Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(35)
King Etristo makes an annoyed noise in his throat before finally turning to me. His watery eyes rake from the top of my head to my feet. I force myself to stand tall and proud.
“Queen Theodosia,” he says after a moment, his voice raspy and quiet enough that it nearly disappears into the air. Though the action costs him, he attempts a bow.
“King Etristo,” I reply, dipping into a curtsy. I decide to speak Astrean as well, since he seems to understand it. “I’m so grateful for your generous hospitality and your interest in my situation.”
“You’ve been through quite an ordeal, I’ve been told,” he replies. His Astrean is passable, but clumsy, too heavy to pass for a native speaker. “We are happy to come to your assistance against these Kalovaxian beasts, though I see you are bringing one into our midst. How peculiar.”
His eyes dart over my shoulder to where S?ren is standing beside Heron, Blaise, and Artemisia. King Etristo regards him in much the same way he looked at me, as if trying to decide exactly what he might be worth to him. He doesn’t spare so much as a glance at my other advisors—I imagine he doesn’t think them to be worth anything at all without a pedigree to back them up.
“The best sort of ally is one who understands the enemy, don’t you agree?” I say, looking back at the King with the kind of smile I haven’t worn since Astrea—the kind that’s been thoroughly coated in honey. “Who understands the Kaiser better than his own son?”
“Mmm,” King Etristo says, though his eyes linger on S?ren and his mouth purses.
“He’s proven his loyalty,” Dragonsbane says, drawing King Etristo’s eyes to her. “And if that loyalty ever falters, he will be quickly disposed of. Isn’t that right, Theodosia?”
I would be a fool to miss the tone of her voice, the condescending smile, the way she looks at King Etristo as if to say Children will be children, what can one do? I want to retort, but I hold my tongue. Let him think me a silly child—let her think me a silly child.
“Of course, Aunt,” I say.
King Etristo grunts before looking back at S?ren and switching to Kalovaxian. “Last time I saw you, Prinz S?ren, you were answering to another sovereign. Of course, you’re hardly the first man to be swayed by a pretty face.”
I worry that S?ren will say something we’ll all regret, but King Etristo doesn’t give him a chance to reply before continuing in Astrean.
“And what a pretty face it is, my dear,” he says, lifting my hand to his dry lips. “A shame for a girl like you to be alone in this world, but that is what we are here for, no?” he asks, glancing behind him. It seems to be a rhetorical question but the crowd murmurs in agreement. “Our other honored guests will arrive tomorrow, and you will all stay in the palace with me.”
Without another word, he drops my hand and turns away from us, hobbling toward his carrier and climbing inside. As soon as the white cloth settles behind him, he’s lifted into the air and we are ushered into an empty carriage led by a duo of bejewled horses. After we’re settled, the driver snaps the reins, and with a jolt, we begin our journey across the sand.
THE WALL THAT SURROUNDS STA’CRIVERO’S capital city is so tall that I can’t quite tell where it ends and the sky begins. During the hour-long journey, there was little more to see than sand. It stretched out in every direction, rippling over the land in wavelike patterns. Only twice, I spotted signs of a village in the distance, not large enough for more than fifty people.
“Eight in ten Sta’Criverans make their homes in the capital,” S?ren had said during our lesson. “The conditions outside it are brutal—scalding summers with little opportunity to find food and water, and the winters aren’t much better.”
“Why do even the two in ten remain outside?” I had asked.
Artemisia had shrugged. “It’s home,” she’d said.
Now, looking up at the wall from the outside, I wonder if it’s more than that. The city hardly looks inviting and I know that walls are generally built for one main reason—to keep people out.
Not us, though. We pause in front of ornate, heavy gates and they creak open, guided by an elaborate set of ropes and pulleys. It’s a slow process, but as the capital gradually comes into view, I gasp.
Though Astrea’s capital as it exists in my childhood memories is the most beautiful place in the world, even I have to admit that the Sta’Criveran capital might be her equal.
On the journey here, my eyes grew accustomed to the bright sunlight, but the splendor of the capital makes them ache all over again. No matter where I look, everything is either polished gold or richly colored, a blinding beauty that is almost gaudy in its overwhelmingness.
Dozens of spindly towers rise over the streets like golden blades of saw grass, so delicate that I worry a light wind will send them toppling. No two are the same exact color, and atop each one a flag hangs limply in the still air. Closer to the ground are rows of houses and shops with flat roofs and large windows, each wall painted with its own work of art. One shows two human figures dancing in bright clothing, while another shows the night sky, littered with stars that seem to actually sparkle. Some are painted more simply, with colors swirling over the surface.
Even the roads look like they should be on display somewhere—each brick is glistening white and without so much as a scuff mark that I can see, despite the mass of carriages and crowds of people trampling over them.