Page 20 of Between Smoke and Shadow
She unties my handkerchief from behind her head, and a rush of disappointment swells my chest. Her eyes are closed, the blue hidden from me. I resist the urge of asking her to look at me, if only because I know she would. She would, not because she felt the same thrill when our eyes met, but because of what might happen if she disobeys the crown.
“You can keep it,” I hear myself telling her. It’s insane, absolutely deranged, but I want her to have it. I want her towantto have it.
Rune doesn’t respond. She keeps her hand stretched toward me, the handkerchief dangling from her shaking fingers. Her mouth opens, and I realize she does this a lot. Thinks about speaking, only to keep the words inside.
I take the mask from her. She doesn’t want it—that much is clear. And I know, logically, it’s for the best. She could end up with lashings if anyone discovered her with it. They wouldn’t even waste time learning the truth. She’d be bloodied and bruised, and it would be my fault.
Again.
“Am I to be punished?” she asks me.
I almost ask what for, but then decide it doesn’t matter.
“No Rune, you will not.” I make my voice as firm and gentle as I can, and I hope she can hear the honesty in my words. She will not be punished, certainly not by me, and not by anyone else if I can help it.
Once I’ve had the thought, it solidifies in my mind. I can’t protect Rune, not in the blatant way I once tried to protect Quil, but I can help. And I will.
She nods and retreats into her room, keeping her face toward me as she slips past the door.
“Your shoes will be here in the morning,” I tell her, if only to prolong this moment for another second.
I’m surprised when Rune hesitates. She holds the door, using it as a shield, as she did in the bathroom. Her eyes remain closed.
“My mask is gone,” she says. She’s stuttering as she speaks, and her hand noticeably trembles. “I don’t need shoes…but my mask is gone. I don’t know how to retrieve another without…”
She trails off. Without walking the halls maskless? Without risking punishment for losing it?
“I will take care of it,” I assure her.
Again, she doesn’t smile or look relieved. She’s tense and vibrating and waiting to realize this has all been a nasty trick.
“Goodnight, Rune Ealde,” I say. And then, because I can’t help myself, I add,“It’s good to see you again.”
The wrinkle between her eyebrows appears, and I wonder distantly if she remembers seeing me that day. Probably not. I study her face one last time, and it stays with me, long after she’s shut the door.
It’slate in the evening, over half a day since I left Rune Ealde at 51 CC. I stand in the Tower’s underground bunker with my mother and siblings. We haven’t spoken since our exhibition, but right now, I couldn’t care less. After the mess of this morningand all the tedious routine that followed, I’m just trying to stay awake.
“Well, Mother? Did he say it’s enough?” Tora asks. She stands to my left, once again fidgeting with her crown.
Mother tilts her head as she looks over the space. There are endless rows of bottled magic, stretching into the room’s deepest shadows. She sighs, finally turning toward us.
“We are close,” she says. Her hair, dark like Tora’s but streaked with gray, is twisted around her own crown. A combination of rocks and gemstones, hers represents the Pit. “He doesn’t want to act until he’s certain. If we attempt too soon, and we don’t have enough, it will have been for nothing. We will have to start over.”
I scan the room as she speaks, trading my red handkerchief between my fingers.
“How long?” Tora demands. “Look at this room. We’ve got thousands of bottles here. It’s enough magic for Savoa to thrive our entire lives. And what, we’re supposed to let it collect dust until he’s certain? Our grandchildren will have grandchildren before he’s satisfied. And in the meantime, our kingdom is going to suffer until it inevitably collapses.”
She’s not wrong, on multiple accounts. This bunker holds enough magic to save Savoa’s dying crops and protect its crumbling buildings, to cure the commoners’ sick and heal their wounded animals. Our land wouldn’t be suffering as it is, if the Architect hadn’t been hoarding for so long. I feel nauseated, looking at aisle after aisle of black bottles, each containing magic, all kept for an escape mission that never seems to come.
If the commoners found out about this place, it’d be ravaged before nightfall. They’d steal every bottle, even if they died doing it. Luckily for the Architect, only those in the Royal Committee and a few hand-selected high guards know this bunker exists. Fewer still know how to access it.
“How long?” Tora repeats. “How much longer does he need? How many more bottles until it’senough?”
“The Architect estimates two more cycles,” Mother says finally. Despite Tora’s pitching voice, our mother’s remains steady. She takes a bottle from the nearest shelf and holds it to the light. Faint red is visible within the black. “Two more cycles, children, and we can finally go home.”
“Two cycles?” Malek repeats with a scoff. His crown is all bone and teeth, jagged fragments of slaughtered Wilds’ animals. “I believe you said that two cycles ago. And four. And six. The lie is getting thin, Mother.”
He plucks the bottle from her outstretched hand and tosses it carelessly between his fingers.
