Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(34)
I resist the urge to pull my arm from hers, but I’m acutely aware of everyone watching. What she’s saying isn’t so different from what Artemisia said just moments ago, but it feels a world apart. Artemisia told me to act stupid; Dragonsbane is treating me like I am stupid.
“Of course, Aunt,” I say with a saccharine smile. After all, there’s no reason playing stupid shouldn’t extend to Dragonsbane as well. I can’t imagine that her underestimating me won’t end up coming in handy.
As we draw closer, I get a better look at the Sta’Criverans. Though their clothing is similar, the people are all strikingly different from each other. Unlike Kalovaxians, who are uniformly fair-haired and pale-skinned, or Astreans, who are tawny-skinned with dark brown and black shades of hair, Sta’Criverans have a variety of different skin tones, from a near jet-black to the color of the sand around us. And the hair! Though hats cover most of it to block out the sun’s rays, what bits stick out are every color imaginable. Deep bluish black, white blond, fire red, and everything in between.
As we get closer, I realize that the horses hitched to the carriages have jewels woven into their manes and tails that glitter in the sunlight. My first thought is that they are Spiritgems to help them go faster, but no. There are too many different colors, none of them the telltale clear of Air Gems. They are just for show.
I remember what Artemisia said about the Sta’Criverans—they have no need for useful things, so they value pretty things instead.
When we’re halfway between the shore and the carriages, Dragonsbane stops short and I follow suit. The others fall in behind us.
“We can’t seem too eager, can we?” she asks me. “They’ll come the rest of the way.”
I nod, though I’m not sure she’s right. For an uncomfortable few moments, the Sta’Criverans stay put in their carriages, watching us like we’re a group of strange new beasts brought in for them to ogle. A handful of them bring gilded telescopes to their eyes for a better look. Under their expectant gaze and the hot sun overhead, I start to sweat more through my dress, and I will myself not to. That is hardly the first impression I want to make on King Etristo.
I open my mouth to suggest to Dragonsbane that we surrender what little pride we still have and walk the rest of the way to them, when the Sta’Criverans’ attention is diverted to something happening on their side, out of my view.
“Finally,” Dragonsbane mutters under her breath.
Four white-clad men are now making their way toward us, carrying a large cloth-draped box between them. They move quickly, the box balanced between them on metal rods, marching with such ease across the sand dunes that I’d imagine they do this regularly.
The rest of the Sta’Criverans hurry in their wake.
When they’re ten feet from us, the men all stop perfectly in sync before lowering their cargo as one. It’s impressive—I don’t think one of their corners touches the sand a half second before another.
For a long moment, nothing happens. Dragonsbane and the Sta’Criverans gathered behind the box all watch it expectantly, so I do the same. Finally, the white covering parts down the center on one side and a weathered copper hand emerges, pulling the cloth back. Then comes a cane of carved lapis lazuli. With a pained grunt, a figure emerges, hunched over and dressed in the same white as everyone else. The only difference is the crown that circles his bald, spotted head, an ornate thing of gold curlicues and jewels of so many different colors that I can’t name them all.
The man himself is unassuming, and if it weren’t for the crown, I don’t think I would look twice at him in a crowd. Swathed in white and hunched over his gleaming cane, he almost reminds me of a priest from one of the mines, before the siege. S?ren and Artemisia were both wrong in their estimates—he is eighty at least, maybe even ninety—and judging by his labored breathing and how painful every step seems to be, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he expired somewhere along the ten-foot walk to us. The Sta’Criverans who carried him seem to think the same thing, hovering just behind him as if he might fall at any moment. They must be his personal guards as well as his transportation.
With a wheeze, he waves them off and takes the last few steps alone, until he’s standing directly in front of Dragonsbane and me. Hunched over as he is, he barely comes up to my shoulder, and Dragonsbane towers over him even more in her heeled boots.
“Your Highness,” Dragonsbane says in Astrean, bowing her head. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person. You look very well.”
The King wheezes again, though I think beneath it is a snort of disbelief. He turns his eyes to Dragonsbane for barely a second.
“I never had the honor of meeting your sister, though they tell me you were twins,” he says.
Dragonsbane hesitates for only a beat but it’s long enough to glimpse her discomfort. “Yes, Your Highness. I’m Princess Kallistrade. As Dragonsbane told you in his letters, I’ve recently decided to come out of hiding to protect my niece, Queen Theodosia Eirene Houzzara of Astrea.”
She gestures to me. My full name sounds strange coming from her, like she’s draping a cloak around my shoulders that she doubts I’ll ever grow into.
“Shame he couldn’t make it to shore himself,” King Etristo says to Dragonsbane. “I would have liked to meet this elusive pirate.”
“But then he wouldn’t be elusive, Your Highness,” Dragonsbane says with a smile.