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No one stopped or questioned me as I descended the stairs and exited the castle, retracing the route Otokar had led me on the day before. If I’d asked, one of the household’s servants would have retrieved my horse for me, but I preferred, instead, to do that one thing for myself.
In the courtyard beyond the castle’s front doors, a guard stood at the small archway leading to the carriageway and main gate beyond. When he saw me coming, he clicked his heels, bowed, and swung open the postern. I sighed, not realizing I’d been holding my breath, expecting him to refuse my exit. When Tereza had said I wasn’t her prisoner, she apparently hadn’t been lying.
Beyond the circled drive, the main gates remained closed, but another small postern in the wall next to the heavy iron barriers swung open as I approached. A second guard clicked his heels and bowed as I strolled through the castle wall, following the carriageway leading into the heart of Prigha.
Sunlight warmed my shoulders as I traipsed into the city, passing storefronts and street vendors on every block. From habit and curiosity, I extended my senses, searching for a raincloud or distant storm, but I might as well have been trying to smell a rose growing as far away as Inselgrau. My spirits improved when I reached the city’s outer perimeter and found Adaleiz grazing in a small paddock next to her stable. Much of the income Gideon, Marlis, and I earned had gone not only to paying our rent, but to covering the cost of boarding Adaleiz and Wallah, Gideon’s stallion. The horses lived in far better conditions than we had, but Gideon and I would’ve spent our last penny on our horses—we had that much in common, at least.
Adaleiz and Wallah strolled to the fence when they spotted me, and I fed them sugar cubes pilfered from the breakfast table. Their velvety lips nuzzled my palms, searching for more. They snuffled me, their warm breath tickling the sensitive skin around my neck. I stroked their soft ears and noses and inhaled their pleasant, horsey odor. The apartment in Tereza’s castle was lavish, but I might have been more comfortable sleeping in a pile of hay in the stables. The horses cared nothing about what I wore, how I behaved, where I came from, or who my ancestors were. They cared nothing for kingdoms or power, and I envied the simplicity of their lives.
“Dobré ranó, slečna.” Good morning, miss, said the groom, who stood in the stable’s doorway holding a lead line and a harness. He asked me something else—probably an inquiry about the reason for my visit. I pointed to Adaleiz and smiled. He chuckled and climbed over the paddock fence, toting a harness and line.
Working together, we quickly saddled Adaleiz, and I trotted out on the eastbound road. Gideon had not yet appeared, and I considered waiting for him, but Wallah ran as though he had wings instead of hooves. I’d left him an obvious trail. If he wants to find me, he will.
Adaleiz and I left Prigha in our dust, heading east over a gently rolling road surrounded on either side by fields sprouting new shoots of grain. I closed my eyes and focused my other senses: touch, smell, sound. The clamor of the city and its oily industrial stench faded as the winds whipped around my face and neck. Adaleiz pounded the dirt, setting a rhythm that echoed in my heartbeat. Never did I feel more like myself than on horseback.
A temptation arose inside me, urging me to run and never look back, never stop, but Adaleiz abruptly slowed, and I rocked forward, unprepared for the shift in her gait. Adjusting my balance, I studied the road ahead, searching for the source of her restlessness. In the distance, the outline of a wagon train huddled in a circle near the roadside. Beyond the wagons, a conical pyramid of red and white fabric undulated in the breeze. The wind carried faint odors of salt, butter, and popcorn. The circus!
Adaleiz and I reached the ring of wagons painted in crimson, indigo, saffron, and emerald, all with arching roofs trimmed in metallic accents. The words Le Cirque de Merveilles Mécanique, printed in brash gold lettering, emblazoned the side of the largest wagon, a lumbering beast of deep, cobalt blue. A pair of brass pipes, twice the thickness of my arm, extended from beneath the wagon and jutted up the exterior rear corners, each ending a foot or so above the roof. Where I expected a driver’s buck seat and riggings for attaching a cart-horse, I found only a bit of unrecognizable mechanical equipment.
I led Adaleiz around the wagon circle and wound her reins through the spokes of one wagon painted with a mural of a dark-skinned lady in short, striped skirts and top hat. She was tiptoeing along a rope stretched between two poles. I stroked Adaleiz’s nose and ordered her to stay put. Threading my way through the maze of tents and booths, I searched for signs of life, but encountered no one, no performers, no animals, not even a groundskeeper to collect the bits of discarded rubbish swirling in the breeze. I paused before the entrance of the biggest tent, closed my eyes, and listened.
Somewhere nearby, a bird squawked, and something answered in a high-pitched, chittering voice. Opening my eyes, I followed the sounds, but before I could discover the source of the animal noises, a young man threw himself into my path. He flapped his arms as though he were waving back a herd of stampeding sheep.
I stumbled back and swallowed a yelp. The stranger drew himself up straight. A gleam of humor shone in the set of his lips and in the faint dimple in his cheek. A white cap sat at an angle atop his dark hair, giving him a rakish charm. He stepped back and bowed. “Omlouvám se,” he said in Bonhemmish. I’m sorry—another phrase I knew, although his tone gave his apology an insincere, teasing quality.
Wearing jodhpurs, tall boots, and suspenders over his sweat-stained shirt, he looked like a laborer. Perhaps he was the missing groundskeeper I’d been wondering about. The stranger rattled off something else, but his vocabulary surpassed my comprehension. He must have read the confusion on my face because he fell silent and stared at me, dark eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. “Parlez-vous Gallcois?” he asked.
Because of my brief tenure in Pecia, I understood the gist of his question. “No. I don’t speak Gallandic. Inselgrish, or Dreutchish. That’s all, I’m afraid.”
His eyebrows arched. “Dreutchish?”
“Ja. Ich heisse Evie.” My name is Evie. I dropped into a quick curtsy.
He responded in kind. “Ich heisse Falak Savin.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, still speaking Dreutchish, “even if you did give me a scare.”
“I was trying to apologize for alarming you.” He spoke in an utterly unfamiliar accent, but based on his dark looks and his name, I guessed he originated from somewhere much farther south and east than Bonhemm. “But it’s not safe to be here when the circus is closed. Our first show is later this afternoon.”
I cocked my head like a curious dog. “Not safe?”
He indicated the circus grounds with a broad wave of his gloved hand. “Sometimes the animals get loose. Sometimes we rearrange things. We may need to move a wagon or any number of duties required to keep this place going. If you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, when no one expected you, you might be trampled, or pinched, or struck. You see?”
I nodded, blushing at my thoughtlessness. “Curiosity got the best of my common sense, I guess.”
Falak shook his head, nearly upsetting his cap. “It’s no concern. Come, I’ll take you on a tour, show you everything as my guest. This way, you’ll be safe.”
“No, no....” I stepped toward the wagons where Adaleiz was waiting for me. “I should let you get back to work.”
He huffed. “The work won’t go anywhere. Come. Let me take you.”
“That’s very generous. Are you sure?”
“I don’t get many opportunities to spend time with people beyond this little troupe. It’s a rare treat to talk to someone like you, Evie. Believe me.” The way his eyes sparkled suggested he meant something more when he called our conversation a rare treat. I raised my guard. Perhaps Falak had only offered a harmless compliment, but I’d learned never to assume.
He led me into the main tent first, past several rows of wooden benches. The space smelled of sawdust, smoke, and fresh paint. Three circular railings set in the floor marked the sections reserved for performances. Falak pointed up, and I gazed at the spired ceiling. A cluster of ropes and platforms loomed over us.
“The trapeze?” I asked.
He nodded. “And the tightrope.”
“I saw the mural on a wagon outside—a lady in short skirts and a top hat.”
“Ah, Melisandre.”
At the thought of stepping out on nothing but a thin line of rope, my stomach rose into my throat. “Has she ever fallen?”
He shook his head. “Never. She has wings on her feet, I think.”
“And the aerialists on the trapeze? Do they have wings as well?”
Falak waved me on, motioning toward an open flap in the rear of the tent. “No, not wings, just very hard heads. Come, you’ll meet them.”
Behind the tent, someone had arranged an impromptu dining area of folding tables and chairs. Brightly colored fabrics had been stretched between poles overhead, and sunlight cast colorful blotches of light upon the group gathered beneath. “The Flying Bianchis.” Falak gestured at the people who had paused their conversations long enough to consider me and my host. Women, men, and even a small girl and boy stared at me as though I’d grown a tail and feathers.
A thin, baldheaded man with a handlebar mustache barked a sharp laugh, elbowed the smaller man beside him, and said something in yet another language I didn’t know. A petite woman standing beside him swatted his shoulder, and her tone, when she spoke, indicated criticism. I glanced at Falak, hoping he might translate, but he only glared at the bald man. A deep red flush stained his ears.
Maybe I don’t want to know what he said, after all.
“That’s Giorgio,” he said, his tone bitter. “It’s good he speaks only one language. Most of the things he says aren’t fit for a lady’s ears.”
I sniffed. “Don’t worry about me and my ears. We’ve survived worse things than a little tasteless humor.”
Falak arched an eyebrow but did not question me. Instead, he switched between languages—Vinitzian, if I had to guess—and introduced me to the rest of the Bianchis, including several ladies whom Falak referred to as tissu danseuses—aerialists who performed amazing dances while suspended from long strips of silk. Finally, he brought me around the edge of the troupe and bowed before the family’s matriarch, Camilla, a wizened old woman whom, he said, oversaw production of the circus’s costumes.
With her crinkly face, white hair, and missing teeth, she reminded me very much of Justina, the matriarch of the Fantazikes. Knowing Camilla probably held as much sway and influence over her family—and possibly the whole circus—as Justina did over her nomadic clan, I bent my knee and dipped before her, showing the deference she warranted. I guess a woman doesn’t always need an empire to be a queen.
Camilla offered a withered hand spotted by age and embellished with several large, sparkling rings. I pressed a quick kiss to her papery-thin knuckles. Her eyes glittered green like emeralds, and I paused to consider her striking gaze. Something about her bejeweled eyes troubled me, but I had no time to ask questions. Falak cleared his throat and flapped his hands, shewing me along, herding me like a sheep, once again.
He led me to another striped tent, one a quarter the size of the main pavilion. A loud caw greeted us as we stepped through the flaps into the dim space smelling not of feathers, fur, or manure, but of oil, polish, and alcohol. A high chittering voice answered the bird, and my jaw fell open as my vision adjusted to the low light. Before me stood a menagerie of exotic animals that had only appeared in almanacs and encyclopedias in Fallstaff’s library. Some I thought only existed in the old legends: butterflies and dragonflies, peacocks and parrots, a chimpanzee, a dragon the size of a large dog, a baby elephant, and a unicorn. “H-How?” I stuttered.
My host reached behind a flap in the tent curtain, and gas lamps flared to life around the room, revealing the truth. Light reflected from the beasts’ metallic surfaces, exposing skins of brass, iron, and copper. Subtle gear-works clicked and purred as the animals shifted, mimicking the movements of their live counterparts. Dull bladed feathers, like rows of butter knives, fluttered as birds flapped their wings. The unicorn’s horn glowed a warm gold as she pawed the ground. The elephant’s trunk curled upon itself with a tink-tink-tink of metal joints compressing. He flapped his great ears, raising a breeze that stirred loose hairs around my face.
Like a key turning a lock, a realization clicked in my head. “The wagons...those are mechanical, too, right? You don’t use horses to pull them.”
He shook his head, and the gaslights threw warm highlights across the dark strands peeking out from his cap. “They are completely automated.”
“It’s like Magic,” I said, breathless with awe.
“You wouldn’t say so if you knew the work it took to keep these things running. There’s a mechanical lion, too, but his jaw’s locked. Svieta’s working on him now, trying to fix him before the show tonight.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “What’s a lion without his teeth?”
He’d introduced me to the aerialists and their matriarch who created the circus’s costumes. He’d showed me the animals, and he mentioned the woman who kept the mechanical beasts purring and chirping. Yet, throughout it all, he’d never spoken of his own role within the circus. “So, what do you do here? Are you a juggler? Do you swallow swords or breathe fire?” I grinned at him, teasing. “Are you a clown?”
He returned my smile, although his took on a cagey quality. “If you come to the show tonight, you’ll see for yourself.”
My smile fell as my good humor fled. “I can’t tonight. I have....” I hadn’t revealed my identity or my connection to the Bonhemmish throne. From previous experience, I’d learned it was safer being a nobody. In truth, I had no conflicts preventing me from attending other than the risk of exposing myself in a public place, and if the empress had discovered me so easily, then others, such as Le Poing Fermé, might find me as well. Riding this far away from the safety of the castle’s walls on my own was an impulsive decision for which Gideon would undoubtedly berate me. “I have a prior commitment.”
Falak winked. “An engagement with your lover.”
Heat scalded my cheeks as my thoughts went to Gideon. I glanced away and shoved my hands deep into my trouser pockets. “Nothing like that. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then, why do you blush like so?” Without touching me, he swept a gloved finger over my cheek.
“You shouldn’t ask such things. It’s not polite.”
He snorted. “Don’t come to a circus if you’re seeking polite society.”
He’s got a point. The comradery between us cooled, and we exited the tent, stiff and silent, but a sudden shout cut through the stilted atmosphere. “Evie!”
I flinched and wheeled around. Gideon strode toward me, clearing the open concourse between the wagons and the main pavilion with long-legged strides. I braced myself for his anger, but instead he drew to a halt several feet away and said nothing. His gaze evaluated and dismissed Falak in a blink, obviously determining he was no serious threat.
I turned to my host and briefly curtsied. “Thank you for the tour. I’m sorry I can’t see your show tonight. Maybe another time?”
He waggled a finger at me. “The performance tomorrow evening is our last. We’ll pack everything and be gone by the next morning.”
A pang of disappointment surged through me. “A friend’s hosting a dinner party tomorrow night, and I’ve already promised to come. Now, I’m especially glad you gave me a tour.” I glanced at Gideon who shifted his weight and folded his arms over his chest. He caught my eye and flicked his head toward our horses, urging me to leave. I turned to Falak. “But you really must tell me what you do.” He was tall, but slim and wiry. He probably weighed little more than I did. “Feats of strength?” I laughed.
“No.” He winked. “It’ll remain a secret. You’ll have to come and find the circus if you want to know the answer.”
“Where are you going next?”
“We’ll be heading for Toksva.”
My breath hung in my throat. He’d named the capital of Varynga, the country Otokar had seen in his scrying when looking for the Fantazikes. “Truly?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I never lie.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered, excitement making me gauche. “It’s only that I’ve been searching for some friends, and I’ve recently learned they may be in Varynga. Maybe....” I patted my pockets as if expecting to find a piece of parchment and a quill. “Maybe I could give you a message to pass along if you see them.”
He gave me a skeptical smile. “That seems very unlikely. How would I recognize them?”
Gideon snorted. “Wait until she tells you who they are.”
Falak’s dark eyebrows drew together. “I must say, you’ve made me very curious, Evie.”
I stopped fidgeting and forced myself to be still. “I’m looking for the Fantazikes, and I have reason to believe they’re in Varynga. If you see them, you must tell them that...that....” I glanced at Gideon and silently begged him for inspiration. Could I give away my full name?
Falak wrinkled his nose, folded his arms over his thin chest, and arched an eyebrow. “Fantazikes? You are friendly with that lot?” By his tone, he could’ve been talking about pigs, or street urchins, or any manner of unsavory subjects.
“They were very kind to me, once. Their matriarch made me a promise, and I intend to collect on it.”
Falak hacked a derisive laugh. “You must be talking about someone else.”
I thrust my hands on my hips. “The Fantazikes—they fly about in airships fueled by lightning. They breed Rhemonies and sell them at their carnivals. They hold boxing matches and musical concerts. I flew aboard the Charosvardo with the Tippany family for nearly a week.”
His jaw dropped. “A week? That’s not possible.”
Far, far in the distance, thunder rumbled. Gideon and I both gasped and glanced at each other. In the deep recesses of my mind, a faint connection glowed, like the farthest star in the night sky, dim and barely twinkling. But it was there. Had Falak’s skepticism inspired such a strong emotional response that even the obstinate thunder couldn’t deny it? Perhaps the storm was merely a coincidence.
His mocking expression turned curious again as he studied me and Gideon. “There’s something more to you than meets the eye, Evie. Am I right?”
“There’s something more to everyone, especially you, I’ll bet.”
He ducked his chin and threw out his hands at his sides. His posture suggested capitulation and apology. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“You owe me nothing, Falak. But I’ll ask you, as one wandering soul reaching out to another in a harsh and lonely world: will you do me the kindness of passing a message to the Fantazikes, if you see them?”
His chin bobbed once. “What would you have me tell them?”
“Tell them I’ll be making my way to Varynga. I’ll contact any kareeyatids I cross along the way, and that is to whom they should send a message, indicating their whereabouts, if they wish.”
“They’ll know you simply as Evie?”
“They should. But if not, tell them the lightning girl is in Bonhemm, and she’s on her way to find them.”
Falak flinched. “Lightning girl? What does that mean?”
“They’ll know what it means. That’s all that matters.”
He stepped back and bowed. “As one wandering soul to another, I’ll do this thing for you. But you’ll remember my kindness, yes?”
I nodded. “Of course. Always.” The list of debts I owed to kind people had grown one line longer, but it was worth it. And I would repay them all. Somehow.
Falak gave me one last hard look before marching away, disappearing around the corner of the tent.
I sighed and my shoulders slumped. I shuffled toward Adaleiz, and Gideon followed. “I’d much rather go to the circus than attend Tereza’s dinner tomorrow night.”
“I’d rather you go to the circus, too.”
I gaped at him. “Really?”
He waved toward the tent. “Here, you’re nameless, faceless, and presumably safe, if Falak doesn’t figure out your identity based on that rather specific clue. At the dinner tomorrow night, you’ll be named and presented as a princess utterly devoid of resources. That’s an appealing delicacy, difficult for some to resist.”
I thought of Le Poing Fermé and Aelous Daeg and shuddered. “It’s tempting—to sneak away and come here, to the circus, instead. But it won’t solve anything. I said before that I’m tired of hiding, tired of being weak and defenseless. Safe or not, I won’t change my mind about revealing myself tomorrow night.”
Gideon exhaled and his nostrils flared. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
In silence, we reached the horses, untied their reins from the wagon spokes, and mounted. We took to the road at a trot, and I turned my thoughts inward. Gideon was quiet, perhaps lost in his thoughts, as well. Although, lost would be the wrong term. He never dropped his guard when we were out in the open. He kept his gaze trained on our surroundings, probably searching for signs of danger, real or imagined. I agonized about restoring kingdoms while he worried about keeping me alive long enough to do it.
I slowed Adaleiz to a walk. “I’m sorry.”
He reined Wallah and brought him closer to my side. “Sorry for what?”
“For fighting with you. For running out.”
He sniffed. “At least you had the sense to tell me where you were going.”
The horses clip-clopped for several paces, and their rhythm lulled me into a relaxed state I rarely achieved anywhere but on horseback.
“I never wanted to be your jailer, Evie.”
I studied Gideon from the corner of my eye. Honey-brown hair trailed down his back, though several loose strands escaped their bindings and swirled around his temple and ears. Dust had collected in the dark nap of his long jacket. It wasn’t a riding coat—he’d obviously left in a hurry to come after me. A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Not so long ago, his taciturn nature intimidated and cowed me. I’d thought of him as a creature carved from stone, hard and unbreakable. I knew better, now.
“Believe it or not, I appreciate your concerns.” I clutched my reins tighter and studied the way my knuckles rose beneath my skin. “I understand your worry. It’s hard to protect something you can’t confine and control.”
His voice came out rough and low. “I don’t want to confine or control you. I just don’t know a better way.”
“I could make it easier on you, though.”
He grunted.
“I’ll try to do better. I’ll try not to make things so difficult.”
He turned and met my stare. “I made things difficult first. Don’t worry about me. If I can’t keep up with you, it’s my fault, not yours. Don’t change yourself for me, Evie. Don’t change yourself for anyone.”
