I was six when I first met Crescentia, and lonely. No one spoke to me, and I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone. I was, however, required to attend meals in the banquet hall and lessons with the noble children.
Not that the lessons actually mattered, since my Kalovaxian was rough at best and the teacher spoke too quickly for me to keep up with her. I all but disappeared into my own mind; fantasies of being rescued and finding my mother alive played over and over in my head. Anyone who wanted to pull me out of my fantasies had a hard time of it, though the Kaiser had given permission for any person of Kalovaxian blood to strike me.
The other children were the most vicious. They pinched and slapped and kicked me until I was black and blue and bloody, and no one stopped them. Even the teacher only watched with a wary eye, ready to step in if it looked like any irreparable damage was being done. That was where the Kaiser drew the line. I wasn’t of any use to him if I was dead.
The worst was Nilsen, who was two years older and looked like a block of pale wood, yellow and hard-edged and just as wide as tall. Even his face reminded me of the swirls and rings in the wood grain. He had a fascination with water that wasn’t unusual for Kalovaxians, but it took on a sadistic twist that I’m not sure even the Theyn was capable of.
The first time, he shoved my head in a water basin and held me there, thick fingers digging into the back of my neck as I thrashed against him. I had the good sense—or maybe it was foolishness—to kick him between the legs and break away when he doubled over, both of us gasping for breath.
Luckily, I caught mine first and ran.
Unluckily, he learned from his mistake.
The next day, his two friends held me in place, and no matter how much I struggled and tried to kick, I couldn’t get free. My lungs burned and the edges of my mind began to blur. I was almost looking forward to passing out—maybe even seeing my mother again in the After—when suddenly the hands were gone and I was pulled out by a much gentler grip.
My dazed mind thought that she was a goddess at first. The Astrean fire god, Houzzah, had a daughter named Evavia, who was the goddess of safety. She sometimes took the guise of a child to do her work, and I certainly could have used her help. I only caught a glimpse of Nilsen and his friends as they fled the room as fast as their stubby legs could carry them.
“Are you all right?” She spoke Kalovaxian slowly so I could understand her.
I couldn’t form words, only cough, but she rubbed circles on my back reassuringly—a maternal gesture I recognized later as strange, considering that her mother had died when she was an infant.
“They won’t come after you,” she continued. “I told them my father would burn the skin from their bones if they ever laid a finger on you again.” She had to mime for me as she spoke, but I understood well enough.
Houzzah was more than capable of such a feat, but as the spots cleared from my vision and my mind came back to earth, I realized this girl was no goddess. Evavia might take the guise of a child, but none of my gods would ever look like a Kalovaxian, and this girl was the epitome of them, from her pale skin and flaxen hair to her small, delicate features.
As I caught my breath, she told me her name and proclaimed that we were friends, as if it were as simple as that. To Crescentia, it was. She makes friends as easily as she breathes, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I became her favorite. There are moments when I wonder if it’s something her father pushed her into in order to better keep an eye on me, but I also know that she cares for me in a way I’ll never be able to match. I love her, but today I can’t look at her without seeing her father dragging his dagger across my mother’s throat.
In a strange way, I think part of what drew us together was our shared loss—we’re both girls with dead mothers.
I glance at her dress, which has been sewn with small pieces of aquamarine around the hem and neckline that match her eyes perfectly.
“Oh no, Cress,” I say with a sly smile. “You’re far too pretty to only go down to the beach today.” I pause as if the idea is just coming to me, though I’ve been putting together a plan since last night. “Do you know what the Prinz is doing? We could just happen to wander by….” I lift my eyebrows meaningfully.
Cress’s cheeks turn pink and she bites her bottom lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”
“Plenty of other girls would dare,” I tell her. “He’s grown up handsome, don’t you think? Even Dagmær might decide he’s a better prize than that ancient duke she’s been angling for.”
She chews harder on her lip and smiles. “He is awfully handsome, isn’t he? Taller than I thought he would be. Last time I saw him, I had a few inches on him, but now he towers over me. My father says he’s an excellent warrior as well, the best he’s seen in years.”
“How long will he be here, do you know?” I ask.
“My father says he’s back for good,” she says, cheeks dimpling as her smile widens. “He’ll still go off when he’s needed in battle, but this will be his home now. The Kaiser is insisting he join the court. A marriage likely won’t be far off, now that he’s seventeen.”
“And I’m sure every other girl in court has gotten that same idea in her head, Cress. You’d be wise to get ahead of them quickly. So where is the Prinz today?” I ask again.
She hesitates a breath more, but I know I have her. “Inspecting new battleships,” she admits. “In the South Harbor.”
“Perfect,” I say brightly, taking her hand in mine and leading her from the room. “We’ll get to see the water as well, then, just like you wanted to.”
Battleships. Why on earth would the Kalovaxians need more battleships? Houzzah knows they have plenty already.
I tear my thoughts away from that idea as we leave Hoa behind. She isn’t allowed in public spaces, so it’s only Crescentia’s two maids who accompany us. And my Shadows, of course, though they’ll keep a careful distance.
This time, I force myself to look at the slaves. I won’t keep ignoring them; they deserve more from me than that. Who were they before the siege? I don’t even know their names. Crescentia never addresses them, only snapping her fingers when she needs assistance.
The younger of the two looks up and meets my gaze briefly, and something sparks in her eyes before she averts them. I’m not sure whether it is deference or hatred.
I REMEMBER WALKING TO THE SOUTH Harbor with my mother when I was a child. It only takes fifteen minutes or so on foot, but Crescentia prefers carriages. Her slaves ride outside, next to the coachman, to leave more room inside for us. I don’t know what we need so much room for. The carriage is spacious enough that both of us could lie down on the benches and still leave enough room for both girls to sit as well.
“Does my hair look all right, Thora?” Crescentia asks me, patting at it idly as she looks out the window.
“It’s lovely,” I assure her. And it is—everything about Crescentia is lovely. But after meeting with Blaise, every word I say to her has the shadow of a lie.
“You look very pretty, too,” she says, glancing at my neckline again before her eyes dart back up to my face. She’s quiet for a moment, but her eyes are probing, as if she can see all my secrets laid bare. For a second, I could swear she knows about my meeting with Blaise, but that’s impossible.
“You’re acting strange today,” she says after a moment. “Are you all right?”
The truth bubbles up inside me. Of course I’m not all right, I want to tell her. I killed my father, eighty thousand of my people are dead, and I’m risking my life plotting treason. How can I possibly be all right?
I’ve never had to keep secrets from Cress before; she’s the first person I want to tell anything. But I’m not a fool. Cress might love me, but she loves her country more. She loves her father more. In a strange way, I can’t even begrudge her that. After all, can’t the same be said about me?
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��I’m fine,” I say instead, forcing a smile she sees through immediately.
“It isn’t anything to do with that awful trial, is it?” she asks.
Again, her use of the term trial scratches at my skin like jagged fingernails. I ignore it and give her a brief nod. The trial isn’t the best explanation to give Cress for the difference in my behavior, but it’s at least a partial truth. “It was quite alarming.”
It’s such an understatement that it’s almost laughable, but there isn’t anything funny about it. I hope she’ll take the hint and change the subject, but instead, she leans toward me.
“He was a traitor, Thora.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a warning there as well. “The treason law is clear and decreed by the gods themselves. The Kaiser had no choice, and neither did you.”
Not my law, I think. Not my gods.
And besides, what of the Kaiser’s treason? He had my mother removed from her gods-given throne. Crescentia’s father cut her gods-blessed throat. If treason should be left up to the gods, why are men like her father and the Kaiser still alive while my mother and Ampelio are dead?
“You’re right,” I lie with a smile. “I feel no guilt over the man’s death, truly. No more than I would feel for stepping on a roach.”
The words taste foul, but the lines of her expression smooth as she takes my hands in hers. “My father told me that the Kaiser was impressed with your loyalty,” she says. “The Kaiser thinks the time is right to find you a husband.”
“Does he?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and trying to hide my surprise and horror at the idea.
Cress and I often talked about marrying any number of the boys our age. It was a game to us, our favorites changing as often as our gowns, but the constant was that we would do it together. We would marry brothers or friends and raise our children to be as close as we are. It was a lovely fantasy, but that’s all it ever was. A marriage will never happen, I realize—I’ll be long gone by then. Soon the time will come when I will never see Cress again, and I can’t help but mourn this. She’ll always think of me as a traitor. Any children we might one day have will grow up on opposite sides of a war.
“What else did they say?” I ask, though I don’t think I actually want to know.
Something dark flickers across her expression and she leans back again, releasing my hands. “Oh, I can hardly remember. More of the same, really, about how you’re proving to have the heart of a true Kalovaxian.”
I wonder what else was said that she refuses to repeat. Did they gloat about my mother’s death? Or did they make comments about my marriage bed? Maybe they called me a savage or demon-blooded. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard any of those things, but Crescentia’s been sheltered enough to miss them. Everything in her world is so pretty and shiny and full of good intentions. I don’t have the heart to crush that.
“That’s very kind of them,” I tell her with what I hope passes as a demure smile. “Did they have anyone particular in mind?” I ask, already dreading the answer. After all, whoever the Kaiser has picked out for me won’t be one of the boys Cress and I gossiped about.
She hesitates for a moment, eyes darting away from mine, confirming my fear. She busies herself by smoothing out the folds of her already pristine skirt. “Lord Dalgaard has expressed a great deal of interest in you, apparently.” She struggles to sound conversational, but doesn’t quite manage. I don’t blame her. Whatever horrible name I was expecting, Lord Dalgaard is infinitely worse.
In his seventy years, Lord Dalgaard has had six wives, each younger than the last and each dying suspiciously within a year of her marriage. His first wife lived long enough to give him an heir before her body washed up on the shore of whatever country the Kalovaxians had invaded at the time. She was too mangled to tell what exactly had happened to her. Other wives were claimed by fires, by mad dogs, by falls from cliff tops. Even before they died, they wore bruises the way other women wore jewels, curling around their necks and arms and littering any other scrap of exposed skin. His wealth and closeness with the Kaiser made him untouchable, but his reputation was making finding a seventh wife tricky.
Of course, his marrying me would suit everyone just fine. He would have a wife no one would care what he did to, the Kaiser would collect a hefty price, and I would be even more a prisoner than ever.
I turn my focus out the window to hide my face, but immediately wish I hadn’t. Outside, the capital whirrs by, and though the city has been this way for most of my life, it makes my stomach turn.
Once, beautiful villas of polished sunstone stood proudly along the shore, glittering in the sunlight like the ocean itself. The streets were broad and lively, watched over by sandstone sculptures of the gods that towered tall enough to be seen from the palace windows. Once, the capital was a pretty scene where even the poorest corners were at least whole and clean and cherished.
Now the villas are in disrepair from the siege. Even after ten years, chunks are missing from walls and roofs, patched up poorly with straw and plaster. The limestone doesn’t shine the way it used to, now caked with dull white sea salt. Once-busy streets are all but abandoned, though every so often I see an emaciated, specter-like frame peer at us through a broken window or disappear into an alley.
These are my people, and I have failed them with my fear, with my inaction. While I’ve cowered, they’ve starved, and my mother has watched me from the After with shame.
When the carriage finally turns in to the harbor and pulls to a stop, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding.
Here, there is life again. Ships crowd the harbor, with more lurking offshore, waiting. Dozens of patchy cats stalk the docks like they’re in charge, even while they beg sailors for scraps of fish. The Kalovaxian crews work hard, yellow heads glowing in the sun, but they are all well fed at least. Their pleasantly drunk, raucous voices chant sea songs while they build and scrub and scrape barnacles from the ships’ undersides. It’s strange that there aren’t any Astrean slaves to do the hard work, though I must admit it’s a wise choice. The cannons that line the ships on both sides can easily wipe out an enemy ship—or a Kalovaxian one, depending on who is manning it.
Seeing this lifts my spirits. If the Kaiser doesn’t trust my people with weapons, he must still fear us.
I make a mental tally of the ships so that I can report back to Blaise about them. There are three drakkars in port, mounted with wooden dragon heads at the bows and large enough to carry a hundred warriors each. Farther offshore, there is a ship so large I doubt it could fit in the harbor at all. It’s double the size of the drakkars, and I shudder to think of how many warriors it holds. There are also a dozen small ships bobbing in the waves around it, but as unassuming as they seem next to the large ship, they aren’t to be underestimated. They aren’t designed to be big, they’re designed to be fast. Each one can hold fifty people, maybe less, depending on what else it’s carrying.
Blaise mentioned a new weapon, something called a berserker, but maybe it’s a kind of ship. The Kalovaxians have so many names for their ships, I can’t keep them all straight.
I add up the ships and the men it would take to sail them—nearly two thousand warriors at full capacity, much more than what’s needed for one of their usual raids. And these are only the new ships. There are others in the East Harbor, older but still effective, that could triple that number. What is the Kaiser planning that requires so many? Even as I wonder, I know exactly how I’m going to find out.
At first glance, Prinz Søren blends in with the rest of the crew. He’s helping to rig a gold sail emblazoned with the Kalovaxian sigil of a crimson dragon. His simple white cotton shirt is rolled up to the elbows, exposing strong, pale forearms. Corn-silk hair is tied back from his face, emphasizing his angular jaw and cheekbones.
Crescentia must have spotted him as well, because she lets out a light sigh next to me
.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she says to me, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Well, it’s too late now, I suppose,” I say with a mischievous grin. I loop my arm through hers and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, think of it as bolstering the spirits of our brave warriors before they embark for…where? Do you know?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “The North, more than likely. To deliver gems.”
But these aren’t cargo ships. If they were loaded with Spiritgems in addition to those cannons and the ammo to go with them, they would sink before they left the port. Crescentia doesn’t know the difference and I can’t even fault her for that. If the siege hadn’t happened and I’d grown up a naive and spoiled princess, I doubt I’d have any interest in boats either. But most Kalovaxians love their boats more than some of their children, and I had thought maybe it would be something Ampelio and the other rebels could use against them when they rescued me.
We draw the eyes of the crew as we approach, eliciting shouted greetings and a few vulgar comments that we pretend not to hear.
“Is the Prinz looking?” Crescentia whispers. Her cheeks flush and she smiles sweetly at the ships we pass.
I paste a smile on my face as well, though some of these men must have fought in the siege and those who are too young must have fathers who did. Twenty thousand left. Blaise’s words echo in my head and my stomach twists. These people murdered tens of thousands of my people, and I have to smile flirtatiously and wave like I don’t hate them with every part of me. But I do it, as nauseated as it makes me.
Prinz Søren is so focused on rigging the sail that he doesn’t look up with the rest of his crew. His expression is drawn taut in concentration as he ties intricate knots, brow furrowed and mouth pursed. When he pulls the knot tight and finally looks up, his eyes find mine first and linger for a beat too long before shifting to Crescentia. Blaise might be right, ridiculous as it is. I may be a damsel in distress, but the Prinz can’t very well save me from his own people, can he? From his father, from himself? A monster can’t also play the part of the hero.
Ash Princess Page 7