Crown of Smoke Read online

  The implication is clear. I pull my hand from hers. “You said you don’t believe I’m a monster.”

  “I don’t,” she insists.

  “Then stop trying to make me into one. How could you think I’d agree to that?”

  The silence descends between us again, thick and heavy, the gossamer connection severed.

  The shadows move slowly on the floor as Rakel gets to her feet. She pauses for several heartbeats, then her footsteps recede slowly away from the door. I want to call out to her, to thank her, to tell her we’ll find another way through this. But I don’t utter a word. Because every step she takes away from me is a step back towards the light.

  And I belong in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 19

  RAKEL

  After the fight, everyone fussed over me like I was a sick child.

  Barden accused me of “my usual recklessness” by rushing in, though Yaita was the worst. She kept appearing wherever I went throughout the day, and at dinner, her eyes followed my every move.

  It’s only Luz who has been conspicuously absent. I saw the way she looked at Ash before the guards confined him to his quarters. She knows more than she’s letting on. And I want answers.

  Now that the others are no doubt asleep, I try to tread lightly, boot heels ringing uncomfortably loud in the empty temple hall as I approach the light coming from a room near mine. The door is ajar, barely enough to make out the figure within.

  Zakkurus.

  They recline on a divan near the fire, hair pulled back by a silver circle. Their robe is deepest midnight blue, the twin to the one they wore the night I first met them in Aphorai City, except the lilies are replaced with tiny silver stylized dahkai blooms. There’s make-up, too. Pomegranate lip stain, and rur ink lines eyes I know are blue but are now colourless in the dim light of the fire.

  It’s as if the Chief Perfumer never left.

  A silver cup dangles from their long fingers – Hagmiri apricot wine, judging by the sweet scent of mountain summers floating towards me.

  “Did you simply want to watch, petal, or can I help you with something?”

  I startle, heat flushing my cheeks. But I find my hand pushing the heavy, carved door completely open. I take a tentative step into the room. “I realized I never thanked you. For…” I gesture vaguely, as if talking about the very air itself. “What you’ve done for us. And out in the desert, when you didn’t—”

  “Do my job? With Ashradinoran?”

  “Yes.”

  “I may still. If I’m forced to.” They lock eyes with me, gaze hardened to ice. “Don’t get precious, now. You’re loyal to your love. I’m loyal to something bigger: a cause. And to that, my dedication is unwavering.”

  “You sound like Yaita.”

  “It’s not a coincidence.”

  “But can you help? With Ash?”

  They take a sip of wine. “No.”

  “You mean, you won’t help him.”

  “Tell me of a person who doesn’t cast a shadow and I’ll know you for a liar.” Another swallow from the goblet. “But for what it’s worth, petal, I don’t think he’s evil.”

  “How noble of you.”

  They hold up a hand defensively. “Patience. I’m trying to explain. Ashradinoran was born on the Days of Doskai. His first breath was of the scent of another’s end. I’ve seen many who carried the same curse that he now grapples with.”

  My irritation turns to curiosity. “That’s how he became what he is? Born at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, and we don’t know for absolute sure, but that’s my theory.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s how I first came to work for Sephine. Initially I was charged with finding others like your surly friend.”

  “Like Zostar has been doing?”

  Their jaw drops melodramatically. “Mentioned in the same breath as the rogue physician? I’m hurt, petal. Truly hurt.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  “I was Sephine’s Finder. I would go out into the city and identify any children who had shown signs of the Lost God’s curse. I grew up in the neighbourhoods they were most likely to surface in – places where the stench of death was never far from breathing its fetid heat down your neck – so whenever there was an incident in Aphorai City, I was able to follow the rumour trail before things got out of hand.”

  “And once you’d found them?”

  “I’d bring them to Sephine, who, by the Primordial’s grace, would set them free of Doskai’s influence.”

  “Channel the will of Asmudtag,” I mutter. “I thought as much. Sephine. Her eyes, she … took the curse into herself. With the Scent Keeper elixir? Like the way she took as much of the poison from Nisai as she could when he first fell ill?”

  Zakkurus nods approval “Always knew you were a swift one.”

  “Then… I… Is it…”

  “Perhaps try to articulate a complete thought. Makes communication so much more efficient.”

  “Can I do that for Ash? I’ve survived the first imbibing. And the second. I could do it again.”

  “Not without great risk. Mercy before maturity, remember. Sephine was the most powerful Scent Keeper alive. I doubt even she would have attempted such a thing on an older subject. Not that she ever needed to, under my watch. I never missed a case. Alas, Ashradinoran was born in Ekasya, not Aphorai.

  “What’s more…” There’s a pause as Zakkurus sips their wine. “He’s been tortured. We don’t comprehend the half of it, and of what I have heard, none of us could predict who we would become if we were forced to endure such an ordeal. Only the Primordial could anticipate what would be left of us. Would it be enough to survive the ceremony?”

  I don’t want to admit the truth in their words. I don’t know what would be left of me either. But to admit they’re true might be to admit I’m losing Ash, after having just got him back. I don’t know if I could bear that. Not again.

  “Ceremony?”

  Now the silver cup gets tipped all the way back. “It’s unfortunate that things have changed over the centuries. Even within the Order, there are clashes over nuances of scripture, debate over what is the true will of Asmudtag, how the remnants of magic in the world should be deployed. It no longer seems as simple as ‘mercy until maturity’.”

  “But I thought you believed in everything the Order–”

  “I endeavour not to have my judgment impaired by the latest dogmatic fashion.” They run a fingertip around the rim of the cup. “You’ve heard the tenet Asmudtag is all, yes? That’s because the Primordial is all. Imbued in every one of us, in the Younger Gods, in the land itself. Only through Asmudtag can we find balance; the Younger Gods have proven their foibles are as many and varied as our own. The Shadow Wars demonstrated what happens when equilibrium is lost. Chaos reigns. Countless lives are forfeit. There are those who would see the Empire in ashes in the name of their own victory.” With a flick of the wrist, the last drops in the goblet fly into the fire. The flames reply with a hiss. “But of what value is a crown of smoke?”

  They frown at that, as if their words meant something more once they’d spoken them. Then they flow to their feet and take my shoulders in their hands, expression serious. “Seek your answers among Sephine’s records.”

  “This better not be one of your tricks.”

  “You wound me.”

  “But why help us?”

  “Because you asked.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Come now, petal. Haven’t I ever told you never to question my motives?”

  I lift my chin. “I’m not scared of you.” Even if I was once. “Tell me why you’d stick your nose out. Sparing Ash. Telling me of Sephine’s work.”

  Zakkurus looks away, but I can tell they’re looking at nothing, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the middle of the room. “Because it could just as easily have been me in his position.”

&nbs
p; I open my mouth to reply, the questions in my mind vying for first place. But before I can get any of them out, Zakkurus crosses to where the contents of their travel pack have been neatly lined up on a side table. There’s a tinkling of glass, but with their back turned to me, I can’t see what they’re doing.

  Then they return and slowly, deliberately, usher me from the room. On the threshold, they pause, pressing something into my palm.

  The door swings closed.

  I stare down at the two somethings in my hand.

  The first vial is labelled. Sultis. It’s well sealed, but I still shudder at the thought of the valley full of vines where I lost and regained my memories on the way to the Sanctuary.

  The second vial has no label. But it’s a dark liquid I’d now recognize anywhere.

  Scent Keeper elixir.

  I have to find out how it works.

  Luz had organized for both Yaita and me to have access to Sephine’s old quarters, but when I arrive, I find them empty as hoped. Good. I don’t want to have to deal with a lecture while I look for what I need. Still, knowing Yaita, she’ll only snatch a couple of hours sleep before she returns to her experiments. I’d best hurry.

  I light a candle against the coming darkness. Sephine’s scrolls are all kept in a fancy cabinet. There’s row upon row of them, some simply rolled, others in protective cylinders of plain metal or intricate inlays, gleaming in the flame.

  There’s another cupboard on the far side of the room, a larger one. I’m hoping it’s a wardrobe, but when I open it racks of clay tablets stare back at me. I groan. This is going to take too long.

  Think, Rakel. If Sephine wrote down the method for how she relieved the Children of Doskai from their curse, would she have committed it to parchment, or clay? I would have guessed tablets would be reserved for contracts and the like, remembering the day I first met Sephine on the temple heights, when she’d bought out my indenture to Zakkurus.

  I return to the scrolls.

  I’ve got no idea where to start. But I’m not going to give up on Ash yet.

  Especially not with an army soon to be at the gates, Nisai searching for a weapon against Ash’s kind, and Luz caught in the crosswinds of some kind of test of faith.

  I pull the nearest scroll out and unroll it. It’s in Sephine’s distinctive handwriting, flowing together and with extra accent markers so that even when she wrote me simple lists I had trouble deciphering them. This one’s an ingredient list for the current Eraz’s great-grandfather’s favourite scented aftershave balm. Not for the first time, I wonder how old Sephine was when she died. The next scroll is for the current Eraz. A “hair restorative” tonic. There’s a scrawled note in the margin that brings a smirk to my lips: “utter twit, bald is good enough for us, is it not good enough for him?”.

  I walk my fingers a little further down the shelf. A formula for women who don’t wish to bear children. I hesitate for a moment, then slip it into my satchel.

  It’s becoming clear the scrolls are organized by subject, so I decide to take a sample from each shelf. When I pull out the next one, something slips near the back of the cabinet, rasping along the wood. I reach my arm in, fingers scrabbling for the dislodged object. Freeing it from the dim cabinet reveals it’s not a single thing, but many – a stack of folded sheets of parchment, tied with a worn strip of leather.

  I slip the first from the stack.

  I imagined they could be anything. More recipes. Shopping lists. A diary. Who knows, maybe Sephine was even a secret poet. But it’s none of those. It’s not even in the same hand that all the other scrolls were written in. That doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the lettering.

  It’s Yaita’s.

  And each scroll begins with my name.

  There’s enough letters here for a turn if she was sending them every moon like she claimed. I pull out the remaining scrolls from the shelf, stacking them between the chair and the wall so they don’t roll away. And there, tucked at the back of the cabinet, are more bundles of folded parchment. Maybe even seventeen of them.

  My mother had written to me every moon. The letters just hadn’t been passed on.

  I go back to the first one, the one that appears to be most recent. It talks of my seventeenth turnday, and, as if I was still a child, of how tall I must be now.

  When I was younger I yearned for some way to know my mother, thinking it impossible. The whole time, there were letters here. Part of me understands why Father did what he did. But another part feels robbed. I could have had this – if not an actual mother, then at least some sort of idea of who she was, that she knew of me and cared.

  For that part of me, I’m tempted to go through more of the letters. See if it changes the way I feel about Yaita. Maybe it would make her seem less of a stranger.

  Only a one-way conversation is no conversation at all. It’s sad to feel so distant from something that was meant for me. But there are more urgent things that I need to see to. For someone who was there when I needed them most. Someone who puts those he loves first.

  I put the letters back where I found them – maybe I’ll get a chance to return to them one day – and unroll the next scroll.

  Here. This is something to do with naming ceremonies. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  CHAPTER 20

  ASH

  “No closer.” The words come from one of the guards outside the door.

  I surge into a sitting position.

  “Is he not allowed any visitors?” Rakel. Her voice oddly muffled compared with the guards. My heart thumps against my ribs. “That’s not very humane. The Prince said he would be treated with all respect.”

  “Ashradinoran is observing quiet contemplation. My orders are to uphold that.”

  “I can be quiet. I’ll be here and then gone before anyone’s the wiser.”

  Why is she pressing them? I can’t imagine she thinks that’s going to make them stand down.

  “I, ah… I don’t think we should.” Spikes of confusion punctuate the second guard’s words. “We were supposed to… Can you remember our orders, captain? Why are you wearing a mask, girl?”

  “Oh, just step aside, would you?” Rakel’s tone is haughty, now.

  The sound of the bolt sliding back precedes the door opening. For a heartbeat she hesitates on the threshold, limned in light. Then she shuts it behind her and leans heavily against it. There’s the sound of cloth hitting the floor, then a sigh of relief. “For a moment there I thought I’d used the wrong dose… Ash? Where are you? It’s darker than the Days of Doskai in here.”

  “Blasphemy,” I say on reflex.

  “After everything we’ve been through, not least of all today, you’re getting preachy on me?”

  I rub my hand over my shaved scalp. “I’m over here. On the bed.”

  She shuffles across the floor, no doubt feeling her way with her feet while her eyes adjust to the relative gloom. There’s a thud as she stumbles against the low table, followed by a string of curses under her breath. I should jump up and guide her; I can see perfectly fine. But something stops me. The voice that has been telling me since I was a child that I am a curse. That I’m tainted with darkness. That I’ll only bring grief to those I love.

  And above all of that, there’s an even starker fear: after two episodes and a near miss, and all so relatively close together, I no longer know if I can trust myself.

  Even with her.

  “Rakel, stop.”

  Her footsteps pause.

  “I… I think you should stay over there.”

  Her faint silhouette shifts, drawing closer. “Ash, I’m not scared of you.”

  “An error of judgment at this point. You know what I’ve done. You’ve seen what I am. This morning, who knows what … could have happened.”

  “What I know is that you won’t hurt me.”

  “Rakel, you weren’t there.” The words come out more accusation than explanation, surprising even myself. “You don’t know what they put me throu
gh. Under the Mountain, Zostar and his cronies they … experimented. A lot of the time I wasn’t even conscious.”

  She’s fumbling for the candles I didn’t light earlier. “Ash, you know I had no idea you were alive, don’t you? I never would have left you if I did. Do you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you also know I won’t leave you now.”

  I stand, holding up my hands as if they’re the last line of defense. “It’s different now. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even know half of the things they did to me, their purpose, if there will be any lasting … effects. I don’t know how or when I’ll next lose control. This morning, with Barden, it wasn’t life and death. That was … anger. Rage.”

  Light flares, and she’s there, features illuminated in the warm flame of the candle as she uses one to light the next, setting them down on the table. She’s only a couple of steps away now. The scent of desert rose drifts around me. And with it, the last of my resistance crumbles. I’ve lived a life sworn to protect another, but with Rakel, it was always different. And now she’s here.

  I step forward, closing the distance between us until she’s in my arms and I’m sighing into her hair, the tension I’d held through countless prayers and hours of silence slowly draining from my muscles.

  When she draws back enough to look up at me, her eyes shine with withheld tears. “Please, Ash. Let me help you.”

  “I won’t have you risking your life for me.”

  “That’s not your choice to make.”

  I’m silent.

  “If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for me.”

  “In a heartbeat,” I respond without hesitation.

  “Then treat me as an equal.”

  The challenge crackles in the air between us: dry tinder ready to leap into flame. She’s not your charge, I remind myself. You are not bloodsworn to her. The person I’m bloodsworn to – was bloodsworn to – comes to mind, along with some of the last words he spoke to me. It was more important to protect me than to love me.

  “Rakel, I’m scared. Of what I’m becoming. Of what this might do to you. To us.”