Kingdom of Ashes

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Kingdom of Ashes Page 25

by Rhiannon Thomas


  “He was going to burn your son,” Aurora said. “And Eliza. But you didn’t fight back then.”

  “And you know that for a certainty?” Iris’s glanced at her husband’s body. “I wrote to you. In Vanhelm. I told that insufferable Prince Finnegan what was happening. And I gave information to his spy. I hoped you would arrive in time. And if you did not, I was more than prepared to step in. I can conceal daggers too.”

  “Now you’re no longer queen.”

  Iris pressed her lips together. “You think that matters to me?”

  “Yes,” Aurora said. “I think it matters to you very much.”

  “Rodric matters more,” she said. “And what good is power if I cannot stop my own son from dying in front of me? Perhaps it was time to be free of it. Give you the trouble instead.”

  Aurora thought of Orla, so confident, so determined, so in control. Elegant, sophisticated Erin. Aurora was not like that. She would never be like that. “I don’t know how to be queen,” she said.

  Iris clasped her hands in front of her and looked at her husband again. Her expression did not change, but when she spoke, her voice was almost gentle. “I could teach you.”

  Aurora hesitated. “I don’t want to be queen like you.”

  “Neither did I.” Iris sighed. “You cannot keep control, you know. Not unless you make them fear you, as they did my husband. And if they fear you, they may only fight you more fiercely. Because what is more fearsome and unnatural that a woman who does not do what she is told?”

  “I have to try,” Aurora said. “Not to be feared, but to do something. To make it work. I have to try.”

  Now Iris looked at her. “Do you want to be queen?”

  “No,” Aurora said. “I want to be free.”

  “None of us is free.”

  “And so I am queen.”

  Iris brushed her hands down her dress, as though sweeping away imaginary crumbs from the bloodstained cloth. “I can still advise you,” she said. “I have learned a lot, about how to gain people’s trust, how to play this game. About the kingdom and the people in it. I always listened, and I always knew. You will need as many people on your side as you can get, Aurora. Accept my help in this.”

  Aurora thought of all her past lessons with Iris, the berating, the locked doors, the instructions to curtsy and be meek. The slap across her face after Isabelle’s death, and the tiny, subtle ways she’d tried to help, in her own, infuriating way. Aurora did not have to listen to her, not all the time. But she did need help. She needed someone who knew how to be queen. “All right,” she said. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I will begin preparations for the coronation,” Iris said. “It should be as soon as possible.”

  There were words Aurora had heard before. Her stomach twisted. She could already feel the weight of the crown on her head, the responsibility, the restriction pushing her in.

  She would not be afraid. She would do what needed to be done.

  Aurora found Finnegan pacing the palace gardens. The flowers were in bloom now, an explosion of yellows and reds, and blossom had fallen from the trees, leaving a carpet of pink on the path.

  “Your Majesty,” Finnegan said, when he saw her approach. “I suppose that is the proper way to address you now.”

  “I’m not queen yet,” she said. “Not officially.”

  “But you will be. Soon.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I will be.” She sank onto a bench. The garden was quiet, no one there but Finnegan and her, but she could still feel the presence of her dragon, swooping over the city, its heartbeat next to her own.

  Finnegan sat beside her. Aurora seized her necklace, almost on instinct, and looked up at the castle walls. The last time she had sat here, it had been with Rodric, her storybook open between them. She had told him she didn’t love him, the one thing she was never supposed to say. And now she was here again, in her castle, with a different prince, her emotions exposed and raw. With no idea what to do.

  Finnegan shifted on the bench beside her, his shoulders tense. “So, are you going to marry Rodric now? Be with your true love?”

  She laughed. It was inappropriate, she knew, but so ridiculous, that the all-knowing Finnegan was out of touch with her thoughts. “He is not my true love,” she said. “And no. No. I will be queen, I don’t have a choice in that, but if you think I’m marrying a boy because a prophecy told me so, you are very much mistaken. I’m rather tired of fate. Aren’t you?”

  Finnegan grasped her hand. When he spoke, he almost sounded tentative. “There’s another choice, you know,” he said. “This isn’t what you want, Aurora. You don’t want to play princess. You don’t want to be queen. Come with me. Run, and leave all of this behind you. You did it before.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You can. You can do anything you want.”

  “And I want to be here.” She looked at him, only inches away, all uncertainty gone. If she had wishes, she would change all this, wash it all away so that she could kiss Finnegan and run and never look back. But she couldn’t. She had to fix her mistakes, to save the people around her. And she couldn’t do that from afar. “After,” she said, and she trailed off, uncertain of the words. “After this is all dealt with, then maybe . . .”

  “After,” he said. “Right.” He looked away, staring at the few blossoms clinging to the nearby tree. “Is this the part where you ask me to leave, tell me you can’t be associated with me anymore?”

  “What?” She tightened her hold on his hand. “No. Why would I say that?”

  “Well, you have queenly duties to consider now. And as my mother has mentioned, I would make a terrible king.”

  An insecure Finnegan. She almost laughed again. “You’re not going to be king of Alyssinia, Finnegan. That doesn’t mean I want you to leave. Who would I have to irritate me if you weren’t around?”

  “I’m sure that Iris is up to the task.”

  “Finnegan.” She pulled on his hand. “I thought you were smarter than that. I gave Celestine her powers back in order to save your life. Why would I send you away now?”

  “Well,” he said. “It would be insane for you to do so. But it has been said about you.” He relaxed beside her. “It does make things more complicated, you realize, when you become queen. Especially considering your promise to my mother. I can’t go back to Vanhelm.”

  She tightened her grip on his hand. “Why not?”

  “My mother made it quite clear. I come back with that dragon heart, or I don’t come back at all.”

  “But you’re heir to the throne.”

  “I’m an heir. And my mother doesn’t exactly think I’m capable of taking on the role. She blames me for what happened. I can’t go back without the heart.”

  “But the dragons are gone,” she said. “I destroyed them.”

  “Not all of them.” He looked up to the sky to prove his point. Aurora’s dragon still circled the castle, and there might be others, still in the waste across the sea.

  She let go of his hand. “I can’t give it to you. You know I can’t.”

  “I know,” he said. But did he, really? Aurora had seen the lengths he had gone to prove his worth before. He was insightful and inventive and utterly fearless in his execution. If he needed that dragon heart to be king . . . she did not know what he would do.

  She had to balance her own desires with the needs of the kingdom. But she would not throw away everything, not for them, not for anyone. She could do this. She could be queen and still be Aurora, use her magic to help and still hold on to herself. Orla had managed it. It had to be possible.

  “I want you here,” she said. “I want you to stay.”

  “Well,” he said. “I suppose I could. For a little while. If you insist.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  She nestled her head against his shoulder. “However will I cope?”

  “You’re resourceful, Rora. I�
��m sure you’ll find a way.”

  Aurora’s tower was still coated with dust. The torches had burned out, so she pulled a ball of fire into her hand to light the way. The tapestries of her story hung there, almost accusingly. She would ask someone to take them down, to lock them out of sight.

  When she reached her room, she let the flame float beside her and hurried over to the fireplace. It opened easily enough, and then she was climbing again, until she stood in the rafters, hidden in a rickety room that should never have existed.

  The spinning wheel still clicked.

  She sat on the stool and stared at the wall above the stairway, at the words scorched into the stone. She is mine, Celestine had written, so long ago. And below that: Nothing can stop it now. Aurora stared at the letters, listening to the wheel click-click-click beside her.

  She was not Celestine’s. She was not anybody’s. She would take on her responsibilities and she would make her own choices, and no dragon fire, no threats from ancient witches and twisted stories from long ago would stop her.

  She ran a hand around the spinning wheel, catching its spokes with her fingers. The needle still gleamed, as inviting as it had seemed a hundred years ago. Magic crackled across her skin, and she itched to let it loose, to burn this spinning wheel into char and ash. But burning the spinning wheels had not stopped the curse. Something told her to wait, to save this remnant of before, this one harmless object that had changed everything. She could not burn her past away.

  Instead, she walked down the stairs to her old bedroom and crossed to the window. The view had changed again since she had last looked out, revealing a city of ruined buildings and lingering smoke. Another era had ended, another world was beginning.

  And she would be queen of it. She would make sure that it was as good as it could be.

  She held out her palm and called to the second heartbeat that whispered beside her own. The breeze brushed through her fingers, and then heat, as her dragon burst into view, its huge wings barely moving to keep it aloft. She ran her hand along the scales of its neck, feeling the smoothness, the fire.

  So much power. And it was hers.

  She looked over the kingdom—half beauty, half ash—and she smiled.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many, many amazing people were involved in the creation of this book, and it’s impossible to fully express how grateful I am for them all.

  First, a huge thank-you to my agent extraordinaire, Kristin Nelson, whose wisdom, dedication, and humor make everything possible.

  Massive thanks to everyone at HarperTeen, especially my editor, Catherine Wallace, who takes my words and helps to shape them into novels. Big thanks are also due to Jennifer Klonsky; to my wonderful publicist, Stephanie Hoover; to Jenna Stempel, who made the book look gorgeous; and to everyone else who played a part, big or small, in making the novel happen.

  Alexandra Zaleski was the first to read this novel, and to make me think there might be something in it after all. My work would not be the same without her thoughts, and I would not be the same without her love and support.

  Rachel Thompson provided invaluable feedback on this novel, along with her even more invaluable friendship. If the whole saving-the-world-from-disease-using-physics thing doesn’t work out, she should really consider a second career as an editor. Thanks for all her patience and support, for her speed-reading when I really needed a second opinion, and for generally being awesome.

  When I told Phoebe Cattle I was writing my acknowledgments, she said not to mention her, because she “hasn’t read it yet.” She clearly doesn’t realize how much she means to me, and how much her friendship helps me to write. Thank you to Phoebe for all the jokes, all the Sunday pancakes, all the random shouts of “And I’m Javert!”—for being a best friend, in short, and keeping me sane(ish).

  I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by fantastic friends on both sides of the Atlantic. Massive thank-yous to James Cattle, Matt Goodyear, and Oz Shepherdson; to Kelly Smith; to Shelina Kurwa; to my roommates, Meg Lee and Anna Liu; and to Will Nguyen, for being generally wonderful and for inspiring me to write.

  I’m also eternally grateful to Tracy Cochran, whose kindness and wisdom keep me steady through all the ups and downs of publishing.

  And of course, no thank-you is big enough for my parents, Brian and Gaynor Thomas, who gave me a love of stories and encouraged me to pursue all this in the first place.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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  RHIANNON THOMAS is an English lit grad from Princeton University. She currently lives in York, England, in the shadow of a thirteenth-century Gothic cathedral. When she isn’t lost in YA fantasy, she writes about feminism and the media on her blog, www.feministfiction.com.

  Visit her online at www.rhiannonkthomas.com.

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  BOOKS BY RHIANNON THOMAS

  A Wicked Thing

  Kingdom of Ashes

  CREDITS

  Cover art © 2016 by Dustin Cohen / MergeLeft Reps, Inc. and LichtGespiele

  COPYRIGHT

  HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  KINGDOM OF ASHES. Copyright © 2016 by Rhiannon Thomas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015947486

  ISBN 978-0-06-230356-1 (trade bdg.)

  EPub Edition © February 2016 ISBN 9780062303585

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