My mouth fell open, and I nearly swooned. Someone in the crowd snickered, jolting me from my stupor. “Would someone please explain?”
“Svieta,” Falak said, “see to Sher-sah and meet me in my wagon.” A stout, middle-aged woman with thick gray hair twisted into a bun separated from the crowd, responding to Falak’s request with a silent bow. “You.” He pointed to the lion’s victim. He crooked his finger and issued an order in Bonhemmish. The stranger, in a hooded cloak that cast deep shadows on her face, dipped her head in acknowledgement.
Limping forward, Falak proved he’d injured more than his arm.
“Where are we going?” I asked, giving him my shoulder for support. He leaned on me, although I suspected he regretted needing my help. The stranger followed us without resistance or hesitation, and I wondered what Falak had said to gain her obedience.
“I have questions for our visitor. You’ll have questions for me. It could make for a long night, and I’d rather sit down while we sort out the details.”
“But—”
“No buts. Get me to my wagon and we’ll talk.”
I swallowed my protests and held him steady as he directed me to his wagon, which turned out to be an austere compartment paneled in dark wood. A carpet woven in gold and burgundy patterns covered the floor, and a heavy desk sat against one wall, ledger books stacked on every corner. Instead of taking the padded chair at his desk, he crumpled onto the bed arranged at the end of the room.
When I was certain he wouldn’t pass out, I turned to face the girl who had silently followed us in from the meadow. My mouth fell open again as surprise washed over me in a hot, prickling wave. “Karolina?”
A wry smile crossed her lips. She dropped her hood and bent in a brief and lazy curtsey. “Lady Thunder.”
“What are you doing here?” I studied the princess, looking for signs that she’d been hurt or mistreated in any way. Other than the dust and wrinkles marring her black slacks and long cloak, and the strands of hair that had escaped from her braid, she appeared as lovely and well-kept as the first night I met her. I eyed her cloak again, studying the embroidery embellishing the neckline and hood. Otokar’s robes had featured a similar collection of shapes and symbols. “Does your sister know where you are?” I motioned to her attire. “Does Otokar?”
“Stop,” Falak demanded in Dreutchish. He grimaced and tugged off a glove with his teeth. He worked at the buttons at his collar. “Explain.”
I pursed my lips and flung my hand out, gesturing to the wayward princess. “Falak Savin, it’s to my great consternation that I present to you Princess Karolina, sister of Křisnová Tereza Jagiellon—Empress of Bonhemm.”
Blood rushed into Falak’s cheeks, coloring his face a deep maroon. “What in the bloody Shadowlands?”
“As you’ll recall, she went missing from the castle several days before. Apparently, you’ve been harboring a stowaway.”
Karolina rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t hiding. I’ve been following at a distance.”
“Then what were you doing prowling around the outskirts tonight?”
She wagged a shoulder. “Got curious. Wanted to see the dancing.”
“It doesn’t matter what you were doing.” Falak was nearly frothing at the mouth. “You’re going home before the empress brings her royal guard down on my head. I won’t be blamed for kidnapping her sister.”
She straightened her spine, stiffened her jaw, and folded her arms over her chest. “You won’t do any such thing. I am a princess, and no one tells me what to do.”
I blinked at her, astonished at her obstinacy. Little monster.
The pulse in Falak’s throat beat like a galloping horse. His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth at her. “This is my circus, princess. Here, I am the king. And if I say you go...you go.”
Clearing my throat, I gave Karolina my best queen-of-the-realm stare, channeling the look on my father’s face when he was displeased and wanted me to understand the severity of his disapproval. “Never mind the selfishness or dangerousness of your actions. Never mind the resources being spent on the effort to find you. Never mind your sister’s fear for your life, or a nation’s panic. It’s late, we’re far from Prigha, and the road home is dangerous, especially at night.” I glanced at Falak, and the intensity of his glare nearly knocked me over. “In the morning, I will take her back to Prigha myself. For tonight, though, she should stay with me. I’ll watch her and make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble.”
My offer to take her home sat like ice on my tongue. How could I get her to the city without endangering her or risking that Jackie and Le Poing Fermé might find me?
Falak shook his head, and a lock of dark hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away and glared at Karolina. “No. Tonight she will stay in the menagerie wagon. She’ll be locked in with Sher-sah, and he will guard her.”
An angry flush flooded Karolina’s face, and she shoved a hand on her jutted hip. “I won’t sleep with that beast. It’s not like I’ll run away. This is where I want to be.”
Falak’s nostril’s flared. “What you want is no concern of mine.”
She pushed out her bottom lip and stomped her heel. “Why does Evie get to stay?”
“She’s useful to me.”
“I can be useful, too.”
His dark eyes scraped up the princess’s figure from her booted toes to the top of her head and back down again. His upper lip curled. “A spoiled brat is no use to a circus. Go back to your posh castle.”
She inhaled, probably to form another retort. I didn’t give her the chance. “Don’t waste your breath.” I locked my eyes on hers and drew on every ounce of my blood and ancestry that had known the weight of wearing a crown. “Right now, the best thing you could do is sit down and be quiet.” I shoved her toward the chair at Falak’s desk. She stumbled, lost her footing, and fell into the seat. Although she harrumphed and made an elaborate show of crossing her arms over her chest, she said nothing more.
“Now.” I arched an eyebrow at the injured ringmaster and pointed to his wounded appendage. “Maybe you can explain that.”
Falak grimaced but offered no argument. Heedless of propriety, he unfastened the remaining buttons on his shirt and slipped the fabric from his shoulders, careful not to strain his wounded arm. Nude from the waist up, Falak’s infirmity was clear. Long stripes of old, silvery scars mottled his slim chest and one shoulder. A thick ring of inflamed skin outlined the edge of a metal band, connecting a mechanized arm to his flesh-and-bone shoulder. The lion’s attack had mangled his biceps and forearm near the elbow. Several puncture wounds, presumably from the beast’s metal fangs, marked the arm’s smooth brass surface.
“Sometimes,” he said, “when a tigress is protecting her cub, she’ll attack any intruder, including children. Especially children.”
He held still and let me look, taking in my fill of him, and I didn’t realize I’d been holding in my breath until I almost swooned. “A tiger did that to you?” I gestured at his scars.
He nodded. “When I was a little boy. It’s a long story, and I’m not in the mood to tell it.” He wrapped his long fingers around his upper arm, gritted his teeth, and with a grunt, turned it with a click, pop, and hiss from the broken seal. The arm detached from his shoulder, and he set the mangled appendage beside him on the bed.
I schooled my face to radiate serenity and composure. If he expected his revelation to disgust or horrify me, I meant to disappoint him. Karolina gasped, but mercifully remained quiet. “You’re not the only one who has lost a part of themselves,” I said. “Not that I can completely relate, mind you.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Oh?”
Before I could explain my meaning, a knock rattled the door. Moments later, a little round woman with deep lines around her mouth and eyes stepped inside toting a large carpet bag. The contents of Svieta’s bag clanked and jangled as she squeezed into the wagon’s confined space and approached the young ringmaster. As though we were invisible, she ignored Karolina and me and rattled off a question to Falak.
“She asks if I’m in pain,” Falak translated before giving an answer in Svieta’s language.
“I assume the answer is yes,” I said. “Your eyes have that glassy look people get when they’re hurting.”
Svieta settled on the bed beside Falak and opened her bag. She withdrew a small jar and cracked open the lid. The scent of eucalyptus saturated the air as she rubbed the ointment into the ringmaster’s inflamed shoulder. “You’ve seen a lot of pain?” Falak asked.
I thought of Gideon’s black eye, broken rib, and bullet wound from his fight with my father’s Crown of Men on the road to Thropshire. I remembered the looks on the faces of the Fantazike men who had battled the politzen forces in Pisha. I recalled the way my own face looked in the mirror in the months after my father’s death. “I’ve seen enough.”
Not wanting to discuss my experiences with pain, I changed the subject. “What was wrong with that lion? Sher-sah, right?”
Falak nodded. “Nothing wrong with him. He was doing his job, patrolling the perimeter of the camp.”
Karolina made a rough sound deep in her throat. “Then why did he attack me?”
“His job is to keep outsiders from getting in.”
“He can tell the difference?” I asked. “He...it’s just a machine, right?”
Falak cocked a pained smile and glanced at the empty space his arm had formerly occupied. “Am I just a machine?”
