Steelhands - Jaida Jones [205]
And the Esarina’s given name being the inspiration, I could only assume, for my dragon, was a strange turn of fate that didn’t escape my notice.
“Keep your focus,” Antoinette told me. She hadn’t been reading my thoughts—that wasn’t how a velikaia’s powers worked, at least to my understanding—but it was possible I was projecting. I was used to hiding my emotions at the diplomat’s round table, but not when the pressure was so high, and this job reminded me more of being in the sky than being trapped in the bastion all day.
I found that source of calm within me and let my nerves go. When I’d been in the air, I liked to imagine bundling them up and throwing them over the side like a ship getting rid of deadweight. This was the same principle.
I was ready then, and Antoinette was satisfied.
Almost immediately after—I wondered somehow if she’d known—we came to a dead end.
“Here we are,” Antoinette said simply, tracing the uneven lines on the stone wall with her palm. She was searching for a trigger of some sort, I realized, to open a secret door. It took her a few moments—the first time I’d seen her not know the answer straightaway—though she found it at last after kneeling on the stone and sliding her hand against a lump in the rock. We heard an agonizingly loud creak, then the wall shifted by a few inches, just enough for us to draw in our breaths and squeeze through.
I opened my mouth to offer to lead the way, but Antoinette was already pushing herself into the open space. An instant later, she’d made it through, leaving me to follow behind.
It wasn’t sensible—I was there to scout ahead and be the first in the way of danger, presumably so she’d be the one to make it to the Esarina—but I didn’t have much hope for my success if I were to argue with her. I was good at following another man’s lead, and Antoinette must know her way around the palace better than I.
The secret passageway had led us into a quiet hall. I glanced over at Antoinette, who had a few streaks of black dirt across her dark face. Her expression could only be described as triumphant though she didn’t waste time to share what heartening knowledge she had with me. Instead, she turned purposefully to the left, moving as silently as a shadow down the hall.
Again, I followed.
I was careful to keep my focus sharp, my attention on any sounds that would signal disaster. At any moment, we could easily run into a servant or a member of the Esar’s personal guard. While Antoinette’s presence in the household might not have surprised them, our appearance certainly would. We looked like tunnelers, Antoinette’s skirts shredded and rock dust in our hair. When we passed by a brightly polished mirror, I saw that we looked like a pair of lunatics.
If the Esarina did not think us mad, then she would prove to be far more understanding than her husband, for whom presentation had always been a matter of importance.
We were currently traveling through the personal living quarters of the palace, I wagered—and because of that, there were fewer servants to disturb the sense of privacy and peace. However, it also meant I didn’t recognize a single door or fork in the hallway, akin to flying blind through unfamiliar skies. Antoinette’s knowledge of the place was key, though it made me uncomfortable not knowing how much longer it would take us or even where we were going.
Suddenly, Antoinette stopped in front of a simple door framed by two white tables. “It is late, and the Esarina will be in her study,” she explained to me. Then, baffling me completely, she knocked gently on the door.
“You may enter,” the Esarina’s voice replied, muffled, from the other side.
I supposed it did make sense not to barge in on her—to follow rules of etiquette even though we were intruders in her home—but I marveled at Antoinette’s calm demeanor as she smoothed her skirts out before entering the room.
The Esarina was