Page 68 of While the Dark Remains
“If you asked me, Father.”
My stomach twists. I want to scream at him for standing there, for bending his neck to his father’s blade when he’s so much stronger than that, so much better than that.
Kallias turns to his other sons. “If you are so eager to change the way things are done here, Theron, I can find you a mine cart.”
Theron stammers an apology, his face going even paler than usual.
From the mines we ride to the army encampment, skirting around the northern edge of Garran City. Like the mines, the encampment is much larger than I expected, the barracks and mess hall and training grounds bordered by a high stone wall. General Eirenaios leads the tour here, with Zopyros, Kallias’s eldest, attempting to help.
We tramp through the encampment and I take everything in, mentally calculating Skaanda’s chances against a far greater force than we had planned on, with more yet to come. According to Eirenaios, deployed soldiers are being called back to Tenebris on the strength of the truce with Skaanda. Vil and I exchange glances, this news enough to halt our feud; he gives me a little nod—we’ll discuss the army and figure all this out with Saga later.
We have lunch in the mess hall, and I find Ballast sitting directly across from me at the long table we all share. He studiously avoids my gaze, and his face is pinched and drawn, like he’s in pain. I try not to stare at his eye patch and feel utterly sick. I don’t eat much.
Our last stop before Garran City is the greenhouses, which lie southeast of the palace. There are two dozen of them, massive structures made of metal and glass.
Lord Phaedrus, who oversees the greenhouses, leads us into one of them, and we’re immediately folded in warm, bright light. Crops march the length of the building in neat rows, green and flourishing, and the air smells of rich earth and spring dew.
My eyes turn up, to the dazzling lamps that illuminate the greenhouse, no wick or oil in sight. Vil studies them, too, his eyes wide with awe. I feel myself softening toward him again, the anger from earlier fizzled out.
Lord Phaedrus begins to explain the crop-planting schedule and the average yield of the harvest, but Kallias waves one hand and Lord Phaedrus bows and closes his mouth.
“The lamps are of my own design,” says Kallias, and I find him suddenly very close to me. “Do you like them, Princess Astridur?”
He looks down at me with a smug sort of triumph, and the oil in his beard glitters in the light.
I curl my hands into fists behind the fur cuffs of my sleeves and try to look as if I am in awe of him. “Are you an inventor, Your Majesty?”
He grins. “I am.”
“How do the lamps work?”
“Electricity,” he says, and laughs at my blank look. “I will share the secrets with Skaanda’s engineers, as I have shared them with Aerona.” He nods toward Aelia, who is standing near with her arms crossed.
“You have not sharedeverythingwith Aerona, or might I remind you that, in my homeland, your inventions and machines can only be assembled by the Daerosians you send along with the materials, because you have not fully handed us your knowledge, despite your pledge.”
Kallias shrugs off her words with a laugh, and to my horror he grabs my hand and tugs me down one of the rows of plants. Strawberries grow in a tangle of green, and he crouches to pick a handful, then offers them to me.
My heart rages inside my chest—where in the gods’ names is Vil?—but I can do nothing except eat them. They are delicious, the sweetest strawberries I have ever tasted, and yet I want to spit them out like so much poison.
“Father?”
I turn to find Ballast there, the red lines that show from under his patch stark and angry in the bright lights. He doesn’t look at me, butI feel his intent all the same. I fight to stay calm, to keep myself from grabbing his hand and running with him far away from this place.
“What do you want, boy?” Kallias snaps.
There is fear in every line of him, but he simply inclines his head and says, “Lord Seleukos is eager to have our guests enjoy the festival.”
Kallias’s lips thin and Ballast tenses, like he’s bracing for a slap. But Kallias simply brushes the strawberry tops out of my palm and, coiling his hand around my wrist, tugs me back to the rest of our party. Ballast comes after us, but I don’t dare glance at him.
Vil is deep in conversation with Lord Phaedrus about the lamps and crop rotation and designs for building even larger and more efficient greenhouses. My stomach knots. Vilsworeto me he’d protect me from Kallias, and he didn’t even notice when the king pulled me away.
Ballast was the one who came to my rescue.
We ride down to Garran City after that, torches bobbing, horses’ hooves crunching through snow. The city greets us with lanterns on high gates and lights in every window, with the smell of candied nuts and roasting meat. The lingering taste of strawberries turns sour on my tongue.
We dismount just past the city gates, attendants taking our horses. Vil comes up beside me and slips his arm through mine. “Notice how Kalliasshowedus all of that in answer to our gift of food,” he says in a low voice, “and yet heofferedus nothing.”
I nod; Kallias’s arrogance has not escaped me.
