Prince Azure leads us back to the clock tower. Our wedding guests have either fled or are hiding in the offices behind closed doors. They have been trained to fear an ambush from King Ingram.
“Papa?” the prince calls. “Celeste?”
Silence. He opens the door to the stairwell and we follow him up.
“What has happened to this city?” Thomas breathes, horrified.
Pen shushes him, but the pain is all over her face. She loves this city more than our king ever could.
Azure calls out for his father and sister, and when we reach the door to the royal family’s apartment, it swings open and Celeste is the only one there to greet us. “Az!” Her voice is a mix of fright and relief. She pulls him into her arms, trembling. “When the jet came, I thought it meant you might have been killed and King Ingram was coming to finish us all off.”
“King Ingram is dead,” he tells her, and in his gratitude to be reunited with her, he shows himself to still be human under all that pomp and conceit. “Where are Papa and Mother?”
“Mother is—she’s been asleep through all this. She’s gotten so much worse, Az. And Papa is off with his patrolmen trying to make sure everyone stays indoors.”
She at last breaks their embrace and draws back to look at him. “I’m just so happy you’re alive.”
When she at last looks away from her brother and sees Nimble on the staircase behind him, it sends her into tears.
He is so weary and drained by whatever it is he’s seen, and at last he has made it back to the girl he loves. “Leste,” he says, and gratefully catches her when she crashes into him.
As they murmur quietly to each other, I hear her say, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Pen jabs her elbow into my ribs. “When did that happen?”
I shush her.
“Oh.” Celeste sniffles, wipes her wrists over her eyes. “I’m being rude. Where’s my head? You are the first citizens to see the royal apartment. Ever, I think, isn’t that right, Az?”
“It’s never been allowed before.”
“But we may as well allow it now.”
“Clinging to the rules is pointless, given the state of things.”
I forgot their bizarre ability to continue the other’s sentences. What a set the pair of them are, with such similar mannerisms, the same blond hair and bright eyes.
Azure takes a deep breath, bracing himself before he says, “Mother?”
“In her room. She’s refusing to let the nurse in anymore. She’ll eat only if I beg her myself. Az, it’s . . .” She fights off another sob and then she takes his hand and leads him down a dark and narrow corridor, calling back for us to have a seat and apologizing for having to step away.
I expected the royal family’s apartment to possess some sort of luxury, but now I see that it’s rather ordinary. Perhaps even smaller than my own was. Though the sofa looks newly upholstered, its wooden frame is antiquated, probably handed down through the generations of royals.
Now that Nimble has had time to find his bearings, he’s fascinated. He sits up straight in a wing chair upholstered the same blue as the sky, and he cranes his neck to see out the window.
“It’s so . . . bright up here,” he says. “The air tastes better. I didn’t know air had a taste at all.”
Pen sighs and falls back against the couch. “Yes, well, enjoy it while it lasts. It’ll all be ashes and a bit of folklore for your city soon enough.”
“King Ingram—my grandfather—is dead,” Nim reminds her. “I promised you I wouldn’t let your city be destroyed, and I won’t let anyone else in Havalais be harmed over this either.”
“I don’t see how you can promise that,” Pen fires back. “There is still the small matter of your father to deal with. As I recall he’s just as merciless, and next in line to the throne.”
Nim has nothing to say to this. He only stares down the corridor where the prince and princess have disappeared. After a while he says, “I did speak with the oncology specialist at the hospital. For your queen. But if what she has truly is a cancer, it progresses in stages and by now I don’t know that there’s anything we can do. Celeste tells me she’s been ill for more than a year, with no treatments whatsoever.”
Even Pen, who holds no sympathy for the prince and princess, looks sorry for this. She knows what it’s like to be powerless to help her own mother.
Just before the corridor, there’s an old clock, and in our collective silence, each ticking is a small explosion. I try to drown it out, the sound of moments passing as we wait for King Furlow, and wait to learn what’s to become of us.
When Celeste returns, she’s alone and all traces of tears are gone from her eyes. She clears her throat and makes room for herself on the wing chair beside Nim. She doesn’t explain her brother’s absence, but presumably he’s visiting with his mother. There is a faint medicinal smell to the air, which is stagnant and warm. Beads of sweat are glistening on Celeste’s face, but somehow on her they look like cosmetics.
Nimble is watching her with fascination and caution, as though she may turn out to be a figment of his imagination.
She looks at him with resolution. “All right,” she says. “Tell us what’s happened.”
“King Ingram was found dead in his drawing room. The troops weren’t seeing results with the phosane, and after burying their loved ones following the harbor explosion, they were restless for revenge. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t know when.”
“So what Pen said is right, then,” Basil says. “Your father is king.”
“Not exactly,” Nim says. “My father is dead.”
Celeste lays her hand over his. “Oh, Nim,” she says.
“It had to be done.”
Pen leans forward. “You planned it?”
“It had to be done,” he repeats, though there’s a quaver to the words this time. “What you said was correct. My father was merciless. He served as the king’s adviser. The bombings at the harbor were as much his fault as they were the king’s.” He looks at the floor, but then thinks better of it and raises his chin, meeting none of our eyes. “Birdie and I talked it through. We took no pleasure in it, but we agreed it had to be done.”
“You’re . . .” Celeste is watching him. “That makes you the king of Havalais.”
“If you’d like.”
“It’s not ‘if I’d like.’ It’s a fact. Your grandfather was the king, whether or not he cared to claim your father as his son. Your father was first in line; you were second.”
“I don’t know that patricide makes me worthy of the throne.”
“Worthy?” Celeste asks. “The people of your kingdom will probably hoist you onto their shoulders and have a party in your honor.” At his dead expression, she drops her shoulders. “Sorry, Nim.”
“Whether or not I’m king, I’m the one who needs to speak with your father now about the state of things.”
“Az and I will go with you,” Celeste says. “We know how to talk to him. He can be unreasonable.”
“Kings always are.”
The city is silent beneath us. The window is open, letting in only the sound of air moving through trees.
It feels like ages pass before there’s the sound of movement in the stairwell. Voices. Celeste straightens in her seat and listens. “Papa is back. He’ll be going to his office. I’ll get Az, and the three of us will go together.”
She struggles to her feet, and Nim rises to help her. They steal a moment to look at each other. Only a moment. That’s all they can afford right now.
My heart breaks for the pair of them. Beside me, Basil is frowning, and I know he’s also wondering how this can possibly end well for us all.
An hour passes, and we sit in absolute silence, as though the walls themselves might reprimand us for daring to disrupt the royal air. The queen is bedridden down the hall, and I wonder if she knows we’re here, or if she is too far gone to care either way.
Finally, Pen turns to me an
d says, “How long before it stops being inappropriate for me to ask what has happened to the princess?”
“It seems fairly obvious,” Thomas says.
“It’s her latest great idea,” I say, too tired and anxious to be cynical. “She can’t take all the credit, though. Nim went along with it—obviously. They wanted an alliance between their two worlds, and what’s more solid than a new heir to two thrones?”
“It isn’t all that stupid,” Pen concedes. “They’re both royalty. Still, with all the forced terminations in the city, there’s bound to be some outrage.”
“The king has kept her hidden away for months,” I say. “The kingdom thinks she’s ill. I fear what would happen if they knew the truth.”
“I’m sure this will all go horribly wrong,” Pen says, with forced cheer. “But it’s a valiant effort, I’ll give them that.”
I put my hand over hers. I truly believed I might never see her again. There is much I want to say to her, but for now, Basil and I tell Pen and Thomas about the wedding they interrupted, and the time we’ve spent trapped in this tower, and the forced pleasantries in a city that knows something big is about to happen, and that Basil and I cannot possibly be the thing that saves it.
15
In a few minutes there will be a citywide broadcast to announce the death of King Ingram. So Celeste tells us, at least, as she frets and paces in the royal apartment.
“Isn’t it a bit hasty to make that announcement?” Pen says, with no hostility for once.
“Yes,” Celeste says. She’s chewing on her knuckle. “But it gives our city the upper hand. My father’s men have gathered all of King Ingram’s men. They’re being held in interrogation in the basement cells. Their loyalty to Havalais will be determined. Anyone who poses a threat will be executed. Harsh, I know, but I suspect that most of them will stand on our side. What other choice do they have?”
“We’re on Internment,” I say. “There’s only one side to stand on. The other side is over the edge.”
Her laugh is nervous and a bit hysterical.
“Sit down,” I tell her. “There’s no sense working yourself up while we wait.”
“Wait,” she spits back. “All I’ve done for months is wait. I’m so tired of it. Aren’t you?” She shakes her head. “I can’t leave this to my father, Morgan. He’s the king, yes, and he’s in charge of this city, but he’s so . . . outdated.”
“I would have opted for ‘psychotic,’ ” Pen says.
“My mother is dying because of his fear of expanding our medical technology,” Celeste goes on, ignoring her. “It isn’t just medicine, though; it’s all technology. This bloody clock tower doesn’t even have electricity. Up until now we’ve had only so much room to grow on this patch of land, but now we have the entire ground. If we handle this properly, we can make Havalais into an ally, but Papa will make them into an enemy. He’s scared of them and he’s hateful, and he’ll do the wrong thing, I just know it.”
She walks for the door, and I reach her just as she’s put her hand on the knob. “You can’t go out there,” I remind her. “Be reasonable. No one in this kingdom knows about the state you’re in.”
“Well, it’s time that they do,” she says. “Isn’t hope our best ally? King Ingram is dead. What’s more hopeful than a child who can bridge two worlds? What could be stronger than that?”
“Injustice,” I say. I move between her and the door, and the knob is pressing into my back. I lower my voice. “You know a lot about this city, but its rules have never entirely applied to you.”
“That’s absurd. I—”
“Do you know what happens when people conceive children outside of the queue?”
“Of course I do,” Celeste says. “They have a termination procedure. That rule would have applied to me, too, under the right circumstance. But—”
“There’s never a right circumstance,” I say. “Believe me. You may go out there bearing all the hope in the world. You may even have the means to solve all of the city’s problems, appease all of its fears. But it won’t matter. They’ll hate you. They’ll riot. That’s the reason your father is keeping you out of sight. Don’t you understand?”
Celeste is looking into my eyes, and I can see that she believes me. Much as she tries to be a diplomat, there will always be a divide between the kingdom’s rulers and its citizens. We each represent a different view of the same world.
She’s quiet for a moment, and then with renewed spirit she says, “Then you have to go.” She nods over her shoulder at Basil. “Both of you. You have to force your way into the broadcast. The city loves you. Of course they do. You both represent the citizens better than my father or brother or I ever could. And Nim is an outsider; they’ll be wary of him no matter what he says.”
“I—” My voice catches. “And say what?”
“The truth. That you’ve been to Havalais. That the people there are not greedy like their king. Tell them it’s a wonderful place, and that Havalais would make a strong ally, not an enemy. I don’t have to tell you what to say. You’re so good at seeing the best in people.”
I look to Basil, who is walking toward me. “I think she’s right,” he says. “We’ve lived in both worlds now. And you especially, after what you lived through at the harbor.”
I hope I won’t be made to speak about that. It still haunts me, and if I’d never left Internment and seen the ground for myself, the stories of bombs would scare me all the more. Havalais is recovering now, though its harbor will never be the same, but Internment would have been obliterated completely.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll see what I can do.”
There isn’t time for Basil or me to change, so Celeste runs her fingers through my windswept hair in an attempt to make me presentable, fits Basil’s jacket onto his shoulders, and pushes us out the door.
“Wait!” Pen runs after us and meets us on the first step. She grabs my shoulders. “Tell them what I told you that night in the theme park.”
“Do you really think that’s wise? Now?”
“They need a bit of fear to keep them listening. They need to know that we’ll help them.”
She has been right about so many things before. I nod. “You should be doing this instead of me,” I say.
“She doesn’t have the social graces,” Celeste says. “Hurry now.”
Basil and I are left to make our way down the spiraling staircase, guided only by flickering sconces. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t thrown in with the other prisoners for this,” I say. “It’s treason.”
“Is it treason to intercept a king’s broadcast if you’re doing it under the order of the princess?” Basil says.
“Maybe ‘treason’ is the wrong word. There probably is no word for what we’re doing, because it’s that insane.”
“All of this is,” Basil says. “But you must agree that the princess made some good points.”
“Yes, which adds to the madness. Celeste Furlow, the voice of reason.”
We follow the directions Celeste gave us, through the lobby and down another stairwell belowground. The smell of mold and dust is overwhelming, but I hear the faint whine of something electrical. Light is flickering through the cracks in the door. There are voices on the other side.
The broadcast room. Normally there would be patrolmen guarding restricted areas, but with all the hostages from Havalais, the patrolmen have their hands full.
“Do we just barge in?” Basil says.
“No one’s here to stop us,” I say, and reach for the knob. King Furlow is standing in a sea of wires, looking flushed and fatigued. Behind him hangs a painted mural of Internment as seen from the outside. It was used for a festival some hundred years before, and it often serves as one of his backdrops.
He was in the middle of a sentence when we barged in, but now he has stopped to watch as we pace toward him and take a place at his side. There are three patrolmen—one of whom is operating the camera—and when they try to stop us, King
Furlow waves them off. I was prepared for outrage, but he seems relieved that we’re here to shoulder some of the burden. Nim and Prince Azure aren’t with him.
“Citizens,” he says, “you remember our bride- and groom-to-be. Their own wedding was interrupted by the jet’s arrival. So you see, this has hurt us all, but it’s to a good end. My son, the prince, has brought word that King Ingram is dead.”
“The wedding doesn’t matter to us,” Basil says. He casts a quick glance my way, as though he fears I might take offense, but if anything I’m relieved. He straightens his back and goes on. “The wedding was merely a distraction from Internment’s hardship. But now King Ingram is dead, and you won’t have to worry about more of our soil being taken. You can stop digging. Morgan and I have spent time on the ground. We’ve met its citizens. They never wanted to take so much from you; it was their king all along.”
He’s right, but I fear that no one will believe him. The people of Internment have been conditioned to fear the ground, and this nightmare has only fueled that fear, and even hatred. I gather my strength and say, “The ground is not very different from us at all. The city below us is beautiful. Its people were welcoming and kind. And they’ve been suffering too.” I begin to describe the bombings at the harbor, going into such detail that the awful memory draws itself within my mind, brushstroke by brushstroke, revealing a coloring I never wanted to see again.
I stand bathed in the bright lights and I stare into the camera lens the whole time, never letting myself think that anyone is on the other side of it. I have no way of knowing if they’ll agree with what I’m saying. Now that I’ve seen the ground, lived there, I hardly remember what it was like to be so uncertain.
“There’s more,” I go on. “Since the beginning of Havalais’s efforts to mine our fuel, Internment has begun sinking in the sky. One theory is that the frequent arrival and departure of the jet is weakening the wind barrier that keeps us in place.” I do my best to sound scientific, wishing all the while that Pen could be here to explain.