It’s dark out and that’s when Vasiliádes is at its best.
Away from the watchful castle that floats above like an all-seeing eye, when even the soldiers get a little merry and the smell of fish and salt from the Endless Sea reaches through the streets.
The night is when this island can relax, because it knows that nobody is watching.
“I thought your plan was to stay alive,” Micah says as we walk down the narrow passageway.
“Don’t be so green,” I scold. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
The moon is at its peak, but the lantern lights on the street are dim, the fires inside them barely aglow.
The buildings to either side of us act like walls, dank and crooked as they reach up into the night. The ground is damp, though I don’t remember it raining, and most of the shop windows are too black to see inside.
Only a few have names scratched into the wooden doors, or painted onto small signs, but most have nothing to tell passersby what they are or what they sell.
If you know, you know.
If you don’t, it’s best to keep walking before anyone finds out.
We approach the door, where Leo is already waiting.
I don’t even get the chance to knock. The moment I raise my hand, the door swings open and Leo is standing there, looking at me like I’m late for an appointment we didn’t make.
His deep red hair reminds me of the foxes that hide in the gardens of the soldiers’ barracks and I’m almost positive he’s wearing the same shirt and overalls that he was the last time we were here.
“Finally,” Leo says. “In you get. Quick, quick. I’ve just given her a makeover. She looks more beautiful than before.”
Leo is nothing if not always pleased with himself.
“In, in,” Leo says, hurrying us into the far back of the shop.
When we first walk in, we’re surrounded by darkness and it takes a moment for Leo to relight the oil trough that encircles the room.
The flame practically jumps from his match and spreads like a ring of fire, banishing every shadow in a matter of seconds.
Then I see it, in the center of the room.
Our way off this forsaken island and to Polemistés.
“No,” Micah says, backing away. “No way in souls are we getting on that thing.”
He stares at the contraption, shaking his head adamantly.
“I knew there was a reason why you wouldn’t tell me what it was! A surprise, you said. Is the surprise that we’re going to die?”
He turns to me in an accusation, but I only smile back.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, because it is.
“It’s a death trap,” Micah splutters. “There’s a reason those things never passed inspections, Nox. They’re kook inventions.”
“My baby fails no tests,” Leo argues. “She passes every time.”
“And what’s life without a little risk?” I ask.
“Living,” Micah answers.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, like it might keep me grounded. With this invention, that’s the last thing that’s going to happen.
“You ask me to help you stay alive,” Micah says. “You ask me to help you escape Vasiliádes. But now you’re asking me to get on that thing? I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Draw the line up your backside,” Leo shouts, waving his hand behind him. He crouches down beside his creation and picks up a paintbrush to resume his work. “Silly little soldiers afraid of heights.”
Leo laughs to himself and Micah turns to me with raised eyebrows. There’s disbelief on every inch of his face.
Micah always needs a little bit of a push to risk his life.
“It’s the perfect plan,” I say. “We can fly right over the whirlpools that guard Polemistés.”
“I don’t think this thing will get us across the street.”
“She is sturdy!” Leo yells over to us. “My girl is like a bird.”
“She looks more like a chicken,” Micah says.
Leo dips his paintbrush back into the pot. “Chickens don’t fly.”
“Exactly!”
I ignore them and look up at the marvelous thing in front of me.
It doesn’t have a proper name.
Back when they were first being tested—and then promptly regulated to the rubbish bins when none of them could sustain a proper journey—the king called them flightless birds.
“What’s the name of this thing?” I ask Leo.
“She is Anna-Maria,” he says. “After my wife. But she called it our little butterfly.”
A butterfly.
It’s perfect.
The balloon stretches tall enough to touch the very edges of the roof, in a large raindrop that’s the same black blue as the Endless Sea, dotted by specks of silver stars that look like a reflection.
A perfect camouflage, as we hide among the clouds.
I touch a hand to the basket secured below.
It’s made from woven trees, dark oak willow and reeds, stitched together like a blanket. It’s big enough to fit at least half a dozen people, with room to rest and store supplies. There’s even a small cabin hosting the outhouse in the very corner. Four large flames burn above the basket, like a ceiling, breathing an inferno of air into the balloon above.
This is the only way out of Vasiliádes that the king can’t follow. A way to the Southern Isle that could bypass all their barricades and whirlpools.
I pull out the pouch of Chrim I nearly died protecting in the After Dusk Inn. “Can you have it ready by tomorrow?” I ask.
Leo stands and brushes the wood dust from his knees. “She’s ready now,” he says.
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”
I hold out my hand for him to shake, and when he does, I grin.
Tomorrow night, we’re going to leave Vasiliádes once and for all to find the sword my father spoke of. The key to destroying the king.
Me, Micah, and a princess of death and magic.