Kingdom of Ashes

by Rhiannon Thomas

  One day’s journey outside Petrichor, their group paused at the edge of the forest for food and rest. The trees loomed over them, whispering with the wind, and Aurora shifted closer to the fire, trying to focus on Finnegan’s conversation, trying not to think about what the following evening might bring. The men had caught deer for dinner, and it tasted rich after days of increasingly stale food, but her stomach would not settle, and she could hardly eat a bite.

  The dragon flew above them, swooping in and out of sight. It had grown stronger with every step away from the water, so that Aurora could feel the heat of its skin again, the anger and desire rushing through it. At first, it had taken every molecule of willpower inside her to keep it in check, but now it seemed easier, like their thoughts were falling in sync.

  A guard cleared his throat. “You have a visitor, Your Highnesses,” he said.

  Finnegan stood. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “The kind we want to see?”

  “She claims so.” The guard shouted over his shoulder. “Bring her here!” Two more men strode forward, a woman between them. Nettle. Her arms were hooked around theirs, but she stood with all the dignity of a queen, a braid falling over her right shoulder.

  “Please tell them to release me, Finnegan.”

  Finnegan waved his hand, and the guards stepped back. Aurora hurried toward Nettle, but uncertainty seized her at the last moment, and she paused a few inches away. Nettle smiled and ran her fingers through Aurora’s hair. “You are okay?” Nettle said.

  “As okay as I can be. It is good to see you.”

  “You too.” She slipped onto the ground by the fire. Aurora settled beside her. “I have missed you.”

  “For Nettle, that’s practically a declaration of undying love,” Finnegan said. He did not sit. “Why are you here? Not that it isn’t good to see your beautiful face, but we arranged to meet outside Petrichor.”

  “I have information,” she said. “And you were not difficult to find.” She glanced at the sky as she spoke.

  Aurora grabbed her arm. “Is it about Rodric? Is he all right?”

  “Yes and no,” Nettle said. “He and the girl are locked in the dungeons of the castle, awaiting their trial. If it can be called a trial. They will be found guilty of treason either way.”

  “You’re sure?” Aurora said.

  “Yes, Princess. The pyre is already being built. The king wants to show how dedicated he is to protecting the throne. He will make a show about how all traitors must be treated equally. He’s saying that your death will end all the kingdom’s problems, that it will end the curse on Alyssinia, whether magic comes back or not.”

  “And everyone believes it?”

  “Not everyone. But enough people do. And enough others want to. Desperate people will believe many unbelievable things.”

  “So they’ll accept that this other girl is me as well?”

  Nettle nodded.

  Aurora hugged her knees to her chest and thought of the imposter princess. A girl, imprisoned, alone, for no crime at all. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Eliza,” Nettle said. “She looks similar to you. Small and blond and beautiful. A little like the slightest breeze would destroy her, but haughtier than you too. I believe she is the daughter of some out-of-favor noble, one who never came to court. People will not recognize her as herself, and her parents have been killed for some treason or another.”

  “Before or after he decided she could pretend to be me?”

  “After you ran,” Nettle said. “But before she was arrested. No one will protect her, and no one wants to believe that she is not who the king claims.”

  “What’s your source on this?” Finnegan asked. “Rumors?”

  “I do not rely on rumors,” Nettle said. “I was told this by the queen.”

  “The queen?” Aurora’s grip on Nettle’s arm tightened. “You’ve been speaking to Iris?”

  “I have,” Nettle said. “She is unhappy that her husband has arrested her son. Unhappy enough to speak to me and to help your cause, as long as it also helps Rodric.”

  “How will she help us?” Finnegan asked.

  “Not directly. Information is all she will offer. But that is useful, at least.”

  “What has she told you?”

  Nettle picked up a stick from the ground and began to draw in the dust. A large circle for the city walls, a smaller one for the castle, with roads and squares in between. “The city walls are manned and the gates locked,” she said, “so you will not get past them without alerting the king. Nor will you be able to reach Rodric and Eliza before the trial. They are under heavy guard here.” She poked part of her castle with the stick. “You might be able to get to them as they’re escorted out of the castle, but unless you want to slaughter an army of guards, the best chance will be during the trial itself. Everyone in the city will be forced to attend, in the courtyard outside the castle. The dragon will help as a distraction there, I would think.”

  “Good,” Aurora said. “I want it to be memorable.” She looked over the map in the dust. “But what if we get there before the trial? Or what if he comes to fight us here?”

  “Neither will be a problem. The king wants a spectacle as much as you do. The imposter princess, tearing through the kingdom, coming to save his traitor son. He will want everyone to see you fail.”

  “He’d abandon strategy for that?”

  “That is his strategy. He’s a showman, Aurora. You know this. He cares about getting the message right. He wants people to see your defeat. And he is arrogant enough not to doubt that it will be a defeat.”

  “And what about the people?” Aurora said. “Will they support me, do you think?”

  “There has been unrest since Rodric’s condemnation, but everyone is afraid to speak, and the rebels are mostly gone. But you should be able to rally some support. And I have seen Tristan in the city. He will help you all he can.”

  “Tristan?” Tristan could not help her. “He’s in Vanhelm. I saw him.”

  “He decided to return. It seems he thinks there is hope after all.”

  She was glad to hear it. She had not always approved of his methods, but Tristan had not seemed like Tristan without that fierce belief inside him. “But why would he help me?” she said.

  “You both want to be rid of the king, Princess. And since you have an army and a dragon, you may stand a better chance than he does.”

  The firelight danced across the side of Nettle’s face, elongating her features. Aurora shivered. Had she finally become brutal enough for Tristan to approve of her? Or were they simply both desperate for any kind of plan now?

  Nettle stood. “I should return to Petrichor,” she said. “I’ll watch things until you arrive tomorrow.”

  Aurora nodded and bid her good night, but although she settled under her blankets, she could not sleep. Anticipation buzzed through her, visions of tomorrow crowding her thoughts. She saw Rodric’s death, Finnegan cut through with a sword, the city burning.

  The dragon soaring behind her, their magic as one.

  She would not fail now. Tomorrow, she would show them. They would see everything that she could be.

  THIRTY

  NETTLE WAS WAITING FOR THEM ON THE ROAD TO Petrichor as the sun set the next day.

  “The king has moved the trial,” she said, in lieu of a greeting. “To tonight. His guards were rounding up the people of the city when I slipped away.”

  So this was it. She would fight the king, and things would fall as they would. “How much time do we have?” she asked.

  “I am not sure,” Nettle said. “An hour or two at most. The king may choose to delay until you arrive at the gates. Or he may speed up to spite you, once he sees you approach. He is difficult to predict.”

  “Then let’s hurry,” Aurora said. “Before he gets the chance.”

  Trees stretched above their heads, and the air was heavy. They walked in silence, surrounded by Finnegan’s men.

  The walls
of the city emerged gradually ahead of them. The road was completely straight, cutting through the forest with brutal precision, so they could see the entrance to the city for almost a mile before they reached it. Every few steps brought more into focus. The metal portcullis blocking the way. Soldiers lining the wall. Crossbows aimed at the road.

  When they were within shouting distance, a guard raised an arm. “Halt!” he said.

  Aurora stopped. She stared at the soldiers. “Let us pass,” she shouted. “We are here to stop the king. We have no quarrel with you.”

  Her dragon screamed in accord. It circled above her, snapping its jaws in the direction of the men on the wall. It took all of Aurora’s willpower to keep it under control, to cool the fire in its throat and keep it close. “Surrender,” one of the guards shouted. He had a crossbow aimed directly at her heart.

  “Let us pass,” she said again, “or I’ll be forced to attack.”

  An arrow shot through the air. Aurora engulfed it in flames. She looked at the soldier who had attacked her, taking in the details of his face.

  She could not make threats she did not intend to keep.

  “Burn the way through,” she whispered. It was enough. With a screech, the dragon dove and let out a jet of flame. The gate caught fire. The metal melted almost instantly, and even the stone warped under the heat. The guards scrambled aside, and Aurora focused her magic on their weapons, turning them to flames in their hands.

  The guards screamed, throwing their crossbows away. And Aurora felt a rush of triumph. The fire was hers to command.

  But the closest entrance to the city was now blocked by the dragon flames. “We can’t wait for this,” she said. “I can’t wait for the stone to cool enough to pass. I’m going in another way.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Finnegan said. “And Nettle.”

  “All right,” Aurora said. “But the soldiers should stay here.” They would make a good distraction, at least. She looked at the dragon. It continued to circle, snapping its wings. Leaving it would be a risk. How far away could she get before the dragon broke free, before it burned the whole forest into dust? But it was a powerful distraction, and if it flew above her, she would lose any element of surprise.

  Her performance here would be key. She was not a usurper. She was not a spy, an assassin crawling through the dust. She was the princess, and they would know when she returned.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “You and Nettle stay here, with the soldiers. I can’t have you with me.”

  “Aurora—”

  “You don’t have magic, and you can’t fight all those guards. All your presence will do is make me look like an agent of Vanhelm. I’m going to face the king alone. With my magic, and with the dragon. No one else.”

  “Aurora—”

  “Stay safe, Finnegan,” she said. “I’ll see you when it’s over.” And before he could react, before he could argue or say good-bye, she turned and ran into the trees. She followed the curve of the city walls, until she reached brambles and trees that seemed familiar. The point where she had escaped, all those weeks ago.

  She did not hesitate. She crawled into the city.

  Not a single living thing stirred. There was no panic, no fear, nothing but empty streets, lost in the shadow of the wall.

  She looked east toward the gates. Smoke curled upward, casually, almost lovingly. The flames sent orange light skittering across the darkening sky. The dragon gripped the roof of the gate tower, its tail wrapped around the spikes and stone. She would call it to her soon.

  Still, there were no screams in the city below.

  Aurora ran.

  Ahead, she could see her tower, see the castle, stern and forbidden and untouched by the chaos. The dragon’s screams echoed in her ears, but she could hear more shouting now too, the booming voice of the king, like the voices of the preachers shouting for Vanhelm to repent.

  “Do not be afraid of the cowards’ fire!”

  Aurora used a stack of crates to climb onto a low-hanging roof, and crawled closer. A pyre had been built at the top of the steps, the wood piled higher than the great doors of the castle. King John stood before it, wearing a golden crown. He stabbed the air with a long, jeweled sword as he spoke. The steel glinted.

  The castle square was crammed with people. Guards stood all around them, forming a solid wall of flesh and steel. Few people were paying attention to the king. They looked in the direction of the fire, the dragon’s screams, and some tried to scramble away, but nobody moved from the square. Nobody would let them.

  “Do not fear them!” the king shouted again. “These traitors, these monsters have infiltrated the castle, have brought my own son under their thrall. Now they are here to save him from our justice, but they will not succeed. We do not abide traitors, and we do not abide threats. Alyssinia is strong.”

  Iris stood a few paces away from her husband. Her black hair was pinned back, her dress and face plain. Rodric was on the other side of the pyre, held by more soldiers. His hair had grown longer since she had last seen him and was matted around his eyes. He had a bruise on his jaw, and his clothes were dirty and torn, but he stood straight-backed, no trace of fear on his face. A blond girl stood beside him, her hair silver-white and as fine as gossamer. She too looked filthy and worn, but she stood unmoving, glaring at the crowd. Every inch of her screamed defiance.

  “Two weeks ago, my son was caught dealing with rebels and traitors in our city. Plotting our downfall on the false princess’s behalf.” Aurora tightened her grip on the edge of the roof. “My son instigated the riots that left parts of the city in ruins. He spread the rebellion that left so many of our loved ones dead. I had hoped, with a father’s blindness, that I was mistaken, but now he has brought our enemies across the water to burn us, to save himself. It is the ultimate betrayal. They want to make us burn, but we will burn them first! Starting with the so-called princess!”

  The guards dragged the blond girl forward. She struggled every step of the way, her heels dug into the stone, her arms locked against them. She looked similar to Aurora, but not similar enough. Few people could genuinely believe they were the same person. Not if they had paid her the slightest attention before.

  But the crowd was still distracted by the dragon’s screams.

  “This witch has infiltrated our city,” the king said. “She has mocked us, and mocked our hopes. We will show her what we do to people who betray us! She will burn, and a new era in Alyssinia will begin!”

  A few people in the crowd screamed in approval, but it was not the stirring response that the king must have hoped for. Too many people were still staring in the direction of the dragon, too scared to get into the fever of the moment.

  The guards yanked the false princess toward the pyre.

  Aurora stood. She could feel the heat of the dragon in the air, the flames caressing the walls. She reached out, tugging on the thread inside her, the second heartbeat. Come, she thought. And the dragon obeyed.

  “Stop!” she shouted.

  Heads in the crowd turned. Crossbows clicked and pointed at her chest. King John held out a hand, and the soldiers dragging the girl paused. John smiled. “Oh, we have another pretender,” he said. “How many false princesses is Vanhelm going to send us?”

  “None,” she said. “How stupid do you think people are, to hope they’ll have forgotten my face?” She stepped forward. The crossbows jerked, but none of them fired. “You wanted a princess? Well now you have one. The throne is mine. It was mine for generations before you were even born. So I suggest you stop. Now.”

  John laughed. “And if I don’t?”

  Aurora clenched her fists, and the roof exploded behind her, tiles and debris flying into the air. The crowd screamed.

  The dragon roared as it plunged from the sky, its wings casting her into shadow. The crowd surged again, people falling over their own feet, over children, to escape. They crashed into the wall of guards, but some of the guards were running too, bre
aking line to flee down the side streets. Others shoved back, swords out. Panic rippled through the square, bodies heaving back and forth. And scattered through the group, onlookers stood still, staring up at the dragon with wide eyes, as though unable to look away.

  Aurora kept her eyes fixed on the king.

  “You think you can defeat us with this?” he said. “You think you can take the throne by force?”

  “Why not? You did.”

  Someone scrambled up the roof to Aurora’s left. She turned, fire building inside her, ready to fight, expecting to see a weapon pointed at her heart.

  It was Tristan. His eyes met hers for a moment, and then he turned to face the crowd. “The king has been lying to us,” Tristan shouted. “This is Princess Aurora. Anyone who looks at her for more than a second must know that. And if the king’s lied about this, what else has he been hiding? If he’s willing to kill an innocent girl and his own son, what will he be willing to do to us?”

  People weren’t listening. They were still struggling away from the dragon, pushing against the guards. A crossbow fired. The bolt flew into the crowd, and the screaming grew angry, otherworldly, as the crowd swarmed toward the guard. The man raised his sword, ready to cut his way through.

  Tristan leapt from the roof and vanished into the crowd. In the moment of distraction, someone had stabbed the guard who had attacked. He gaped at the dagger in his chest as though uncertain what it was doing there, and then fell to his knees. The soldiers beside him also drew their swords, some bearing down on the crowds, some challenging one another, some pointing toward the king.

  “Stop!” Aurora screamed. “We won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt any of you, as long as the king stands down.”

  The dragon snapped its jaws, the scent of blood, of chaos, pounding through its veins. And Aurora could feel it too, the burning.

  She had to end it.

  She leapt from the roof as well, and the dragon dove with her. Her knees landed with an ungainly jolt, and she started to run. The crowd made a path for her, whether from fear, or support, or the burn of her magic, Aurora did not know. But she ran across the square, her feet moving so fast she felt as though she were flying, past the guards, up the stairs, onto the platform where it had all begun, where a marriage arch had become a pyre.