Page 27 of Between Smoke and Shadow

The Architect laughs. It’s a hollow sound that bubbles into my gut, making my entire body cold. I keep my eyes on him anyway and force my chin higher, despite the radiating pain.

“Malek must learn?—”

“No,youmust learn!” he shouts. He presses his hand to my bare chest and pushes down, stealing a sharp gasp from my lungs. “You are to be king because you are powerful. Because you have more magic than any other descendant.

“So do not be confused, my boy! Your duty is to escape Savoa, not save it. The mortals are here to keep us alive, to grow our food, to hunt our grounds, to unearth our metals. You are not here for them. You are here to open that portal forme.” He leans closer, until I can feel his harsh breath through his mask. “I willnothear of this foolishness again. Do you understand?”

I grit my teeth, a growl locked at the peak of my throat.

“Do you understand?” he screams. He shoves his hand against my sternum, and a hideous croak breaks in my throat.

“Yes, sir,” I say. Without breath, my words are barely audible. But the Architect slowly lifts from my chest, straightening until he’s no longer over me.

“Good,” he says. He backs away from the cot and strides for the exit, only to stop at the door. His hand hovers over the metal handle as he looks at me. “I expect you to increase your training. If I hear you’ve lost to your brother again, I will not let them heal you.”

And then he’s gone. The ebony door slams behind him, only opening when the healers return. They press their hands againstmy chest and face, their magic seeping through my skin like boiling water.

As they work, I stare at the ceiling. I imagine Rune has been promoted to Viana’s handmaiden, and now, there’s nothing I can do to protect her. There never was, and I’d deluded myself into believing otherwise.

In moments like this, I wish I knew the extent of the Architect’s sickness, his vulnerability. If I did, maybe I’d get the nerve to kill him and take his role for myself—saving the very kingdom he’s determined to betray.

NINE

RUNE

Two days after they take Caleah, I sit on the floor of a servants’ bathroom. The ones up here are far nicer than the ones on the bottom levels. There are dark sage tiles, a row of well-maintained toilets, and even an elongated mirror. I’m between two toilets now, arms tucked around my legs, knees pulled to my chest. I haven’t puked in several minutes, but I still can’t find the motivation to get up.

A deep-toned buzz sounds from the ceiling. It’s the start of a new hour, and I officially can’t procrastinate any longer. Vale will be waiting for me, and if I don’t go now, he might leave before I arrive. Or worse, I’ll be late returning to Viana’s quarters, and I’ll have the bruises to show for it.

My gut lurches and I curl over the toilet again. There’s nothing in my stomach—it was mostly empty when I got here—but I retch until the pain fades. Then I crawl from the floor and fix myself in front of the mirror. I leave, still frail and hideous, but at least without the bit of vomit on my collar.

The service stairwell is empty as I jog down to level fourteen. I haven’t been here since my first promotion, and I strangely thought it might be comforting to return. Familiar, if nothing else.

Instead, the heinous smells are worse than I remember. Heavy body odor and old laundry that’s been sitting too long and thick dirt that will likely never be cleaned. It’s darker too, lit by a flickering off-yellow, rather than the illuminating white of upper floors.

I walk past dozens of yellowed doors, reciting the message I’d sent to Vale:fourteen feet, nineteen hands, twenty-one long.That’s the twenty-first door on the fourteenth floor at seven in the evening. When I reach my selected door, I use my sliver of mirror to check that I haven’t been followed. Once I’m sure I’m alone, I slip into the closet.

The tiny room is filled with broken cleaning buckets, ripped coveralls, and a mismatched collection of brooms. Today, it also contains Vale. The light from the hallway dances over his brown skin, until I pull the door shut, subduing us both in darkness.

“Is it true?” he demands. His voice is a harsh, trembling whisper. I’d sent a message to meet here, but I couldn’t convey more than the place and time. I couldn’t tell him about Caleah or her capture or the uncertainty of her future. Still, I’m not surprised he knows. News travels fast, even to the bowels of the Tower.

“Yes,” I say. I rest my hip against the nearest shelf to keep myself from shaking. There’s something in here that’s molding, emitting a hideously sweet stench. I steady my breaths, staring in the general direction of Vale. “I’m so sorry. I was watching out for Caleah, but I swear there was no warning. Prince Malek…maybe Prince Harrick…they framed her. I know that doesn’t make sense?—”

I break off mid-sentence. If I speak another word, I’m going to cry. I had one job as Saskia’s handmaiden, and that was to keep Caleah from getting caught. One job, and I failed almost immediately.

“It’s not your fault,” Vale says. His voice is smooth and gentle, comforting even through his lie. After a lengthy pause, he asks, “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. My tongue feels like it’s doubling in size, making every breath labored. “She might be in the prison. But I don’t know where that is. Somewhere in the military section, maybe?”

Vale doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I finally realize he’s not going to.

“I’ve been made Lady Viana’s handmaiden,” I say to fill the quiet. The words bring an unsettling twitch to my stomach.

Vale swears under his breath.

“Caleah didn’t last five days up there,” I whisper. “She’s the best of us, Vale. If she didn’t make it, I won’t either.”

The words are bitter against my tongue, but they’re the truth. I press my palm to my chest and count my racing heartbeats. I’ve always known this mission could get me killed, but I hoped it wouldn’t. And I certainly hoped I’d at least survive the Earthquake Season.

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