On This Unworthy Scaffold Page 5

  “I wanted to take her to the lytheum mine,” he replies stiffly. “Perhaps you can see why.”

  “I had to know what happened here,” I say, defensive.

  “Was it worth the risk?”

  “There were clues, just like I thought.” The memories are coming in a wave. I push upright again—my ribs throb, but I ignore the pain. “Madame told me the monk is immortal.”

  “Immortal?” I can hear the curiosity in Theodora’s voice. “That is interesting.”

  Leo turns to his sister. “Do you mind?”

  “Well, it is,” Theodora says mildly, still looking down at the papers on the desk. “And if it’s true, we’ll have to come up with a long-term solution to keep him locked away safely. I wonder if he found the secret of immortality in the book.”

  “What book?” I ask. Leo throws his hands in the air, sitting down hard on a nearby ottoman, his back to both of us. Theodora ignores him, turning to me.

  “I’ve been looking through Monsieur Audrinne’s paperwork. He served in the armée under my father. . . .” Her voice breaks on the word. General Legarde—the elder General Legarde, her father and Leo’s—had died only a few months before their brother.

  In the silence, Leo returns to his violin, plucking out a few gentle notes, and his sister swallows, gathering herself to continue.

  “Some of Audrinne’s incident reports are from just after La Victoire,” she says. “Apparently Le Trépas stole a book from the Keeper of Knowledge.”

  “Where is it now?” I ask her, but she shrugs.

  “I haven’t found anything else that mentions it. Still, wouldn’t a Book of Knowledge be fascinating?” A familiar sparkle lights her eyes—one that had been missing in the last few weeks. She turns to me. “Do you remember seeing my father’s old journals? He wrote about overseeing the destruction of the temples after La Victoire. I often got the sense that he was searching for something. I wonder if it was the book.”

  “We can assume he never found it,” Leo interjects, his head still bent over the violin. “Or they’d both still be here.”

  Even without saying their names, I know Leo means his brother and father. So does Theodora. “You don’t have to sound so pleased,” she says through her teeth.

  “I’m not.” The strings are louder than his voice, as though the instrument can speak for him. The notes of an Aquitan hymn . . . the song he’d played the night he shot Xavier. “But there was no other way to stop them.”

  “Of course you tell yourself that,” Theodora replies stiffly. “Otherwise the guilt would eat you alive.”

  “Guilty? Me? No,” Leo says with a bitter twist of his lips. “I’ve never killed an innocent man.”

  Theodora’s face goes pale, but before she can object, Camreon clears his throat. He stands in the hall just outside the greatroom, as though the tension between Le Fleur and her brother was thick enough to bar the way. But Theodora turns back to the papers on the desk, her cheeks bright pink, while Leo keeps plucking the strings. As Camreon steps into the room on silent feet, he turns to me. “You’re awake.”

  “I’m not, actually,” I reply, bracing myself for a lecture. “I’m just a very good actor.”

  “A terrible rebel, though.” To my surprise, a smile quirks his lips. “Luckily, it looks like all our casualties will survive.”

  “The dragon?” I say quickly, and he nods.

  “Dragon bone is remarkably strong,” he says mildly. Automatically, I glance to his brow, where the crown had rested, but he has laid it aside for now. While the coronation clearly needed a king, a rescue mission was best suited to the Tiger. “The skeleton is a little singed, but still sound.”

  The relief that washes over me is more powerful than I’d expected—I’d grown rather fond of the dragon in the last few weeks. “Do you need me to ensoul her again?” I ask, but Camreon shakes his head.

  “It’s already taken care of.”

  “You used my blood?”

  “You left plenty of it lying around,” he says, pulling something long and slim out of his pocket. “Besides, I didn’t want the dragon’s soul straying too far. I didn’t know how long you’d be asleep.”

  My brow furrows. “Is that a fountain pen?”

  “Not my finest inventions,” Theodora says critically, holding out a second pen with a flourish: a slender bit of brass, with a nib on one end and a point on the other. Craning my neck, I can see the inkwell among the papers on the desk, and the blotter stained in black and muddy red. “But they might be my most powerful. There’s enough blood in both of them for two or three fantouches.”

  My hand goes to the tiny scar in the crook of my arm, where an armée docteur let my blood into a jar. A queasy feeling spreads in my stomach. But this is not the armée—these are my friends. “It should come in handy,” I say at last.

  “It should,” Cam agrees, tucking his own pen back into his pocket. “Considering we won’t have you with us.”

  I stiffen. “What?”

  “Leo and I will be taking the dragon back to Malao to gather the others for our trip to the capital. You and Theodora will take the avion to the lytheum mine.” Camreon gives me a wry look, but I turn instead to the painting of Les Chanceux. The languid women stare back, uncaring. My mind reels. How can my friends go without me? They need me—and I need them.

  “Leo,” I say. He has always been my staunchest ally. “I thought you promised to look out for me.”

  To my great annoyance, he grins. “And you promised to meet me at the avion, but here we are.”

  “Leo!”

  “Jetta.” Putting his violin back in the case, he comes to my side, pushing my hair back from my forehead. His hands are so cool on my skin. “It may not feel like it, but I am looking out for you. You need your elixir, and you’re safer out of the fight. Besides, this way your song will be a surprise.”

  My brow furrows. “My song?”

  “You’ve heard me working on it, haven’t you?” He nods toward his violin, and I can almost hear the notes echoing in my head, the gentle falling melody he’s been picking out. Then he squeezes my fingers. “So far I’ve had my hands a little too full to finish.”

  I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You think you’ll have time between freeing the Aquitans and helping Cam seize the throne?”

  “I’ll make time, I promise. The next time you see me, it will be finished,” he says. “If you promise to find your elixir.”

  I chew my lip, but I don’t have much choice. “I promise,” I say at last, and he smiles.

  “Bien.” He squeezes my hand once more, then stands. “Akra will be coming with us, so we can keep in touch through him.”

  “Have him check in regularly, Leonin,” Theodora says. “You know that Jetta can’t call to him unless he’s listening. And if you find Xavier . . .” As she trails off, Leo braces himself, but after a moment, she holds out the second pen. “You know what to do.”

  With his free hand, he takes the pen, emotions flickering across his face. “Theod—”

  “Take care of yourself, Leonin,” she says, turning abruptly toward the door. “Come, Cam. I’ll walk you to the avion. While you were working on the dragon, I was reading Audrinne’s old reports. . . .”

  As they disappear down the hall, Leo watches after his sister, trouble brewing in his dark eyes. It pulls at my heart—he’d had to kill his brother to save his people. It wasn’t fair he might lose his sister too. “Are you all right, Leo?”

  My question seems to startle him. He looks down at me, trying to smile, but I can see the pain behind it. “You don’t have to take care of me, Jetta,” he teases, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Do I at least get a goodbye kiss?” I ask him, and his smile turns real.

  “Never goodbye,” he says, leaning down to grant my request. The kiss is soft—almost careful. But then he buries his face in my hair, pressing his heart to mine as he holds me tight. His whisper is a breath in my ear. “Only au revoir.”

/>   “Until we meet again.” Remembering his old promise, I wrap my own arms around him, more tightly than I ought to, but it’s easy to ignore the pain in my ribs for the pounding of my heart. We are interrupted by the sound of Theodora clearing her throat, and for a moment I wonder if I can let Leo go.

  But his sister taps her foot in the doorway, arms crossed. “Ready?”

  “No,” Leo says lightly, and when he pulls away, it feels like my heart is going with him. Are those tears in his eyes? He dashes them away with his free hand, still smiling. “But it’s time to go anyway.”

  As he slips his fingers from my grasp, I open my hand to let him. He grabs his violin case, lifting it in a salute, and disappears down the hall.

  With a sigh, I sit back against the velvet arm of the settee. Then I catch sight of Theodora. When she sees me looking, she turns away quickly, but I’ve already seen the tears in her eyes. “You can likely still catch him, if you have more to say.”

  “Nothing I say can make my brother less a monster,” she says stiffly, and suddenly every muscle in my body is tense.

  “Leo is not a monster.” My voice is a low growl, but Theodora only shakes her head.

  “I wasn’t talking about Leo.”

  As Theodora wipes her eyes with her wrist, I look at her anew. She hasn’t been herself the last few weeks; then again, neither have I. But I know why she is coming with me to the mine, rather than going to Nokhor Khat with the others. Hard enough for her when Xavier died the first time.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I say at last, but the girl only grimaces, gesturing to the floral-patterned dressing on my ribs.

  “You’re bleeding again. Let me change your bandage and get you more painkiller.”

  I sit back in silence. As she ministers to my wound, I stare at the painting of Les Chanceux—the lovely women, the sapphire pool—and I know what it’s like to mourn something you never really had to begin with.

  * * *

  Dear Maman and Papa,

  It is strange, in a way, to join the rebellion only to resurrect a tradition I started while in the armée. But writing to you before a mission has always been a comfort, and while most of my letters never found their way home, I did, eventually. So I thought I would continue the tradition. Just in case.

  We’re traveling to Nokhor Khat tonight to stop the deportation of the Aquitans. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write, but Camreon hopes that the Aquitans will join us if we pull them out of the fire. With Le Trépas on the loose, quite a few of the rebels have disappeared back into the jungle. I can’t blame them for being afraid—for trying to protect their families. I would do anything to protect ours. But with no armée at his back, Camreon is a paper tiger.

  Jetta will not be coming with us. Before you worry, she is well enough. Before you call me a liar, she has been better. Cheeky actually suggested sending her home so you could keep an eye on her, but I don’t dare mention the idea to Jetta. After all, she’s practically the only thing that can kill me.

  This way, at least, she’s out of the fray. Theodora is taking her to find her elixir. Don’t worry—I will keep in touch with her our usual way. I’m also going to send Miu to you. You remember the fantouche Jetta ensouled? There is no way to bring her with us, and you could use the company. And this way, if you don’t hear from us for a little while, you can watch the fantouche, and know that Jetta’s still alive as well.

  As for me, you’ll just have to keep your fingers crossed.

  I’m joking. I’ll be fine, and with any luck, this will all be over soon. The next time I write, it will likely be with an invitation to toast the new king in Nokhor Khat, and tickets to a show at the Royal Opera. Then we can all take turns watching out for Jetta. Until then, she and I will look out for each other.

  Your son,

  Akra

  * * *

  Act 1,

  Scene 5

  The rebels have spent most of the night on dragonback to travel from Malao to Nokhor Khat. Now the moon is setting, and the rainy-season drizzle masks the fading stars. The dragon slips easily through the tattered clouds. Though her once-white bones are singed and blackened, and the tip of her long tail is missing, her soul is as strong as ever.

  From his vantage point astride her neck, CAMREON steers her in a wide circle around the capital. LEO keeps glancing back north, while AKRA grimly refuses to look down. CHEEKY and TIA peer eagerly at the city as their silk sarongs ripple in the wind.

  Nokhor Khat sits in the broken bowl of an old caldera. Jungle lines the northeast slopes, and the Hundred Days Sea pours into a protected bay to the south. The dark mass of the fort looms over the water, ostensibly to protect the Ruby Palace and the old temple of Hell’s Court, but the Aquitan stronghold had always seemed more like a threat.

  Artillerie lines the parapets, but the guns are unmanned, and the once-busy harbor now cradles a single ship: the Prix de Guerre, which had carried weapons and warbirds from Aquitan. Now she waits, empty and quiet like most of the city.

  TIA: When I was here last, Nokhor Khat was full of light.

  LEO: It’s three in the morning.

  TIA: Precisely when you need light most.

  The showgirl shakes her head in mock disappointment. The passing breeze ruffles her short black hair; it’s grown a little in the three months since she last saw the city. Back then, she’d been disguised as a boy, to conform to the Aquitan’s limiting sense of decorum. Now the Aquitans are on the run, and diamonds glint in her ears.

  I wonder how long it will be before the city gleams like it used to.

  CHEEKY glares at her.

  CHEEKY: Well, it’s my first time, so let me enjoy it.

  TIA (teasing): I bet you say that to all the cities.

  LEO grins back at them.

  LEO: This is a rebel foray, not your vaudeville act!

  AKRA: As long as it’s not a tragedy. Where are we landing?

  CAMREON: Le Livre—the inn near the dock. The proprietor is friendly to the rebellion.

  TIA: And his daughter is friendly to out-of-work singers.

  CHEEKY turns, wide-eyed, to stare at TIA.

  CHEEKY: I knew there was a reason you insisted on coming back!

  TIA: I’m a lover, not a fighter.

  AKRA leans forward to point at the fort on the horizon.

  AKRA: If the armée has even one lookout, you won’t get a choice in the matter. The moonlight is behind us.

  CAMREON: That’s why we’re coming by water. Lift your packs.

  As the dragon approaches the harbor, CAM coaxes her down until her claws ruffle the waves. LEO raises his violin high, and CHEEKY grits her teeth in a silent shriek as the creature sinks into the water of the bay.

  Half submerged, the dragon slips past the docks, the rebels clinging to her spine. They pass close to the fort, but if there are lookouts, they are watching for a ship, not a sea serpent. The crocodiles that make their home in the brackish bay scatter before the larger reptile. But when the dragon reaches the moon bridge at the top of the harbor, she stops, lifting her head from the water: a net of heavy chain sits just below the water line.

  Curious, the beast presses her bony nose into the water gate, but CAMREON stops her as the chain rattles, loud in the night.

  CAMREON: Shhh.

  TIA (whispering): Would Jetta’s blood open the lock?

  LEO: Don’t waste it. The inn is close. We can walk from here.

  Nudging the dragon toward the reedy bank, CAMREON climbs lightly up her neck to the muddy shore. AKRA and LEO follow, reaching back to help the girls. They wring water from the edges of their sarongs as the dragon nestles happily into the silt.

  CHEEKY: I’m soaking wet.

  TIA: What’s new?

  CAMREON: Shh!

  The streets are eerily quiet, even for the late hour. No drunks stumble through the alleys, no secret trysts happen in the shadows. No one collects trash or treasure from the gutters—there aren’t even any soldiers on patr
ol as the rebels make their way to the inn.

  Le Livre is a low-slung plantation-style building, surrounded by a lush garden thick with palms and dripping with orchids. In better days, the shutters would be open, and a lamp was always lit at the door. But now the light has gone out, and the garden is overgrown. CAM ducks under the overhanging vines, pushing back the rain hood of his coat as he makes his way to the back door.

  TIA: It’s strange to see the lamp dark.

  CAMREON: They’re likely short on space with all the refugees in town, but Siris has always made room for rebels at Le Livre.

  CHEEKY: We know Tia will be fine with sharing a bed.

  TIA: Shh!

  TIA hangs back from the door, suddenly nervous.

  She’ll hear you.

  CHEEKY’s eyes go even wider.

  CHEEKY: She doesn’t know?

  CAMREON: Quiet, or you’re both sleeping on the riverbank.

  Raising his hand, CAM knocks at the door. Once, twice. He waits, frowning, then knocks again. No answer. He glances back at LEO, who shrugs one shoulder.

  LEO: It’s not like Siris to not have someone awake in the kitchen.

  CAMREON hesitates, then raises his hand once more. Before he can knock yet again, the door opens at last. But it is not SIRIS standing inside.

  Instead, a woman frowns at him—a little older than the rebels, but quite a bit richer, judging from the fine fabric of the robe she’s wearing. Her long brown hair and wide eyes give away her mixed parentage. This is ELLISIA, though CAM doesn’t know it yet.

  ELLISIA: If you’re looking for rooms, there are none.

  CHEEKY shoots TIA a mischievous glance.

  CHEEKY: She’s rude. I like her already.

  ELLISIA overhears—as CHEEKY has meant her to. She narrows her eyes.

  ELLISIA: If you’re looking for work, come back tomorrow.

  TIA hisses to CHEEKY.

  TIA: That isn’t her!

  ELLISIA tries to shut the door, but CAM puts his foot between it and the jamb.

  CAMREON: We’re looking for Siris, actually.