Petra recalled the anger that had ripped through her when she had stood in the palace river. She felt it again, this time for a different reason. “Why are you doing this to him?” she challenged the queen.
“Why, I thought it was clear, little gadje. There is no one else left to be the Kalderash heir, no one else whose veins flow with Danior’s blood. My tribe has plans that need to be carried out over the rest of our reign. No doubt the news about my son will be shocking to some, but I am too tired to care, and too sick to feel any shame. It is my right to name an heir, and I name him.”
Tarn stepped forward, and Petra could see that he and Treb shared the same oil-black eyes and a physical strength that could be brutal. Tarn looked at Neel with resentment. “If you knew what was good for you, cousin, you’d deny any claim to the throne.”
“I do.” Neel’s voice was low. “I do deny it.”
But Tarn had already left the room. Treb was not far behind him, and shook his head at Neel on the way out. “There’s something about you, lad, that attracts trouble. It follows you like a bad storm.”
“Neel,” Damara said quietly. “I’m sorry that you discovered the truth like this, but don’t let a golden opportunity slip by denying it. You are the rightful Kalderash heir.”
“You’ve known all my life about this?” said Neel.
“Yes.”
“How come you kept it a secret? Didn’t I deserve the truth?”
“You deserved not to be broken by disappointment. Iona and I have been friends since we were little girls. Fifteen years ago, she came to me, pregnant and unmarried. She was the Kalderash heir to the throne then, and feared what would happen if her secret became known. She begged me to adopt her child. I agreed.”
“Don’t sugar the story,” said Iona. “You said yes because I threatened to abandon the baby to the wolves.”
Damara shot a warning look at her. “Iona planned to marry another man,” she continued, “and to have legitimate children by him. One of them would inherit the throne after her.”
“They were never born.” The queen shrugged. “And my husband is dead, so that leaves you, Indraneel.”
“What point was there in telling you until now?” Damara brushed the damp hair off Neel’s face. “You would have grown up feeling cheated of a destiny that could have been yours. But now it will be. You’ll become king of the Roma.”
“Well, I don’t want to! Who’d want to be that bony hag’s son? Not me. And I guess I’m not your son, either. Never was.” Neel turned away from her and fled down the narrow tunnel.
Petra and Tomik ran after him, with Astrophil helping track Neel as he burst from the tunnel and zipped down palace passageways.
He wasn’t easy to follow, and soon Tomik said, “We should let him go. He’s hunting for a place to be alone.”
They stopped, hearts beating, breath quick, then slower, then calm.
They stood on a balcony that stretched into the night air, the stars above shining sharp and brilliant. There was no moon, so they couldn’t see the waves below, but they could hear them rushing against the rocks. Petra stepped to the balcony’s edge and felt like she was floating in darkness.
Tomik joined her at the railing, leaning his back against it. Settling onto his propped elbows, he said, “A king. Neel’s going to be a king. Where does that leave us?”
“I believe that leaves us approximately three thousand, four hundred miles from Prague, Bohemia,” replied Astrophil. “It leaves us, as Neel would say, in something of a fix.”
They smelled Treb’s burning tobacco before they heard him speak. “Yes, you’re in a fix, but I haven’t forgotten about you.”
They whirled to face him.
“Your honorable pal Captain Treb has arranged for you to meet the Metis tomorrow,” he said.
“The Metis?” said Petra.
“They’re the Vatra’s experts on magic, and if anyone can help you find a cure for your father, it’s them. They’re a bit dangerous, though. Snappy. Quick to take offense. Powerful, too. So don’t get them angry, or they’ll turn you into worms for baiting hooks.”
6
The Metis
“PETRA, WAKE UP!” Astrophil cried.
She bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong?” She ripped away a frothy mosquito net. “Where are you?”
“Here!” he called from a corner of the white stone room. “Help me!”
Petra swung her bare feet to the floor and was about to race to save Astrophil. Then she saw the cause of his distress and laughed.
A furry brown spider had cornered Astrophil and was trying to touch him with one curious, hairy leg.
“Who’s that?” asked Petra. “Your sweetheart?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Astrophil folded his front four legs. “Very amusing. Now get rid of it.”
Petra reached for one of her sandals.
“Don’t kill it!” he cried. “Just … make it go away.”
Petra crossed the room, nudged the brown spider aside, and scooped up Astrophil. “It’ll go away on its own.”
As Astrophil crept up her arm to her shoulder, Petra looked around the sun-bright, simple room. It contained one luxury: a sunken bath filled by a mountain spring. Petra dipped in a dirty foot. The water was a chilly but refreshing contrast to the tropical heat of the morning. She pulled off her shift and slipped into the small pool, leaving Astrophil on its edge. He kept a wary eye on the brown spider.
Aside from standing fully clothed on the deck of the Pacolet during the occasional rain shower, Petra hadn’t been clean in ages. She discovered a bar of coconut-scented soap in a nook carved into the stone wall, and as she scrubbed away, her body seemed like it belonged to someone else. It had been so long since she had seen her skin uncovered by salt-encrusted clothes, and her dark brown hair felt like knotted yarn. Once, she would have hacked it off with her dagger, but now she discovered that there was something calming in trying to untangle it. Doing this helped her think, as if working out the knots in her hair somehow made it easier to untangle her emotions.
Petra was anxious to meet the Metis, but what kind of help could they offer her father? She doubted his cure would be simple, and even if it was, returning to Bohemia and finding him wouldn’t be. Would her friends go with her? Astrophil would, of course, but what about Tomik? Petra admired him—and envied him. He seemed to succeed at everything he tried, like becoming so skilled at sailing that Treb had once called him Tom of the Maraki. Tomik fit so easily into Roma life. Maybe he would want to stay in the Vatra and study magic.