Between Smoke and Shadow

10. Harrick

TEN

HARRICK

The Royal Committee is furious. They frown at me from the stage, where I’m supposed to make my big announcement in less than half an hour. They were clear I shouldn’t interact with Viana until I asked for her hand. It’s tradition, and after the Architect’s visit in the infirmary, I had planned to obey.

It’s the Committee’s fault for pairing me with a vile woman.

She sways in my arms, all smiles now. Her hands are on my shoulders, the lace sleeves scratching my neck, and her collection of rings tickle the bottom of my ears. I’m barely present in the conversation, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s busy putting on a show for everyone else, giggling and blushing, tucking her head to my chest.

There’s something unsettling about a person who can shift like this. Torture an innocent in one breath and play coy the next.

I absently spin Viana, looking over her head until I find Rune. She’s walking the tables of wild game, carefully organizing a plate of roasted boar for her mistress. It’s the only food here I haven’t liked, and I feel a pathetic twitch of power, knowing Viana will eat every bite to appease me.

Rune looks up, as if she feels me staring. Her coveralls swallow her, making her look like a kid playing dress up. She doesn’t blush or smile or nod her head in subtle appreciation. She only scrunches her eyebrows, like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“I know I should wait for the formal announcement,” Viana says, grinning up at me. “But am I right that you have chosen me?”

Demetrius Llroy beams at us from the front of the crowd. I can only guess what perks he’ll reap from our engagement. Mother already favored him over her other cronies, but I imagine he’ll weasel his way into a shiny new position or a hefty pay raise.

I look back to Viana. Black lipstick frames her flawless smile, and I can make out the deep brown of her eyes behind her mask. She looks like a demonic being, trapped in the body of a pretty woman. I want to tell her that I haven’t chosen her and that if it were up to me, I’d choose anyone else. Instead, I pull her tighter against my chest, keeping my eyes on her frail servant across the yard.

“That is my intention,” I say. “However, I do not tolerate violence or abuse. Not from anyone, but especially not from my wife. If we are betrothed, I expect to never witness what I have tonight. You will not lay a hand on someone undeserving. You will not harm someone who cannot fight back.”

I spin Viana away from me, finally looking back to her. A purple-red blush swims under her tanned skin, and her lip trembles like she might cry. I twirl her back into my arms, ignoring the clamor of applause that follows. The crowd cheers like Viana is my long-lost love, not a woman I’ve just met.

“Do you understand?” I ask, wrapping my arm around her waist. Her decorative jewels are sharp against my hands.

“Yes, my prince,” she says. I expect her to follow with an excuse, but she only clings tighter to me. “You have my word. I will never lose my temper again.”

I lower her in a dip and grin at the crowd. When I pull Viana back to my chest, her eyes lock on my lips. She kisses me, open mouthed and sloppy. Her tongue tastes like nightwater, and all I can think about is her black lipstick on my face.

“You have my word,” she repeats. Her lips brush mine as she speaks, and I can feel her smile. “You can trust me, husband .”

I quickly nod and pause to wipe the edges of my mouth. Then, I turn to face the crowd. Their eager eyes are already on us.

“Savoa!” I shout. I lift Viana’s hand in mine and try not to grimace. “Kneel for Viana Llroy, your future queen!”

Despite the cheers and eager bows, despite Viana clinging proudly to my arm…I can’t help looking for her . She’s still near the tables, knelt with Viana’s plate of food in her thin hands. Long brown hair, shielded eyes, an expressionless mouth. She doesn’t look horrified at my proposal, like she’s shocked I would marry someone so cruel.

Instead, she looks unaffected, unsurprised. And I finally realize, as she’s looking at me and Viana, she sees not one monster here, but two.

The following afternoon, I return to my quarters after a grueling training session. Joran and I tested a few new weapons, and I’ve got the bruises to show for it. I’m covered in sweat, body aching and in desperate need of a bath.

When I enter my room, Tora sits on my bed, grinning at me. She’s eating something fried and sweet-smelling, and there are already crumbs on my duvet.

“Your date is in less than an hour,” she says pointedly. “You look disgusting.”

“I’m aware,” I say.

I kick out of my shoes, leaving them in the middle of the room. At the Architect’s insistence, all heirs occupy these quarters, which he designed himself. Everything is a sharp, headache-inducing shade of red. The carpets, the drapes, the bedding, the walls. Only the dark wood furniture breaks up the monotone nightmare.

“Are you aware these are my quarters?” I ask. “How did you even get in here?”

“You know I have my ways,” Tora says, taking another messy bite. “But we don’t have time to talk about that. I’ve been desperate to speak with you all day.”

“Well, get on with it then,” I say. At the end of my bed, a red suit hangs, pressed with shattered glass. I can only assume it’s to honor Demetrius Llroy and his ties to the City of Mirrors. I look back to Tora and arch an eyebrow.

“You broke the rules,” she says, bursting with excitement. She discards her half-eaten pastry on the nightstand and leans forward. She’s wearing pants and a simple shirt, a rarity for my sister. At my hesitation, her smile wavers and she lowers her voice. “Was the Architect furious?”

“He didn’t care,” I say with a shrug. It’s the truth. He can’t be bothered with silly things like betrothals and weddings and changing customs. All he cares about is getting more descendants and more magic. If it’s not related to his return to the Old World, he doesn’t waste his time.

“Well, I was surprised,” Tora continues. “Could you simply not help yourself? Viana did look beautiful.”

I study her, frowning. If I tell Tora the truth, that I despise Viana and was only trying to stop her cruelty, she’ll pity me. She might even cry, for me and for her own stale match. Her breakdown will make me late to meet Viana, and as much as I’d like that, it’d inevitably lead to drama from Mother.

“It seemed like a good move,” I say, turning toward the nearest mirror. My hair is damp with sweat, and the training suit is starting to rub against my neck. “It will give people the impression we’re soulmates, that we’re in love. They’ll look at us and see blissful harmony in Savoa’s future.”

“Sound a little more bitter, will you?” Tora snaps. When I glance at her in the mirror, she’s deflated. Shoulders slumped and arms wrapped loosely over her waist.

“What did you expect?” I ask. I lean against the vanity to face her. “You know Viana. You know me. You know the situation. Nothing changed because she looked pretty last night.”

Tora doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Her eyes start to water, and I know I’ve got ten seconds before she has a complete meltdown.

“Our marriages are part of the job,” I say. I cross the room to stand at the edge of my bed. “It’s strategic. Savoa operates best with both a king and a queen, and if people believe they’re in love, that proves to do even better. It might not be romantic or passionate, but it’s important?—”

“Oh stop it, Harrick!” she interrupts. She scoots toward me, letting her legs dangle off the bed. Her eyes still water, but she’s frowning now, lips harsh rather than shaky. “You don’t believe a word you’re saying. Don’t act like you’re okay with this. That you wouldn’t rather marry someone you love or at least someone you like .”

I don’t respond for a long moment. I fidget with the shoulder of my suit, fingering the glass adornments

“Love is not for us, sister.” I force myself to look her in the eyes. “And despite what you think, I do believe it’s for the best. If I loved someone, the last thing I would want is for her to be trapped with me.”

“Harrick,” Tora says, voice cracking. “Come on, you can’t?—”

“I need to get ready,” I say. I collect my clothes and stride for the washing room. I don’t look back as I close the door behind me.

At the committee’s insistence, Viana and I have our date in the open-air courtyard. The same place I proposed. The same place she shoved Rune Ealde against a stone wall.

My stomach twists thinking about it, and I force the visual from my head. Luckily, any traces of the Flood Celebration are gone, making it easier to pretend it never happened at all. The tables and decor have been removed; the nightwater stains have been scrubbed clean. Now, there’s only this solitary table for me and Viana, and a small area for serving trays.

As Viana talks endlessly, I study the skyline. The sun hangs low over the mountains, casting orange and red hues over the flooding water. The Wilds are likely sitting in a foot of water by now, and I can’t help wondering if Ksana Renat got her increase of magic. Probably not. The Wilds will be flooded by season’s end, and people will go hungry thanks to the damage.

“I just feel so much like a princess already,” Viana is saying.

I try to focus on her as she admires her new dress. It’s a long green gown, similar to any other elite dress, except for its streaks of red. Part of Savoan tradition, scarlet will be added to all of Viana’s clothing up until the day we’re married. Only then will her clothes be solidly red like mine.

“Thank you very much,” she says. She fusses with the skirt, smiling up at me, almost shyly. She must know I see through the act, but she’s giving it her all.

I nod for a reply. I had nothing to do with that dress, but I doubt the Committee would mind me taking credit.

The door to the stairwell opens, and a line of servants enter the courtyard. Three men waltz across the black stone, carrying overloaded trays of food. They spread their dishes over the nearby table, delicious scents of meat and vegetables filling the damp air.

I twist my stein between my fingers. Our table is intentionally small, I think. A round, satin-covered table with barely enough room for two plates and steins. Cramped enough it’s impossible to escape Viana’s reach.

One of the servants hurries to offer us a selection of soups. Viana chooses a thick gray option that smells a bit like musty dirt. I’m still deciding when the stairwell door opens again. Rune hurries into the courtyard, wearing her dark yellow mask and oversized coverall. She’s barefoot though, her toes turning pink from the dramatic drop in temperature that comes with Flood Season.

She centers herself behind Viana, chin low and eyes anywhere but me. Viana turns toward her servant, and I realize I’ve been staring a moment too long.

“Come closer, wench,” she croons. Her voice almost sounds kind, and I’d feel better, if it weren’t clearly fake. “You may stand near the heat.”

Viana returns her attention to me, smiling like she’s hoping for a treat. I keep my eyes on her, forcing myself to smile back. Rune silently moves toward us, stopping when she’s tucked in front of the nearest heater. She keeps her hands folded at her waist but slowly leans into the warmth.

“The poor thing misplaced its shoes,” Viana says, following my gaze once again. She touches my hand, pausing until I force my attention back to her. “Don’t worry, I will arrange for new ones. And hopefully it’s learned its lesson. Right, wench?”

“Yes, my lady,” Rune says. Her voice is steady, unaffected, and I’m desperate to know how someone manages that. Few people call servants “it”, as if they’re an entirely different species. The Architect and Malek both do, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise. Still, I have to grind my jaw to keep from saying anything.

Maybe I should say something.

“Good,” Viana says. She holds both of my hands between hers, squeezing softly. She’s damn-near grinning at her show of kindness.

I glance once more at Rune, who remains as stone-faced as ever, before changing the subject. I’m going to come unglued if I don’t. So I ask Viana about herself and her family and her desires.

She tells me she’s an only child. That she hates Blizzard Season the most. That she dreams of meeting the Architect, face-to-face, someday. She says her mother died cycles ago, and that her father is the only family she has left. She doesn’t mind—her small family is far preferable to Saskia’s ever-growing one of nine children. She’s quick to add that she’d happily bear twenty children, if that’s what I wanted.

She tells me she only desires to do what is best for Savoa and for me. But a lovely parade would be nice, as would a hand-crafted crown and a magicked carriage for us to tour Savoa with our children and their pets.

Viana asks me questions too, all surface-level and easy. I’ve been asked them enough during events that I don’t have to think about the answers.

“Do you like the City of Mirrors?” she asks. She’s slicing her cake into symmetrical pieces, smaller and smaller, putting more time between each bite. Her smile is eager, like she’s got enough questions to drag this date well into the morning.

“I’ve only been a few times,” I say. My cake is gone, the plate cleared fifteen minutes ago. “I imagine it’s in rough shape at the moment.”

The City of Mirrors is always in rough shape, but especially after Earthquake Season. Unlike the Tower, the buildings there don’t have enough magic to protect them. Hundreds of structures collapse by the end of the season, and the residents have no choice but to build from the ground up during Flood Season. In the midst of heavy rain, the commoners put their city back together, using the same materials that failed them in the first place.

It’s one of the few sectors I don’t like to visit. It’s a place of squalor and filth, and I feel like a monster any time I’m in it.

“Have you ever been with Malek?” Viana asks. There’s a subtle edge to her voice, just prominent enough that I catch it. She isn’t asking if I’ve visited the City of Mirrors with my brother. She’s asking if I’ve hunted there with him.

A violent shudder pinches the back of my neck, and without meaning to, I look at Rune and the other servants. None of them look at us, but Rune’s mouth twitches. I’m sure I don’t imagine it.

“No,” I say, voice sharp. I force myself to look back at Viana. “No, Tora and I don’t do that. We’ve no interest in Malek’s habits.”

“Of course, my prince,” Viana says. She’s nodding, trying to act relieved, but I’m not fooled.

She didn’t fear I was a monster.

She hoped I was one.

Viana starts to ask something else, but I cut her off.

“What’s her name?” I ask, nodding toward Rune. When Viana only stares blankly, I say it again. “Your handmaiden. What’s her name?”

I watch Viana, her cheeks warming as her eyes flicker between me and the woman who waits on her at all hours. I look at Rune then. She’s blushing harder than Viana, her cheeks so red they look sunburnt. She’s started trembling, and I feel a prickle of guilt. I might be embarrassing her more than her tormentor.

“Luna. No, wait. No, it’s Rain.” She smiles like she’s just passed a test. Her lips tilt then, almost coy. “Forgive me, my prince. I’m pathetic with names.”

I don’t respond. I’m watching Rune again. Her skin has returned to its sickly pale shade, and she’s gone motionless. Back to unaffected.

“It has gotten late, my lady,” I say, forcing a smile. I raise a hand toward the servants. “Let’s pack up your dessert and be on our way. We’ve got an early morning. Wedding arrangements to be made.”

“Oh yes,” she says. Her momentary disappointment vanishes at mention of the wedding, and she’s back to giddy babbling.

Within ten minutes, we stand at the doorway of her quarters. Rune is a few steps behind Viana, motionless as usual. Still, I’m distracted by her. She’s frail and defenseless, and yet she never cracks. There’s something fascinating about her, but I know better than to get invested—especially with her.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Viana says.

When I turn toward her, she’s already leaning in. I meet her partway, force myself to taste her lips and hold her waist, as if I don’t know who she is. As if I don’t know what she does when no one is watching.

She deepens the kiss, clinging to my shoulders and pressing her tongue into my mouth. Her nails are sharp against the skin of my neck, and she moans. I’m sure half the building can hear us—and even if not, I know there’s at least one person witnessing this.

Watching me kiss the person who degraded her, who made her bleed.

I pull back, feeling a stiff sickness in my stomach. This is what I’m supposed to do, I remind myself. Viana will be my wife, and eventually she’ll mother my children. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing.

And yet, I want to vomit. At the very least, I should take a hot shower and maybe gargle boiling water. I can taste the mule soup she had for dinner and a hint of the chocolate cake she took so long to eat.

“I look forward to seeing you in the morning,” I say, prying her fingers from my shoulders. She wants me to come into her room. I can almost hear the words before she asks them, so I take a quick step backward. “I will send a guard for you in the morning. And don’t worry about your handmaiden’s shoes. I will send a new pair for her immediately. It’s best if you focus on us, don’t you think?”

She nods, eyes glossy.

“Come along, Rain,” she says finally. She slips into her quarters, and Rune is quick to follow. I try to catch her eye, but she doesn’t look at me. Then they’re gone, closed behind a door and painfully silent.

Part of me wants to linger in the hallway in case Viana releases Rune early. I could explain that I’m forced to wed Viana, that I never would have chosen such a cruel bride if I had the choice. And maybe Rune would understand, maybe she’d smile and say it was all right and that she didn’t blame me.

I force myself to leave, because even if Rune did understand, it wouldn’t change the truth. I am marrying a heartless woman and together we will leave this world, condemning all the commoners and servants with it.