Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(99)

It’s such a rare moment of vulnerability from Artemisia that I don’t know quite how to reply. Even breathing too loudly feels like it will break the spell that’s fallen over us.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally.

She shrugs and rolls over again, turning her back to me.

“I don’t need your pity,” she says. “But the Kaiser ruined my family, too, even those of us who survived him. He ruins everything.”

Venom is not a new thing for Artemisia—it infuses all her words and it has as long as I’ve known her. It fills up her every glare and makes her every movement potentially lethal. Still, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so full of hate before.

I inch closer to her and reach out to touch her shoulder gently. I expect her to shrug me off, but instead, after a moment, she softens and I wrap my arms around her. She turns toward me and buries her face in my shoulder. I don’t realize she’s crying until I feel her tears against my skin.





I MUST FALL BACK ASLEEP, BECAUSE the next thing I’m aware of is a light knocking at my door. I sit up, blinking the exhaustion from my eyes. Heron and Artemisia are still sleeping and oblivious to the visitor and there’s no sign of Blaise at all—he must have left again, I realize with a pang. The knocking starts anew and I climb out of bed, slipping my dressing gown over my nightgown and fitting the dagger beneath it so that it’s secure at my hip.

I tiptoe toward the door, careful not to wake the others. Even though I know that an assassin wouldn’t knock, I still hesitate before opening the door.

“Who is it?” I whisper.

“Coltania,” a voice whispers back.

I let out a sigh of relief even as irritation prickles at the back of my neck. I think I’ve had my fill of Coltania and her bribes and bargains. I’ve had enough of pretending I want anything to do with her smarmy brother.

Still, I might yet need her to get S?ren out of prison, so I open the door.

Coltania stands there in the same black, high-necked gown she wore earlier. In her hands she holds two mugs of tea.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she says, though her words are crisp and perfunctory.

“You did,” I tell her, stepping out of the room into the hallway and closing the door behind me so as not to wake my Shadows. I’ll be back in bed before they can miss me.

“Apologies, then,” she says, though she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I was just awake and thinking about how upset you must be after yesterday. I understand you and the Ojo were close.”

The Ojo. She means Hoa. I’m glad she doesn’t say her actual name—I don’t think I could stand hearing it right now, especially from the lips of someone who didn’t know her.

And you did? a voice whispers in my mind.

“I’ve known her most of my life,” I say, and that at least is the truth.

Coltania’s sympathetic expression falters at the blunt acknowledgment. “Well, I thought you might like some tea and a friend to talk to. Shall we take a walk so we don’t wake your advisors?”

I have friends to talk to, I think. Friends who aren’t trying to get something else out of me.

But I still need something from her. I need S?ren out of prison. So I force myself to take one of the mugs.

“That’s very kind. Thank you, Salla Coltania,” I say, following her down the hall toward the riser. “How are you and your brother faring? I’m sure you’re both quite shaken, all things considered.”

“It’s been difficult,” she admits. “We discussed following the Czar’s lead and leaving ourselves, but Marzen decided against it. He’s quite brave.”

The last thing I want is to hear her sing her brother’s praises again. I’m too exhausted and heartbroken to even pretend to care one whit about the Chancellor. Instead, I take a sip of the tea, wincing because it’s too hot and much too bitter. Even after I swallow it, the aftertaste remains. It reminds me of the way wood smells, but mixed with grass after a rainstorm and with an undercurrent I can’t put a name to. It might be the foulest thing I’ve ever tasted.

“I’m sorry,” Coltania says, seeing my expression. “I wasn’t sure which type you liked, so I just made you my favorite. It appears we don’t have the same taste.”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it isn’t. She opens the door to the riser and I follow her inside, nodding toward the operator. “I’m used to drinking coffee, I suppose. The way we make it in Astrea is much sweeter. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

“Acquired tastes are usually the most delicious, once you actually acquire them,” she says. “The garden, please,” she adds to the operator. The door closes with a metallic clang and the operator begins to turn the crank. The riser starts its journey up.

I lift the cup to my lips again because it would be rude not to, but I only take a small, tight-lipped sip.

“Better?” she asks me.

“Better,” I lie. “Have there been any developments with the truth serum?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says, though again she doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. “With all the excitement yesterday, there was no time to work on it.”

Excitement. I resist the urge to hit her, but only barely.