The man howled. His knife fell. He barreled into Neel, knocking him to the floor yet again, and wrapped his hands around Neel’s throat. “You have betrayed the Kalderash!” Arun screamed. “You have betrayed my queen. Iona was wise, she was just. She was beautiful, and I loved her.”
Neel choked against the band of pain crushing his throat. He scrambled his fingers out from under Arun’s chest and slammed an invisible fist into his adviser’s face. Arun slumped to the floor. He didn’t move.
“Is he breathing?” Neel croaked. He struggled to his feet and looked at the stunned faces around him. “Is he breathing?” Neel had never killed someone.
Tarn’s boots thudded toward the fallen body. Tarn knelt and checked Arun’s pulse. “Yes,” he said. “But not for long. When he wakes up, I want my chance at the man who made me look like my cousin’s murderer.”
“You already had your chance,” Neel said. “You could have helped me out a minute ago.”
Tarn wrinkled his nose at the idea. “Why? It was more fun to watch. In fact, I’ve decided that the next year or so is going to be entertaining, if nothing else. When you’re sixteen, it’ll be my turn to boot you off the throne. Until then, I’m going to relax and enjoy the show.”
“Someone call the guards.” Neel was suddenly weary. “Imprison Arun.”
A glitter caught his eye. Grateful for the distraction, Neel limped across the room to pick the Jewel of the Kalderash off the floor.
“I can’t believe it,” Gita said. “Arun has always seemed so calm.”
Yes, thought Neel. Except when Neel had found him in his room, the night he’d fallen down the cliff. Or when Neel had first met the adviser, and sullied the palace drinking water with his own filthy body. Or when Neel had announced the destruction of the globes.
“I have never seen him so angry,” Gita said.
“Well, I wanted to make him angry,” said Neel.
Understanding dawned on her face. “So this whole meeting was a charade? You suspected him and wanted him to lash out at you?”
Neel rubbed his head. He’d banged it against the throne. “It worked a little too well. But you had to see for yourselves what he was capable of doing. I couldn’t accuse him without real proof, and I guess … I wanted to seem just.”
“So you didn’t really mean what you said about building a theater and establishing diplomatic relations with England.”
“I sure did,” said Neel. He looked around the room, and at Arun’s unconscious body on the floor. “Look, politics is a dirty, tricky game. I know that. But how can the Roma win if we don’t play?” Neel saw a number of expressions on the faces around him: reluctance, curiosity, fear. This would be hard. Yet all new things are.
“Now,” he said, “why don’t we decide who we’ll pick to be our ambassador?”
* * *
“I LET GITA CHOOSE,” Neel told Dee later, in the sitting room of his royal suite. “She knew better than me who will make the Roma feel most comfortable about this.”
“Fine, fine,” said Dee.
“She picked a popular Ursari. He’s smooth. Gets along with everybody. I chose his assistant, Nadia. They’ve already set sail for England.”
“Nadia of the Maraki? She has a reputation for being rude. Ambassadors are supposed to be diplomatic.”
Neel remembered Nadia making him study charts on the price of coir. It’d be tough to practice reading on his own, but he’d manage, and he knew he had made the right decision. “They’re also supposed to get what they want.”
Dee seemed as if he might protest, then smiled and said, “I’m glad everything has resolved so nicely.”
“Yep. My problems are solved.”
“Are they?”
Neel looked at him.
“Your Majesty,” said Dee, “let’s talk about Bohemia.”
32
Feathers
“WHAT ABOUT BOHEMIA?” said Neel.
“Prince Rodolfo is poised to become the Hapsburg emperor. Thousands of Roma have suffered at his hand. Surely this doesn’t please you.”
“Well, what can I do about it?” Neel pressed a wet cloth against his bruised temple and wished for ice. “I’ve got my hands full.” He was tired. Even though he was supposed to have come out on top this day, Neel felt a sneaking sense of powerlessness. He flung the cloth to the floor. “Do you think I haven’t considered doing something? I’d send a small mission into Prague to try to spring the Roma from Rodolfo’s prison, but that’s impossible. Suicide, for anyone crazy enough to do it. Setting aside how downright hard it’d be to break people out of Salamander Castle’s prison, there’s the eensy teensy problem of this.” Neel pressed a hand to the dark skin above the low collar of his shirt. “Any Roma who turn up in Prague can’t hide what they are. They can’t pretend to be guards or get friendly with the locals to scoop up information. All they can do is get caught themselves.”
“There is another option.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Dee trailed a hand down his beard. “Prince Rodolfo could die.”
“A nice, warm, fuzzy idea. But how?”
“You could ask someone with motivation to do it. Someone who is in Prague, right now. Someone who could be incredibly gifted in the art of killing, if she wished.”
Neel stared. He didn’t stop to wonder how Dee knew where Petra was. He felt a mounting outrage. “I can’t ask her that.”
“Can’t or won’t? Because you could. You could touch the line of that mental link that ties you to her, and ask.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I didn’t. I only suspected. Now, however, I do know.”
Neel’s lip curled. “How did you suspect it, then?”
“I studied you from afar, before I announced my presence in your country.”
“And what did you see?”
“Call it a faraway look in your eyes. Call it the smile that sometimes plays on your lips, for no reason.”
“Get out,” Neel muttered.
Dee bowed his head and left.
* * *
PETRA DIDN’T LEAVE the house on Molodova Street again for some time. She didn’t tell its residents about her meeting with Sadie. She had prepared herself to confess it that evening, at dinner, when Zora proudly described how Tomik had melted the secretary of education’s watch, but then Lucas had come home from court with the news that Prince Frederic was dead. Petra realized that this information was, really, the only thing Sadie had said that she would have been obligated to share. The rest was hers alone—and Neel’s.
He rustled his way into her mind like windblown leaves, and Petra seemed to catch a flavor of feelings so mixed together she couldn’t tell what they were. I found him, he said, and told her about Arun.
Petra let her forehead rest against the chilled window of her bedroom and exhaled. She saw the white fog form around her face and thought to herself, So that is what relief looks like. To Neel she said, There’s something I need to tell you.
Wait, that’s not all, Pet. John Dee is here. He’s the English ambassador to the Vatra now. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but … well, I knew you wouldn’t like it. And I can see why. He’s a piece of work. Always looking for the slyest way forward, not caring who or what gets risked along the way. Sneaky, untrustworthy devil.
Petra thought about it, and as much as she didn’t relish discussing John Dee, she liked it more than what she’d have to do: admit to Neel that she had failed in convincing Sadie to leave Prague. You can trust him in one way.
Oh?
As long as what you want matches what he wants, he will do his best to help you. And—she forced herself to admit it—his best is pretty good. She paused, then said, Neel, I’m sorry. She told as much as she could of her conversation with Sadie without betraying her own fragile feelings for him.
Can you … Neel’s voice sounded strained. Can you talk to her again? Make her see?
I can try, but I’m worried about meeting with her too
often. Zora says it’d be easy to recognize me, and if Sadie’s caught with me, then …
Yeah. Neel was grim. It’d be bad. He fell silent, then said abruptly, Look, Petali, you’re just after Fiala Broshek, right? You wouldn’t try to … I don’t know, do something else?
Petra was confused. What “else”? All I want is for that woman to heal my father. That’s it.
You wouldn’t try to do something even more dangerous, like going after Prince Rodolfo. ’Cause that’d be a surefire way to die. He’s got an army of monsters around him, he’s a step away from being emperor, and—
Go after? What do you mean, go after him?
You know … try to kill him.
Petra remembered chopping off the head of a Gray Man. She saw black blood jetting onto her skin. She swallowed. No, Neel. I wouldn’t do that.
* * *
TOMIK SET UP a glassblowing room in the Decembers’ attic. “I have to do something,” he told Zora. “I hate waiting for a note from Fiala Broshek that might never come.”
Zora leaned against a table and played with a pair of tongs. “You’re not the only one. Rodolfo’s the heir to the empire now. Nothing can change that, and ever since Bohemia went into mourning for Prince Frederic’s death, Lucas and I have been wondering how to give the rebellion some purpose. We want to find Broshek’s new laboratory.”
“No one wants that more than Petra.”
“Yes.” Zora set the tongs on the table. “It’s hard to look in her face every morning. It must be especially hard for you.”
Tomik glanced at her.
“Because you’re sweethearts.” Zora was awkward.
“We’re not.” Tomik turned. He fanned a brassica fire into brighter flames.
“No? You mean, you were together, before? Or maybe someday…?”
“No. Not ever, I think.” Tomik held a piece of glass in a brass bowl over the flames until the shard puddled into a clear pool. He thought about how glass can be shaped into almost anything. But its essence can be transformed only up to a certain point. Glass can become enamel, but it could never become metal. It could never become stone. “I guess things weren’t what I thought they were.”
Zora looked at him. She started to speak, stopped, and then said, “What will you do with that?” She nodded at the bowl of molten glass.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Abruptly, she said, “What color was your hair, before my aunt meddled with it?”
“Blond. About your color.”
“Hmm.” Zora’s long fingers stretched, lifted a lock of his black hair, and let it fall. “I suppose the color wouldn’t change things, one way or the other. You are what you are.”
Tomik felt the tingle on his cheek from where her fingers had brushed it. “And what’s that?”
She smiled and would have replied, but they heard footfalls on the attic steps. A servant entered the room. “Oh, there you are, Lady Zora. I have been looking everywhere for you. This just arrived from the secretary of education.”
Zora snatched the note and opened it so that she and Tomik could read it together.
I regret to say that Fiala Broshek has no intention of taking on any apprentices at this time. This is for reasons of security.
Your young gentleman should not be discouraged, but should keep up his studies. Who knows? He might be able to work with Professor Broshek someday, perhaps next year.
Zora folded the message.
“A year?” said Tomik. “We can’t wait that long.”
* * *
LATE THAT NIGHT there was a knock on the Decembers’ door. A maid yawned and grumpily padded down the hall with a candle. She opened the door.
A dark-haired girl wearing a Salamander Castle uniform stood there, gripping a small square of paper in her hand. The maid rubbed her eyes, then looked again. The girl standing before her was a rare beauty. She had sweetly wide black eyes in a heart-shaped face.
And she had no business being here at this time of night.
“Please.” The girl’s voice was low, musical … and anxious. She held out the piece of paper. “Will you give this to Petra? It’s important.” Then she spun on her heel and walked quickly into the darkness.
The maid, who had been told that the Decembers’ guests were named Stefan and Jana, stared at the folded note. Petra? There was no Petra here. How strange.
She yawned again, then slouched up the staircase to drop the note on the heaped-up pile of papers scattered across Lucas December’s desk. He’d know what to do with it—once he got around to reading it. He had been so distracted lately. Well, she was going back to bed. In the morning, she would tell the duke about the young woman’s visit and make sure he opened the note.
Except she forgot.
* * *
SADIE HURRIED THROUGH the foggy night to the castle. The weather was strange, like it always is when it transforms from one season to another. Soon it would be spring. What would Sadie’s world look like, once spring was here?
The fog made everything look doubtful. Even though Sadie knew the way from Mala Strana to the castle very well, the steep, narrow streets seemed different. She almost missed a turn. She shook her head, angry with herself. She couldn’t afford to lose her concentration tonight. The prince would be meeting with the captain of the guard.
Maybe Petra was right. Maybe Sadie should go home. The Roma needed information, yes, but what could any of them do now? Rodolfo would inherit the empire. He would own half of Europe. He would be unstoppable.
He already is, whispered a tiny voice within her.
At least she had helped Petra. That was something. Written in that note was the location of Fiala Broshek’s new laboratory.
Sadie reached the castle gate. The guards, who knew her, waved her inside.
She would go home, Sadie decided. After tonight. There was never any fog in the Vatra. The sun was strong and brilliant. She would see her mother, and together they would tease Neel in his finery. She tried to imagine him sitting on a throne, and couldn’t. All she could think about, for some reason, was the time she had taught him how to play cards. It had been years ago, when he was five.
Sadie took the stairs to the northwest wing of the castle and used her chambermaid keys to open the door marked by a snarling boar’s head beaten into brass. She entered the captain of the guard’s suite of rooms and shifted the contents of his trunk to a nearby unoccupied room. Later, after the captain had fallen asleep, she would replace them, just as she had done every other time.
She worked quickly and quietly, hoping that no one would chance down this hall—and that if they did, they’d see nothing odd about a chambermaid moving things from one room to another.
Sadie was lucky. No one strolled down the hall that night.
She checked a small clock resting on the captain’s desk. It was nearly time. She crawled inside the trunk and shut the lid.
In the dark, she remembered the trundle of her family’s wagon and the iron lamp swinging overhead as the horses pulled them south. Neel was supposed to be sleeping, but he had begged Sadie to teach him how to play cards. She had looked at him. He had been sick from the pox, and his face was thin and scarred. She agreed. They played for feathers.
Sadie heard the door to the captain’s room open. Guards clanked into the room, and Sadie heard the usual ringing of sword hilts against chain mail as they searched. Again, Sadie was lucky. They didn’t open the trunk.
Sadie remembered how, as she and Neel slapped the cards down on the wagon floor, a gleeful, cunning expression grew around his eyes. Sadie didn’t understand why. After all, he was losing. She kept raking in goose feathers, and even had to lend him some so they could continue playing. She watched him carefully, and finally caught his hand stacking the deck.
He had been cheating. He had been cheating so that she would win.
Sadie heard the heavier steps of the captain. Then door hinges sighed, and Sadie could tell from the nervous silence that the prince was entering
the room. The captain told his guards to leave.
“Good news, Your Highness,” said the captain. “We have a lead on the whereabouts of Petra Kronos.”
“Ah.” The sound was long and satisfied.
Sadie’s heartbeat quickened.
“It’s a report from an Academy student. I think we would have gotten the information sooner, but there was such chaos after the Academy burned down—” The captain broke off, and Sadie wondered if it was because the prince had shot him a furious glance. The loss of the Academy had been a big blow. “Well. The student said he saw a girl who looked like the sketches, but had blond hair. She spoke with a professor, then got into a carriage with a young man about her age.”
“A Gypsy?” said the prince.
“No, he was Bohemian.”
“Tomik Stakan, then.”
“Yes, and the carriage took the road to Prague. There’s more. The carriage clearly belonged to a wealthy family. The student couldn’t quite see the coat of arms on the door, but he could tell that there was one. That means that Kronos and Stakan are under the protection of an aristocratic family—located in Prague.”
The prince let out a low hiss.
“Remember,” the captain said nervously. “This is good news.”
“Good news that one of Bohemia’s highest born has betrayed me?”
“They will be discovered.”
Petra has to leave Prague. Sadie’s thought was wild. She wiped the sweat from her face. She has to leave now.
“I know you will be busy tomorrow,” said the captain, “but rest assured that my best spies will be planted throughout the city, with an eye especially on Prague’s finest houses.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” The prince’s voice had changed. It sounded lazy and content. “I hope my valet and seamstresses are well prepared. It would not do for me to wear the same mourning clothes every time a family member of mine dies.”
“They will need to sew a new set of emperor’s robes as well, of course.”