Burning Kingdoms. Lauren DeStefano

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      5

      “I don’t like this one bit,” Pen says, scouring her face with a wet cloth. “Her Duplicitous Highness has been at conference with Jack Piper for hours now.”

      I lie back in the drained tub, letting my legs dangle over the edge. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?” I say.

      “If she’s smart, she isn’t telling him all about the way Internment is run. But she’s as dumb as a rock, and she loves to hear her own voice.” Pen begins furiously braiding her hair. “When I think of my mother and all those people up there, I just—I can’t stand it.”

      “What?”

      “How powerless they’d all be against something like what I saw today. One bomb, and it would all be gone. And down here they fire them off like it’s nothing.”

      She drops her braid and struggles to fix it, but she can’t seem to steady her hands.

      “Pen.” I reach for her. She sits on the edge of the tub, sulking. I fix her hair. “There’s no sense thinking about it. All the bombs they’ve got on the ground can’t reach Internment. Nothing can. Not even that bird we saw this morning.”

      “Not even us,” Pen whispers, broken.

      I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into the tub with me. I was hoping to make her laugh, but she flops unceremoniously against me.

      “Tell me another story from the history book,” I say. “What about the tree that grew endless fruit after the infestation killed the crops?”

      “It wasn’t an infestation,” Pen says. “You always get that part confused. It was a drought. The lakes weren’t replenishing. The people were losing faith in the god of the sky. Fish were rotting in the sun.”

      “And then?” I say.

      “You know the story,” she sighs. She flails until she’s able to free herself from the tub. “I’m going to bed.”

      She reaches her hand out to me, and I let her pull me to my feet. I’m not tired at all, but there isn’t anything more to do. The sooner we sleep, the sooner it will be morning. And maybe there will be some answers then.

      Celeste still hasn’t returned by the time I turn out the light. Pen’s bed and mine are separated by a small table that holds a black book and an alarm clock. The ticking feels louder in the darkness, drowned only by Pen’s tosses and turns.

      I don’t move. Guilt has made me fear the days to come. If experiencing this war is the price I must pay for my curiosity, then I accept. But Pen never asked for this. Nor did Basil and Thomas. And they’re all here, one way or another, because of me.

      The door creaks open, letting in the faint glow of the fireplace down in the lobby.

      “About bloody time, Princess,” Pen mutters. “Don’t even think about blinding us with the light.”

      “It’s me,” Birdie whispers. “I’m sorry, but Father is still downstairs and I—I need that tree.”

      She sounds as frightened as I feel.

      I sit up. “Is it safe to be out there?”

      “I don’t care about safe,” she says.

      “We have something in common, then,” Pen says. “Take us with you.”

      “Or you’ll tell on me?” Birdie says unhappily.

      “Of course not,” Pen says. “I just think it would be the decent thing for you to invite us. We are letting you use our window and all.”

      Birdie hesitates. “You won’t find anything suitable to wear in this room,” she says. “All these clothes belonged to my mother. Let me go see if I can’t scare up a couple of dresses.”

      We stuff our beds with pillows. Birdie is impressed with the deftness by which Pen and I can descend the tree, even with the icy branches. “We’re all a lot of natural climbers,” Pen says, hopping to the ground. “After a while there’s nowhere to go but up and then back down again.”

      “Where to now?” I say.

      “We have to walk for a bit,” Birdie says apologetically. “But then we can take the ferry once we reach the harbor. Used to be it would close by nine, but since the war the king has resolved never to let the city sleep. Makes us superior to King Erasmus, he thinks.”

      “Even if a bomb has just gone off?” I say.

      “Especially then. The Cranlin will be open until sunup. That’s our cinema. Do you have moving pictures on Internment?”

      I imagine an image, blurry and monochrome, like the school portrait of Daphne after her murder. I imagine the image moving, her stoic eye blinking, and it gives me a chill. “Sounds terrifying,” I say.

      “Not at all!” Birdie laughs at Pen’s and my startled expressions. “They’re the bee’s knees.” She loops her arms over the backs of our necks as we trudge forward. “Seems I have a lot to show you, girls.”

      She introduces us to the harbor, and the roaring body of water she calls an ocean. “Is that like a big lake?” Pen asks.

      “Much, much bigger, and full of salt,” Birdie says. “And the sea has more creatures than lakes. Whales and sharks and mermaids—they have human hair, you know.”

      “Of all things,” I breathe.

      Birdie bounces on her heels, looking at the lights coasting across the water toward us. “That’s the ferry,” she says.

      Pen СКАЧАТЬ