It’s happening. My father will soon shake Renya’s hand and receive the royal order. It’s just moments away.
The king is moving along the line of people, letting each one bow or curtsy and give their names. People in the crowd behind are standing on tiptoe and craning their necks to try to see what’s happening at the railing. Only a bent citizen Outsider woman and a young Enchanted boy separate King Marchant from my father and brother, who stand like two dignitaries. Marlon keeps a hand under Papa’s elbow. I’m certain that’s all the assistance our father will allow. He is a proud man.
Heat fills my chest. My head expands, as if it might pull me up and carry me over the crowd like a balloon. I wonder what will happen next. Will Papa be able to see a doctor at the Citizens Hospital tonight?
Sir Arnaud is suddenly beside me. “That’s your father, is it not?” he asks me. “The person to whom the princess will be giving the royal order the king signed this morning?”
“Yes,” I say, all at once remembering the one time Sir Arnaud saw both my father and Marlon—on the night Jayden ran away, when he saw them through the Pontium bridge. Right before Jayden slipped past his men and beyond his reach.
I turn my gaze back to my father. His eyes are locked on my face. He is smiling. I wish my mother were alive to see Papa this happy.
Then he coughs.
At first, it’s a small cough, nothing. But that cough is followed by a hack, and then another, becoming loud and deep and as raspy as a growl. The King’s Knights who stand like a partition behind the group at the railing all move back, as if Papa might infect them. Anger ignites in me, but my father ignores the Knights. His eyes are on the king, who is stepping widely around him. Lars follows, not even offering a hand to my brother. I wonder if he recognizes them from that night.
It doesn’t matter. Renya is next. I’m watching her without blinking as she takes the purse from under her arm and lifts out the royal order. It’s in his hand! But then he’s coughing again, grasping at the railing, and Renya backs away.
I watch helplessly as my father sways, buckles, and drops to his knees behind the metal fencing.
My breath catches in my throat and my hands fly up, as if I might pull my father to his feet from here. The music grows louder; the band that leads the parade is getting closer. Another cough tears the air, and Marlon tugs something from his pocket. He hands it to Papa. It’s a cloth handkerchief, bright and white and clean.
I’ve never known my little brother to carry one, and it occurs to me that this was something that he thought of as he prepared for this day. Perhaps he decided to carry a handkerchief like a proper gentleman. Or perhaps, I think, he brought it in the event our father collapsed in a coughing fit as he greeted the princess.
The white handkerchief is balled up in my father’s hand, held to his lips. The cough comes heavy and wet, and then, mercifully, it stops.
My father’s hand drops to his side, but he doesn’t get up. He raises his eyes to mine. His lips curl into a strange, apologetic smile. His eyelids flicker, he sags forward, and his body drops heavily against the barricade.
The handkerchief rolls from his hand, stained crimson with blood.
Marlon falls to his knees and leans low over Papa’s slumped body for what feels like a long time. I wait for my father’s cough to return, but there’s nothing but an odd murmur. Across the railing from them, the royal family is whispering among themselves.
Then Marlon lifts his face. His lips move, but I can’t hear him. It doesn’t matter, I know what he said. As I rush down the stairs to the ground and to Papa’s side, I hear the words repeated, passed from one member of the royal family to the next.
“He’s dead.”
Two
By the time I come up beside Renya, my father is flat on the ground, the royal order lying wrinkled on the pavement beside him. I reach through the metal railing of the barricade, grasp his hand, and pull it to my cheek. It’s still warm. “I’m so sorry, Papa,” I whisper into his palm. “I’m so sorry I was too late.”
If anyone can hear me, I’m sure I sound contrite, but the truth is, I’m angry. How long have I been begging the princess to do whatever needed to be done to get my father access to proper medical treatment? My father may be owed an apology, but not from me.
Beside me, Marlon coughs. He’s not sick, of course—it’s just his vocal tic—but his impression of our father’s horrid hack has been honed to perfection by years of practice. The King’s Knights behind Marlon take another step back. I bite my lip and draw in a deep breath to keep from screaming. Marlon coughs again. He’s scared, and he’s telling me so.
I force myself to release my father’s hand. My legs feel like pudding, but I struggle to my feet. “Renya,” I whisper into the princess’s ear. I feel her flinch. Her eyes dart from side to side. She feels the gaze of the crowd. I do too. My Cientia prickles with the revulsion rolling off them.
Two emergency workers—both Outsiders—have appeared. Wearing medical masks over their noses and mouths, they drag my father’s body away from me and slide him onto a stretcher. Neither of them looks at me, but they glare at Marlon.
I hate them.
“He’s not sick!” I say, pulling Marlon up to his feet beside me. “It’s just a tic—no worse than a habit.” I swing back around to face the royal family, but only Renya remains. The king and Lars are already fleeing back up the stairs to the stage.
But Sir Arnaud has come down to the street. He’s heading toward me, holding his cape across his lower face. He sweeps Renya behind him, as if Marlon and I are toxic. “Astrid,” Arnaud says. “Listen to me. Your brother needs to be examined. Let us help him.”
Someone touches my shoulder. My head jerks around and behind me, on Marlon’s side of the barricade, I find a group of Authority guards, all wearing masks like the Outsider emergency workers. Hands close around Marlon’s upper arms, and his grip tightens on my hand. His eyes go wide. Although he’s big for a boy of eleven, his face looks suddenly like it did when he was little. I haven’t seen this much fear in his eyes since the night Jayden ran away. Sir Arnaud never got Jayden, but now he’s got Marlon.
My brother’s wrestled away from me, and I lose my grip on his hand. “Wait!” I scream, but there’s no waiting. The guards close around him, and he’s shuffled away like a criminal. I want to fight them. I want to knock them to the ground and pull Marlon back to me, but the barricade blocks my way and they’re already disappearing into the crowd.
“Renya, do something, please,” I say, but Sir Arnaud stands between the two of us, as if he’s protecting her.
She shakes her head, the smallest of movements. “It’s too late now, love,” she says. “It’s too late.”
“The parade is almost here,” Arnaud barks, stepping toward the stage and waving us toward him. He’s right. I can see the first band a block away. It’s so loud I can hardly hear his voice over the music. “Princess, you’ll need to move to safety,” he calls. He crosses to the steps leading up, and Renya follows, but she stops in the middle of the street when I don’t move.
“Astrid,” she says, holding out her hand. I shuffle up beside her. My head is swimming. “I’m so sorry about your father,” she says, and I know she’s trying to say the right thing, but it only makes me angrier.