Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

  She is your enemy. But she isn’t. Crescentia might be a lot of things—selfish and calculating among them—but she isn’t cruel. She has no blood on her hands and has committed no crime but being born to the wrong country, to the wrong man. Is that something worth killing her for? Wouldn’t that make me the same as the Kaiser?

  More than once over the past several days, I’ve woken up drenched in cold sweat, though now it isn’t the Theyn’s scarred face haunting me, or even the Kaiser’s cruel eyes, but Crescentia’s smile. She holds a hand out toward me like she did all those years ago. “We’re friends now,” she says, only in my dreams her rosy skin turns gray as her mouth gapes open in a silent scream. Her eyes, blood-red around gray irises, are locked on mine, accusing, frightened, betrayed. I want to help her, but I’m frozen in place, and all I can do is watch while the life leaves her eyes, just as it left my mother’s.

  When my screams wake up my Shadows, I feed them lies that are all too easy to believe: that I dreamt of the Theyn killing my mother, or of the Kaiser’s punishments. They don’t believe me.

  Even though I can’t see his face, I can hear doubt in the way Blaise breathes, warnings in the idle shuffle of his feet. It’s the pinching game all over again—which one of us will acknowledge it first? For once, I’m glad for the wall that keeps us apart, because I know that if he looked me in the eye and asked what was wrong, I would turn into a mess. Over one Kalovaxian girl.

  They might leave me for that, declare me a lost cause and walk away. They could let the Kaiser have the broken parts of me and wage their war elsewhere. I don’t know that I would blame them if they did. What kind of queen am I if I put my enemy before my people?

  I try to avoid Cress as well. The morning Søren left, I woke up to her melodic knocking at my door.

  “You look awful,” she chirped playfully when she flounced in before breakfast. She didn’t mean it cruelly and I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. I felt awful. I’d gotten in from my meeting with Søren only five hours before, and most of those hours I’d spent tossing and turning in bed, thoughts of the poison and Blaise’s words weighing heavily on my mind.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I told her, which was true enough. “I don’t think I can join you for breakfast this morning.”

  Her smile faltered. “Then I’ll have breakfast brought to you,” she insisted. “And I’ll stay to keep you company. My father brought me a new book of Astrean folklore that I’m sure you’ll love, and—”

  “No.” The word came out harsher than I’d meant it to, sharpened by the mention of the Theyn and the idea of her reading a book about my people’s history that I myself was no longer allowed to possess and the knowledge that the poison tucked safely away in my mattress was destined for her.

  Cress’s eyes went wide as a child’s and her chin warbled. She looked so hurt that I nearly apologized, nearly begged her to stay and keep me company, anything to keep her happy, but I resisted and after a moment she nodded.

  “I understand,” she said, though it was clear she didn’t.

  I sighed. “I just don’t want to get you sick, Cress. I would never forgive myself. I’ll find you when I’m feeling better.”

  She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly shut it again.

  “I hope you feel better soon, Thora,” she said softly before leaving me alone.

  Two days after that, she sent a letter asking me to join her on a trip to the dressmaker, and I replied that I had a dancing lesson I couldn’t miss. She came to see me again yesterday, but I begged Hoa not to answer the door and to pretend we were out. She gave me a wary look, but acquiesced.

  But if there’s anything I know about Crescentia, it’s that she’s stubborn and she always finds a way to get what she wants.

  Her next attempt comes today while I’m eating breakfast, in the form of an invitation to a maskentanz—a masked ball—she’s throwing to celebrate her father’s return from the mines. I don’t think I’m allowed to refuse, even though it means wearing that godsforsaken ash crown again, which will render any mask useless.

  I show the invitation to Hoa and her dark eyes scan it, the space between her eyebrows pleating. She looks up at me, her expression muddled, before nodding once and hurrying from the room. There’s a lot of preparation for a maskentanz, I’m sure, and not a lot of time to do it. It’s typical of Crescentia to throw something together at the last minute without thinking about who would actually end up doing all the work. But even that show of thoughtlessness doesn’t irritate me the way it usually would. All I can think of is the poison.

  “Anything exciting?” Blaise asks when Hoa is gone.

  “A maskentanz Cress is throwing tonight to celebrate the return of the Theyn from his inspection of the mines,” I say, folding the letter up again. They don’t reply and I realize that they likely have never heard the word maskentanz before. I doubt they held parties in the mines. “A masquerade, a party,” I explain.

  Still they say nothing, but their expectation is suffocating.

  “There will be too many people around to use the poison,” I say, before anyone can suggest what I know they’re thinking. “It’ll be too easy to make a mistake and kill the wrong person.”

  “They’re all Kalovaxians, there is no wrong person,” Artemisia says, venom in her voice. “And with so many people, no one would know who was the poisoner.”

  I understand the bite in her words, even though I’m not sure I really agree with them as much as I used to. If I could poison every Kalovaxian in the palace tonight, would I? I’m almost glad not to have that option, because I don’t know what choice I would make. Yes, it would mean getting rid of the Kaiser and the Theyn and all the other warriors with their bloodstained hands and cold eyes, but there are also children here whose only crime is that they were born to the wrong country.

  I know better than to tell Artemisia that.

  “An Astrean poison? That alone would cast blame on me, and the Theyn is the Kaiser’s closest friend—he might be distraught enough to kill me for it. And if the poison does reach the wrong Kalovaxian, I doubt you would be able to find more for the Theyn so easily or you would have already poisoned the entire castle,” I reply, which quiets her. I rub my temples; the conversation—and what I know it will lead to—is already making my head ache.

  “I’ll do it soon, but we need a plan first and we haven’t been able to form one yet,” I say.

  “You haven’t been able to form one yet,” Artemisia says. “And we all know you haven’t actually been trying to, have you?”

  I can’t answer. Even through the wall, I can feel her resentment. She’s hotheaded, but this feels like something else.

  “We got word from a spy in the Earth Mine,” Heron says after a second. “The Theyn halved their rations and they’ve begun sending children into the mines to work earlier than ever. Some as young as eight. No word from the other mines yet, but it’s hard to imagine it’s only the Earth Mine.”

  “Punishments for the riot?” I ask.

  “Yes and no,” Blaise says, voice heavy and tired. I wonder when the last time he really slept was. “That didn’t help matters, and it’s certainly the reason for the rations, but the children…The Kalovaxians are running out of slaves to work, and gem turnout isn’t what it used to be. It’s probably another reason for the attack on the Vecturia Islands. They need more slaves.”

  I can’t help but think about Goraki and how the Kalovaxians burned the entire country and left when they ran out of resources. I wonder if Blaise is thinking the same thing. We’re running out of time.

  My stomach clenches. “And the Theyn gave the order as part of his inspections,” I guess out loud. They don’t contradict me. “Believe me, I would like nothing better than to kill him tonight, but it would be a foolish move and it’ll only
make things worse when we fail.”

  “Are you sure that’s what makes you hesitate?” Artemisia asks, her acidic voice so quiet I almost don’t hear her.

  “Artemisia!” Heron hisses.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say, taking a step closer to Artemisia’s wall, matching her tone. I can’t show doubt; I can’t show fear. “If you have something you would like to say, Artemisia, please don’t hide it. I’m very interested in what you think.”

  I’m greeted only by silence, but that doesn’t make me feel any better, because I have doubts. Not about my loyalties, exactly, but in myself. These are people who took everything from me—my mother, my country, my mind. Ever since Ampelio died, I’ve been waiting for the moment I’ll be able to take my revenge and bury Thora for good. Now that moment is here and I’m not sure I can really do it.

  * * *

  —

  After a lunch alone—or as alone as I ever am—in my rooms, I hear a quick, soft knock on my door. It isn’t Crescentia’s melodic knock or the forceful rapping of the guards, and I can’t imagine who else it might be. Hoa is clearing my lunch plates, so I go to answer it.

  Warily I open the door, only to find no one on the other side. I lean out and peer down the hall in either direction, but the hall is empty. I almost close the door again before I notice the rolled piece of parchment on the ground in front of the door.

  I pick it up and bring it back inside with me, closing the door firmly behind me. The letter is sealed with Søren’s sigil of a drakkon breathing fire, so I slip it into the pocket of my dress.

  “It must have been the wind,” I tell Hoa.

  She doesn’t seem to believe me, though. When she leaves the room a moment later, balancing the tray of leftover lunch food in her arms, she gives me a suspicious glance. I smile at her like it’s any other day, but I don’t think it fools her.

  Not for the first time, I wonder how she sees me. She’s known me since I was six years old, she’s held me when I’ve cried, she used to tuck me into bed. I don’t trust her—I think the part of me that trusts people has been irreparably broken—but I do love her, in a way. It’s a shadow of the love I feel for my mother, roughly the same shape but without the color or warmth. Hoa looks at me sometimes like she’s seeing her own shadow of a ghost. But I can’t ask her anything about it, and she certainly couldn’t tell me anything if I did.

  When the door clicks shut behind her, I take the letter from my pocket and break the seal with my pinky nail before unrolling it.

  “The Prinz?” Blaise asks.

  I don’t answer him except to nod. Søren’s handwriting is a sloppy, rushed scrawl that makes it difficult to read.

  Dear Thora,

  I dreamt of you last night and when I woke this morning, I could have sworn your scent lingered in the air around me. It’s been like this all week. You haunt my mind both sleeping and waking. I keep wanting to share my thoughts with you, or ask you for your opinion on things. Usually I look forward to time away from court, when it’s only my crew and me at sea. There are no pressures, no formalities, no games apart from those played with cards and ale. But now I would give anything to be back in that godsforsaken palace because you would be with me.

  The short of it is: I miss you terribly, and I’m wondering if you miss me as well.

  Erik has been teasing me relentlessly about you, though I suspect he’s a bit envious. If I were a better man, I would encourage him to pursue you and I would let you go, because I know he’s a safer choice for you. We both know what my father’s wrath would be if he learned how much I care for you. I’m not selfless enough to step aside, though if you asked me to, I would certainly try. You could ask me for the ocean itself and I would find a way to give it to you.

  The seas are smooth and if everything goes as easily as it should, I’ll be back before the new moon with good tidings that should make my father a very happy man. If you would like to send me a letter, and I hope that you do, leave it where you found this one and trust that it will find me.

  Yours,

  Søren

  I read the letter twice, trying to smother the giddiness his words bring out in me. If I were alone, I might smile. I might press the letter to my heart, my lips. I might imagine him, in his cabin with only a candle for light, laboring over the words and chewing on the end of his quill as he tries to put his thoughts on the paper. I might wonder what, exactly, he dreamt about me.

  But I’m never alone, and for once, I’m grateful for it. My Shadows’ eyes dissect every twitch in my expression, reminding me who I am and what’s at stake. Especially after our argument earlier, I’m sure they are looking for signs that I’m having doubts, and I can’t let them know that I am.

  I can’t let them know that there is a part of me falling for the Prinz they want me to kill.

  “He doesn’t say anything interesting, no mention of Vecturia,” I say, crumpling the paper in my hands and beginning to rip it into shreds. “It’s a love letter, nothing about what he’s doing. The seas are smooth, he expects the trip to be easy and quick. Of course, this was a few days ago. He said he’d be back before the new moon. That’s only two weeks away.”

  “He should be getting to Vecturia today, if the seas are calm,” Artemisia says. Her voice is still sharp at the edges, our earlier argument unforgotten.

  “It’s a shame none of you are Fire Guardians,” I say, looking down at the scraps of paper cradled in my hands and wishing I could burn them. The pieces are no bigger than my pinky nails, but I wouldn’t put it past the Kaiser to have someone rifle through my rubbish and reassemble them.

  Not for the first time, I wonder if I could start a fire. If the legend is true and Houzzah’s blood truly runs through my veins, it should be simple, even without training or a gem. I’ve felt the draw of the Fire Gem more intensely than any of the others, the strong temptation to call on it and use whatever power I can summon. But I won’t test that theory. Not ever. Before the siege, I’d often heard stories of humans who thought themselves worthy of power they weren’t blessed with in the mines. I remember how the gods punished them for their pride or recklessness. I can’t risk their wrath, now more than ever, when one mistake could ruin me. Could ruin Astrea forever.

  I hear Artemisia’s words again, her doubt in the gods and their power. It’s been nagging at me, this suspicion that maybe she has a point. Why haven’t the gods saved Astrea if they love us so much? If I’m truly descended from Houzzah, how could he have let the Kalovaxians treat me this way and done nothing? I don’t like to think about that or ask those questions, but I can’t help it.

  But my mother is waiting for me in the After, I have to believe that. If she’s not—if there is no After—I don’t know what I’ll do. The idea of seeing her again one day is the only thing that’s gotten me out of bed some mornings. Legend says that using a gem without the gods’ blessing is sacrilege and sacrilegious souls aren’t allowed into the After. As much as I want to feel fire at my fingertips and bring the world around me to ash, I won’t jeopardize the After for it.

  “Art,” Blaise prompts, drawing me out of my thoughts.

  “I can help with that,” she says.

  I hear the sliding of a door opening and closing before my own door opens and Artemisia slips in, drawing her hood back and showing me her face for the first time. I swallow my surprise—she doesn’t look at all how I expected her to.

  She’s so slight she could almost pass for a child, though I would guess she’s close to my own age, maybe a little older. Much to my surprise, she isn’t Astrean, or at least not completely. She has the same tan skin and dark eyes, but hers are hooded. Her heart-shaped face is sharply angled with high, freckled cheekbones, and her mouth is small and round. Since I know Dragonsbane is Astrean, I would have to assume that Artemisia’s father is from somewhere in the East, though I haven’t met enough peo
ple from those lands to hazard a more specific guess.

  The most extraordinary thing about her is her hair. It hangs down to her shoulder blades in a straight, thick sheet, white at the roots and a shocking cerulean blue at the ends. It shifts and changes in the light, like water, mirroring the Water Gem pin embedded in it.

  Some Guardians show physical manifestations of their gifts. There was an old story of an Earth Guardian whose skin turned gray and hard, but most of the markings are subtle, like scars. Ampelio once showed me his: a bright red burn over his heart that looked fresh, but he said it had been with him since he finished his training.

  She gives me an irritated look, and I realize I’ve been staring. She shakes her hair back over her shoulders and it fades to a dark auburn the same color as mine. Is she mimicking me intentionally? I want to ask her, but she’s already annoyed with me. I don’t want to anger her further.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Your hair—it just took me by surprise.”

  “You should try waking up with it,” she says, her expression unwavering. I don’t know her well enough to be able to tell if she’s still angry or if this is simply how she is.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, hoping for a smile. She only shrugs.

  “It’s a burden,” she replies. “When I escaped the mines, everyone was looking for a girl with blue hair, and I didn’t have enough power without a Water Gem to change it for more than a few minutes. Do you have a bowl to put the pieces in?”

  I nod toward my vanity, where an empty bowl sits, ready for Hoa to mix cosmetics in. Artemisia brings it to me and I drop the scraps into it. She holds one hand over the bowl, covering the top completely. The gems in her hairpin wink and glitter as her eyes close tight, and the air around us begins to hum with energy. It stops as quickly as it starts and her eyes fly open again, flashing blue for a second before turning back to dark brown. She lifts her hand from the surface of the bowl and we both peer into it.