because I wanted more sweet things.
I submerge myself beneath the surface of the water again and hold my breath, knowing no matter where I am or what I do, I will never escape the heat of flames and the taste of ash. But I no longer want to escape. I want to wield that fire and watch this place burn.
Chapter 14
The next morning, I struggle to blink open my eyes, rubbing away a layer of crust. This bed is too large, too soft, too—beautiful. At the San Cristóbal ruins in ángeles, everything we own is modest, and when I was old enough to start training as a Whisper, we slept out in the woods. Where are Sayida and the others sleeping now?
I push away the feather-soft blanket and examine my injured hand. The stitches are swollen and red. It hurts to stretch them, and blood still trickles from the stem of the cut. My other hand is itchy inside the tight leather glove. I’ve never felt as useless as I do now. I’m only glad no one can witness this humiliation. With a damaged hand, I could only manage to wiggle myself into a thin silk robe last night, which I now regret as a draft sends shivers racing across my skin.
I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. The vast room is dark, and I pad to the floor-length curtains, but hesitate upon a closer look at the material. They said this room used to belong to Lady Nuria. I do not remember her from my time at the palace, but she had expensive taste. Feather silk is the lightest fabric ever made, imported from Dauphinique. I wonder if there’s so much of it because the newest queen of Puerto Leones is from there. Just a swatch of it is worth more than anything I’ve ever owned, and Lady Nuria used it for something as mundane as drapes. I’m afraid to even touch them, but I don’t fancy sitting in shadow.
When I pull back the curtains, golden morning light filters through in thick stripes. The immense windows are barred on the outside with black iron, and a cylinder lock on the latch keeps the glass panes closed. My throat tightens. I shouldn’t be this surprised, but I am. As a child, I had free rein of the grounds. Méndez doesn’t think of me as that naive seven-year-old anymore. I will have to regain his trust and find where the weapon is being kept in the palace. I have dozens of old safe houses I can give them. It would thin the justice’s forces and allow the Whispers to smuggle out more refugees. I can stay for more, like Lozar said.
From up here, we’re so high that I can see the entire city center, the familiar maze that seems to have only grown more complicated since I last saw it. Just beyond, there are the green treetops of a forest beginning to grow anew.
Foolishly, I let my eyes drop, falling onto the square below. The memory of the Whispers’ Rebellion rears again, everything crashing back at once: the sticky streets, smoke in my nose, ash on my skin. Bodies shoving and crushing and burning.
“Awake, O Scarlet of the Sands!” an alto voice singsongs cheerfully behind me.
I let out a startled cry and reach for my knife—only for my fingertips to graze silk. Of course. These aren’t my clothes. This isn’t my room. This isn’t where I belong.
“Who in the Six Heavens are you?” I pull my flimsy robe tighter as I take in the man now standing in my room. He’s young, maybe older than me but not by much. Tall with a gleaming head of brown curls that frame a handsome oval face and light brown skin. The king’s jeweled seal catches the morning light on his right jacket pocket.
“Me? I am the royal sun who comes to shine his light on you,” the boy continues to sing, his voice a pleasantly surprising ring. For the first time, I notice a bundle of scarlet in his fine hands, the hands of someone who’s never done manual labor.
I frown. “I don’t know that play.”
He holds the dress out for me to see. I don’t look at it. I already know it’s ridiculous.
“Then we must educate you about the theater if you are to be the lady in my care.”
“Not a lady.” I take the dress from him and, remembering the way the other attendants acted toward me, am