I need to end this, quickly.
“We should be going,” I tell Cress. “Our ship captains wish to set sail this evening in order to take advantage of the tides. King Etristo’s health is declining, and it is quite a chore for my husband to be away from his father during this tumultuous time.”
I loop my arm through Heron’s, giving his a squeeze that is both reassurance and warning.
“Oh dear,” Cress says, brow furrowing. “Of course. Though the way the tides have been this season, you are far better off waiting an hour. Otherwise they will simply beat you back a foot for every inch you gain. Come—spending the last few days surrounded only by soldiers has me missing the company of other women. You and I will have a glass of wine together before you depart.”
She extends her hand to me, and I have no choice but to let go of Heron to accept it, though my heart pounds in my chest. When her fingers wrap around mine, they are hot and dry. It doesn’t feel like I’m touching something human, but rather a marble statue that’s been standing in the sun. She doesn’t feel feverish, like Blaise does, but the sensation is disconcerting all the same.
“I would enjoy that,” I say, managing a smile. “Avaric, dear, will you secure the prisoners to their place on the ship so that we’re ready to leave when the Kaiserin and I are done?”
Heron’s eyes are wide, darting between Erik and me, but he manages to nod. “Very well, my love,” he says. “I’ll see you in an hour’s time.”
There’s an undercurrent of fear to his words, and I hope I’m the only one who notices. He kisses my cheek goodbye and lingers a second longer than necessary, his hold on my shoulder bracing. Though he says nothing, I feel the warning in the silence between us, though I hardly need it.
Be careful. Don’t get caught. Come back.
I HAVE TO REMIND MYSELF TO breathe as Cress and I approach the camp. Suddenly it feels impossible that the Water Guardians could have succeeded—the camp is bigger than anything I’ve seen disguised before, and though there are many Water Guardians, they are untrained. I fear Cress will be able to see right through the illusion, and I can’t stop thinking that this was a foolish plan that will only delay the inevitable. I was a fool to ever believe otherwise.
A disguised guard opens the gate and ushers us through, giving me a wink as he does. In that moment, I know it’s Maile, but I’m too preoccupied to pay her a second thought. Instead my attention is focused on the camp—standing undamaged, and populated by hundreds of uniformed Kalovaxian guards.
It is not a perfect illusion. When I search for the flaws, they show themselves clearly, like seams in a dress when the fabric is pulled taut. I know that the northern fence was burned entirely, and though it stands whole now, when I stare hard at it, I can make out a shadow of the charred wood, the blank space where the sky shows through, the light haze of smoke that lingers in the air. The same goes for the waterlogged buildings and the streets that were flooded only hours ago.
But Cress does not know to look for the illusion, so the details are lost on her. She sees only the tall, proud fence, the clean, sharp-edged buildings, the dry, packed dirt ground. She sees Kalovaxian soldiers with cropped yellow hair, clean-shaven jawlines, and pristine uniforms instead of bedraggled rebel warriors with hungry eyes.
Her personal guards keep close behind us, though they, too, seem taken in by the illusion, not seeing beneath the magicked exterior. Still, I can’t calm my thundering heart. I won’t be able to breathe freely until Cress and all of her men disappear into the distance.
“It smells strange, doesn’t it?” Cress asks me in a conspiratorial whisper. “A bit like death.”
It’s difficult not to think of all the times Cress and I walked arm and arm, all the times she used to trust me with her whispers. It’s difficult to remember that I am not Theo right now, that I am not even Lady Thora. I am Princess Amiza, and Cress is a stranger to me.
I force my voice to come out evenly. “I suppose so, Your Highness,” I say. “Is that not how it always smells here? As I understand it, there is a high turnover rate for workers.”
“The slaves, you mean,” Cress says, frowning. “I suppose that’s true, but it’s terribly unpleasant, don’t you think?”
“It is,” I agree. “Perhaps we would be better off enjoying a glass of wine outside the gates, where the air is clearer?”
For an instant, Cress appears to consider it, but she quickly shakes her head. “No, we’ll drink in the dining hall. Hopefully the smell of dinner cooking will drown out this stench.”
I have no choice but to follow as she instructs a guard to lead the way and have a table set for two.
* * *
—
When we enter the dining hall, Cress tells the guards to stay outside, with the same charming smile I’m used to from her, though with her soot-black lips, it hardly has the same effect. Instead of getting flustered and red the way men used to get around her, the guards merely look unnerved.
“It’s only going to be some talk between girls,” she tells them. “Nothing at all to worry about.”
She doesn’t give them a chance to respond before pulling me into the hall toward the single table that has been set with a crisp white tablecloth and a gold, jewel-encrusted carafe with two matching goblets.
The room is drafty, raising goose bumps on my arms, though I hope Cress doesn’t think it strange. I hope the illusion holds long enough that she doesn’t realize that the southern wall of the dining hall has been completely destroyed, letting in the chilly evening air.
“How do you like living in Sta’Crivero?” Cress asks me, pulling my attention back to her. “Is it very different from Doraz?”
The question catches me off guard before I remember that Amiza was born in Doraz, the daughter of the Emperor there, though Doraz rulers choose their successors, so she became a princess only when she married Prince Avaric.
“Sta’Crivero is truly unlike anywhere else in the world,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t ask more about Doraz. I don’t know the first thing about that country, beyond what Søren and Artemisia told me of their power structure. “It’s indescribable, really. I do hope you’ll come to visit sometime, once all of this unpleasantness is behind you.”
“My father always enjoyed his visits there,” she says, sounding wistful. “He said that you all live in towers so tall, they touch the sky, all painted the most vibrant colors. I confess, I can’t quite imagine it.”
“Neither could I, before I saw it with my own eyes,” I say, which is true enough. “Sta’Crivero is a desert country, so hot that it’s unbearable, but the capital sits on a natural spring, so it keeps the temperature more mild.”