Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(38)
In one corner is a cluster of plush chairs around a mosaic table set with a glass water pitcher and four cups. On the other side of the room is a lacquered armoire with bone-inlay doors and ivory handles. There is also a writing desk and chair, a table with a water basin, and a basket of sponges and soap that’s been carved into birds that look so real I half expect them to fly out the windows. Next to the basin is a large vanity with more birds carved into the mahogany edge of the mirror.
Even the Kaiser would find the decadence of this room to be too much. I certainly feel out of place, like an alley cat that’s been dropped into the middle of a ball. Though Astrea’s palace was opulent, it was nothing like this. I try not to let my discomfort show.
“Will cots be brought in for my advisors?” I ask Nesrina.
Her forehead furrows and she shakes her head. “You misunderstand me: this is your room. They will be close enough—just down the hall—but the Sta’Criveran palace is certainly grand enough to afford you your own space, Your Majesty.”
The words grate. In a strange palace in a strange country, the last thing I want is to be alone and in a room this size—I feel like I could get lost in it and no one would ever be able to find me.
“There are no guards outside,” Blaise says, sounding as alarmed as I feel. “King Etristo guaranteed the Queen’s safety, but without guards—”
“Crime of any kind is not tolerated in Sta’Crivero,” Nesrina interrupts with a patient smile. “Even petty theft has been punishable by death for many decades now. As a result, we have wiped out crime completely. I can assure you, there is no safer place than this palace.”
“I don’t think the Kaiser would care about your laws or the lives of the assassins he would send after her,” Blaise counters.
Nesrina’s smile falters only for an instant. “I can, of course, bring up this concern with King Etristo,” she says.
“There’s no need to concern the King with a boy’s unfounded fears,” Dragonsbane tells her, giving Blaise a severe look. “In order for an assassin to get into Theo’s room, they would have to get past the guards at the gate, past the guards at the palace doors, and past the riser operator. As I understand it, this is the same level of security given to the King himself.”
Nesrina nods in agreement. “The King would wish Queen Theodosia no less security than he requires,” she says. “She is in very good hands here with us.”
Blaise looks ready to argue but I stop him with a hand on his arm. Though it may be my imagination, his skin feels even hotter than normal.
I only realize I’ve done something wrong when Nesrina’s smile slips from her face altogether. Her eyes are locked on my hand where it rests on Blaise’s arm. I can practically see her thoughts turning.
I drop my hand, but the damage has already been done. Though on the Smoke it was nothing to touch Blaise—or Heron or anyone else for that matter—we are not on the Smoke anymore. My actions will be monitored more closely here and I need to remember that. It’s difficult not to feel like I’m back in the Astrean palace, where I had to constantly be aware of how I was being viewed.
“This room will do just fine,” I tell Nesrina. “Please pass along my gratitude to King Etristo.”
Blaise simmers next to me, but he says nothing.
Nesrina nods, her smile back in place but stiffer at the corners. “We’ll leave you to freshen up, then, and I’ll show the others to their rooms.”
As they file out, Blaise catches my gaze, his expression loaded with worry. I give him a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to do much to lift his mood.
I watch them walk back down the narrow hall toward the other guest rooms before I close the door, letting out a sigh of relief. At least there are no holes in these walls, no spies watching me in my own room. That is something of an improvement.
Pacing the room, I examine all the fine decor and furniture, running my fingers over the lacquered armoire and the plush silk canopy over the bed. I feel a bit like a marble rolling around the too-big space, but I can’t deny the overwhelming beauty of it.
Sta’Criverans value pretty things, Artemisia told me, so I shouldn’t be so surprised, but still. The Kalovaxian courtiers rarely met a surface they didn’t want to gild or embellish, but this is a different sort of beauty—a more ephemeral one without any strength or purpose behind it. It’s pretty for the sake of prettiness, a silk flower with no life and no perfume.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m tumbling into the mountain of pillows and satin face-first with my dress and shoes still on.
After a week in a narrow bed with a thin mattress, this bed feels like a cloud. I never want to get up. Surely there’s a way to save Astrea from right here?
Before I can relax too much, a sharp knock sounds at the door. I bolt back up and smooth out my dress, trying to look somewhat presentable. I can’t bring myself to get off the bed completely, but I scoot to the edge and cross my ankles primly, setting my hands in my lap the way I remember Kaiserin Anke used to sit.
“Come in,” I say, trying to ignore the pang brought on by the memory of the Kaiserin.
I expect a single woman to come in to help me dress, but instead the door opens and a small army pours in. There must be more than ten people but they all flitter around so quickly that it’s difficult to get a proper count. Two women cross to the wardrobe while another three settle in near the vanity, unloading various pots and powders and brushes from the baskets they carry. The rest flutter back and forth, a couple of them surrounding me and combing their fingers through my tangled hair, circling my waist, chest, and arms with a measuring tape, tilting my face toward the sunlight and eyeing me critically without ever saying so much as a word.