as she sits down beside me.

“I think you’re greatly overestimating your aim,” she says.

I know that she’s trying to lighten the moment, but I barely register the joke.

“How did you know that knocking him unconscious would stop him?” I ask her.

Artemisia sighs. “I didn’t,” she says. “It was a guess—a random, dangerous guess. If it didn’t work, I would have done what he’d asked and killed him. It just…it was worth trying. I didn’t want…” She trails off, pausing for a moment. “I didn’t want to lose another person.”

“Neither did I,” I say, shaking my head. “That didn’t stop me from trying to kill him when it came down to it.”

Artemisia surprises me by touching my shoulder.

“There were lives at risk, Theo,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “You put your country over your heart and that is not something to be ashamed of. Blaise would have understood.”

I nod, even though her words lodge under my skin like a splinter.

Because yes, Blaise would have understood. But he never would have made the same choice if our positions were reversed.



* * *



—

Blaise’s eyes open moments later, and in that instant, all the tension wrapped around my heart unspools.

He blinks twice, dark brown eyes focusing on me.

“Theo,” he says, my name a prayer on his lips. I can see the memories flowing back to him. He must remember everything. He said as much when he lost control in Sta’Crivero—that he could see everything even though it felt like he wasn’t in his body.

“Is everyone all right?” he asks finally.

“There were no casualties,” I tell him, and his shoulders sag with relief. “The damage to the ship was easily repaired. We’ll be loading up the rowboats to head to shore any moment now.”

He nods, struggling to sit up. I wait for him to ask what happened, how he’s still alive. If he does remember everything before he lost consciousness, he must remember me, with the sword in my hand. I can see the knowledge reflected in his eyes, in the uncertain way he looks at me. I can see the question forming on his lips before he decides that he doesn’t want to know the answer.

Instead, he shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “Is there any update from the other ships we’re waiting on? The Vecturians and Gorakians?” he asks, changing the subject to easier, more practical things.

“No,” I say. “But they’ll be here. Even if they’re late, we have enough warriors to hold our own until they are.”

He’s quiet for a second, then asks, “Why do you trust him?” The question takes me by surprise but it’s clear that it’s been on Blaise’s mind for some time. “Chief Kapil I understand. You did him a favor and he’s repaying it. But Erik? What does he want? You don’t even really know him, do you?”

“He wants the same thing we do,” I say. “The same thing we counted on the refugees wanting. To rebuild our countries. To make a home and protect the people we love. And revenge, of course.” My chest tightens at the thought of Hoa. Erik doesn’t know yet. Heron offered to write the news to him through the gold piece, but I told him not to. Some things need to be said in person.

Blaise laughs, but there isn’t much humor to the sound. He winces like it hurts his head. “Revenge,” he echoes, leaning back against the headboard of his narrow bed. “Not exactly the purest of motivations, is it?”

The words prickle at me. “The purity of motivations doesn’t matter—the strength of them does, and there is no stronger motivation than revenge,” I say.

He looks at me for a long moment. “That sounds like a very Kalovaxian way of looking at things,” he says finally. And there it is, the barb of an accusation.

Blaise was ready to die, he was ready for Artemisia or S?ren to drive that sword through him and end his life because that is who they are and what they do. But not me, it was never supposed to be me.

I shrug and glance away. “Maybe it is,” I say quietly. “Maybe that’s why Erik and S?ren and I understand each other as well as we do—we were all raised by the Kaiser in different ways. It’s not an upbringing I would wish on anyone, but I don’t think you could call any of us weak.”

It’s not an apology, but after what Artemisia said, I can’t bring myself to give one.

“I asked you not to risk it, Blaise,” I continue, unable to meet his gaze. “You insisted—you and Artemisia and Heron and S?ren. You thought it was worth it, maybe you still think that. But you almost killed us all and I would have done what I had to do to save us.”