“And I missed her,” he replies after a beat.
“She’ll make a wonderful prinzessin, I think.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice light and conversational, to keep my hands from shaking, but I manage. The Theyn thrives on fear; he can smell it like a hunting dog.
For a moment, we both watch Crescentia as she gives the Kaiser a dimpled smile, wrapping him tighter around her finger.
“She was born to be,” the Theyn says finally.
I sneak a glance at him and immediately wish I hadn’t. The way he’s watching Crescentia makes my chest ache, because how dare he? How dare he love his daughter when he took my mother away? Because of him, I will never see my mother look at me like that. He is a stone, incapable of feeling anything, and I don’t like being reminded that he’s also human. I don’t like being reminded that we both love the same person.
Crescentia turns our way and her blinding smile grows wider. She excuses herself from the Kaiser with a softly spoken word and a brief touch of her hand to his arm. The Kaiser follows her gaze and the look in his eyes presses in around my chest until I can scarcely breathe.
“Excuse me, please,” I say to the Theyn, ducking away. Even as I retreat, I feel the Kaiser watching me, always watching me. His gaze spreads decay on my skin and I yearn for a bath to scrub it off.
I am a lamb in the lion’s den. How can I be any kind of queen when I am so easily frightened? Artemisia wouldn’t cower from the Kaiser; she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge the dagger into his chest here and now, no matter what it cost her.
“Thora!” Crescentia calls after me. I slow my steps but I don’t turn back, too frightened of meeting the Kaiser’s gaze again. Too frightened of what I’ll find there.
Cress falls into step next to me and loops her arm through mine. “I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.”
Her quick gray eyes dart up to take in the crumbling crown, the ash I can feel covering my face, neck, and shoulders. It itches terribly, but I don’t dare scratch. Better to pretend it isn’t there at all.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a forced smile I hope seems natural. “It was so kind of you to send the dress. We could be sisters tonight.” I squeeze her arm and try to ignore the guilt seeping into my gut.
“We are,” she replies with a smile that feels like a blow to my heart.
There is nothing to say to that. All I can give her are lies, and I can’t do that tonight, not to her.
All I am is a lie, I remind myself. Thora is a lie. But that isn’t the whole truth.
My mouth opens and I’m not entirely sure what will come out, but before I can say a word, a boy with a golden-horned ram half-mask approaches. Even with his scar gone and his features blurred to give him a more northern look, I’d recognize Blaise anywhere. I glance around the room warily, knowing that Artemisia must be nearby as well, to hold this illusion, but if she is, I can’t see her. There are too many people, too many masks.
“A dance, Lady Thora?” Even beneath the mask, I can see his mouth twist unpleasantly around my false name like it’s a curse. He’s never had to call me that before, and I can tell he hates himself a bit for it, even if it is unavoidable.
Crescentia’s blond eyebrows arch so high they nearly disappear into her hair, but her mouth is smiling as she nudges me toward him. Though he is the last person I want to talk to, I have no choice but to take his hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, sticking to Kalovaxian and moving my lips as little as possible. “If you’re caught—”
“It’s a maskentanz,” he says, overemphasizing the hard edges of the Kalovaxian word so that it sounds more like a hacking cough. “There’s little chance of that.”
“Little, but not none,” I point out, fighting to keep my tone level. “Besides, you don’t even know how to dance.”
“I watched a few of them,” he says with a shrug, resting his hand on the small of my back and taking my free hand in his. It’s the proper placement for the glissadant that the orchestra is playing, but his steps are clumsy. The warmth of his touch seeps through the metal and silk of my dress.
“Not enough,” I say, wincing as his foot comes down hard on mine. “Follow my lead.”
He sighs, but does as I say, letting me guide him into something resembling the complex steps of the dance. We almost blend into the twirl of the other dancers around us, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that people aren’t watching me, wondering who the newcomer is who chose to dance with the Ash Princess, of all people.
I wonder if he’s thinking about how this ballroom felt before the siege, though we were far too young to ever attend balls when they were held here. Our parents must have, though. They would have danced together and laughed in this room, sipping wine from the same gilded goblets the Kalovaxians use now, raising toasts to my mother and the gods and goddesses, to Astrea.
I try to remember that I’m supposed to be angry with him for what Artemisia said, but having him this close is disconcerting. The last time we were this close, he was kissing me. He was holding my wrists tightly in his grasp, refusing to meet my eyes. He won’t look at me now either, but I think that’s less to do with rejection this time and more because he can feel the anger rolling off me.
He doesn’t know what to do with it, and I’m worried that if I open my mouth, I’ll snap at him and everyone will stare, so we fall into an uncomfortable silence that feels like a different version of the pinching game. Which of us will break first?
This time, I win. He starts rambling, eyes darting around the room like he’s afraid to look at me.
“This seemed too good an opportunity to pass up, and we couldn’t hear anything from the Shadow spots. Artemisia conjured the illusions: I’m a visiting duke’s son from Elcourt, Artemisia is a reclusive country lady, and Heron decided it was best for him to stay invisible and mill around the open sun—or rather, moon—pavilions—”
“Do you trust me?” I interrupt, because the more he talks around the argument we’re pointedly not having, the bigger it feels.
His brow furrows and he twirls me under his arm, giving me a chance to survey the room.
I’m relieved to realize that most people aren’t watching us; they’re too busy with their own private dramas to care about mine. But some people still are, including the Kaiser. When my eyes meet his mid-twirl, my stomach turns to lead.
“I…Why would you ask that?” Blaise says when the twirl ends and he steadies me again with his hand on my back.
It’s not an answer, but it might as well be. I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m not risking everything to play games, Blaise. I’m not a monkey trained to do tricks for your amusement—”
“I never said—” His voice rises before he catches himself, glancing around to see if anyone noticed, but the other dancers all seem engrossed in their own conversations. Still, he lowers his voice. “Where is this coming from?”
“Art said it was your idea to have me poison Crescentia. There’s enough Encatrio for two people and there are plenty of others in this castle who prove much more of a threat than one spoiled girl. So tell me it’s not just another fire you want me to walk through to prove my loyalty.”
His shoulder muscle tightens under my hand and his skin almost feels warmer.
“It’s not your loyalty I’m worried about,” he says after a moment. “It’s your mind. The Kalovaxians have had you for ten years, Theo. That isn’t something that’s easy to leave behind.”
He’s only giving voice to my own fears, but the words still sting. “I told you, I’m fine. And you’re in no position to be judging someone’s sanity. Don’t tell me five years in the mines didn’t leave their mark on you.”
I can feel his temper roiling, but I don’t flinch from it.
“Every move we make is dangerous, Blaise,” I continue. “A
nd I need people who I can trust. Who trust me.”
He laughs, but it’s a joyless sound. “And yet you clearly don’t trust me, Theo.”
I want to deny it, but he’s right. I believe we want the same things; I believe he would lay down his life to protect me. But I also believe it’s a secondhand loyalty, filtered through his promise to Ampelio. It’s diluted, bound by duty, not necessarily by choice. I thought maybe he cared about me when we kissed, as a person instead of a symbol, but I can still feel his hands around my wrists holding me away, the awkward way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I’m a duty to him, and that is all.
He’s right: I can’t put my trust in him any more than he can put his trust in me.
“Give me a reason,” I say. “One real reason to poison Cress.”
He licks his lips, eyes darting around, searching for an answer. “They say she’ll be a prinzessin soon enough.”
“We both know she’ll never be a prinzessin. Søren will be dead long before she has a chance to marry him,” I point out. “Give me a real reason and I’ll do it.”
His mouth tightens. “She’s a Kalovaxian. She’s the Theyn’s daughter. Those should be reasons enough,” he snaps. “Why don’t you give me a reason not to kill her?”
“She has no blood on her hands,” I tell him. “She likes to read books and flirt with boys. She isn’t a threat.”
A battle rages behind his eyes and he tightens one hand on my waist. “Captive animals grow to love their captors all the time, even when they beat them. It’s not surprising that you love one of yours.”
The words light a fire in me, though I know in his own way, he means them as a comfort. “I’m not an animal, Blaise. I’m a queen, and I know who my enemies are. Being born to the wrong man doesn’t make her one of them.”
I pull back from him as the song comes to its end and I walk away, half expecting him to follow me. But I suppose he knows me well enough not to.
I’m not halfway across the ballroom when the Kaiser’s broad form cuts into my path, effectively blocking me. I drop to a curtsy, but when I rise he’s still there, still watching me the way he has been all night. My stomach sours.
“Your Highness,” I say.
I keep my eyes averted. I am Thora, docile and broken, I tell myself. I will not anger the Kaiser and he will keep me alive.
“Ash Princess,” he replies, an ugly curve to his mouth. “I hope you thanked the Theyn for his services in the mines these past weeks, subduing the riffraff.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” I reply, though the thought of it makes me sick. How many more of my people did the Theyn kill in his inspections?
He moves aside to let me pass, but when I do, he brushes against me and runs a hand along the curve of my waist and over my hip. Shock floods through me, followed by repulsion. I force myself not to shudder or jerk away, because I know that’s what he wants and it would only make things that much worse. The dagger in my bodice is within reach, and for a moment I let myself imagine pulling it out and drawing it across his throat before he could even realize what was happening. I want to do it so badly it’s painful to hold back. My hands shake, and I struggle to keep them still and at my sides. Guards would be on me in a moment if I tried, and our rising rebellion would be cut short.
It isn’t worth it. Not yet.
He bends his face to mine, close enough that I can smell wine, sour on his breath. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
“You’ve grown awfully pretty, for a heathen,” he says, low in my ear.
I keep my expression neutral even while his words feel like grime coating my skin. Soon, I promise myself. Soon I will kill him, but not tonight. Tonight I have to play a different part.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The words aren’t mine, they’re Thora’s, but they still burn my throat.
My heart is hammering so loudly it feels like the whole room can hear it, even over the orchestra. He lingers a moment longer, his grip on my hip tightening, before he is gone. I let out a long, shaky breath and hurry in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
Blaise stares after the Kaiser, fury clearly etched in his expression. He doesn’t know how to hide it like I do, so it shows in the hard line of his mouth, the crease in his forehead above the mask. When his eyes meet mine, they soften. We remember who our real enemy is.
He makes a move toward me, but I give a minute shake of my head. He already drew attention to himself by dancing with me, and his lies about his identity will hold only until someone asks him the wrong question.
There’s too much at stake to risk a moment of comfort, and I’m not sure I want it from him anyway.
The crowd parts for me, not out of any kind of deference but because no one wants to get ash on their pretty clothes. I cling to the edge of the room, as far from the crowd as I can get. The ghost of the Kaiser’s hand is still on me, his sour breath lingering in my nose. The memory will haunt my nightmares tonight, and probably for a long time to come.
“Still playing games, my little lamb?” a soft voice says from the shadowed alcove behind me.
The Kaiserin waits there, her skeletal frame nearly disappearing in a gray dress that swamps her. Her mask is a strip of black organza that wraps around her temples, with holes cut for her eyes. She is more ghost than woman.
“I’ve never enjoyed games,” I tell her, surprised that my voice comes out level.
She laughs. “Everyone has their games, little lamb. The Kaiser plays them in the palace, the Theyn plays them on the battlefield, Søren plays them on his ships. Even your friend plays them—quite well, too.”
For a heart-stopping second, I think she means Blaise, but it’s Crescentia she’s talking about.
“She’ll make a beautiful prinzessin,” I say.
“That’s all a prinzessin has to be,” the Kaiserin says with a scoff. “No one expects more from them than beauty and grace. You know all about that, though. You’ve been playing that part since you were a child. The pretty little Ash Princess with her sad eyes and broken spirit. Or maybe not so broken.”
The Kaiserin’s words send a jolt through me that I try to ignore. I pretend to misunderstand them. “The Kaiser was kind to let me keep my title,” I say.
She laughs. “The Kaiser is many things, but we both know kind is not one of them.” When she takes my hand, her touch is ice cold. There is little more to her than bones and thin skin. “He always wins his games. That is why he is the Kaiser.”
Because he cheats, I want to say, but that isn’t the right response. There isn’t one, but she seems to know that.
“Surviving is enough, little lamb.”
She presses a chilled kiss to my forehead before walking back into the crush of courtiers, her lips black with ash.
THOUGH THE MASKENTANZ STRETCHES ON until the eastern sky is bleeding pastels and the moon is rapidly fading in the west, I spend the rest of it clinging to the edges of the room, hoping to avoid the Kaiser’s gaze. I’m not sure whether it’s the energy from the ball itself or the Kaiser’s threat hanging over my head, but sleep feels miles away, even when my body grows heavy and lethargic. When the last guests begin to file out through the main entrance, I reluctantly follow, ready to turn in for what I’m sure will be a restless couple of hours in bed, but when I reach the doors, Cress is waiting, holding two steaming mugs of spiced honey coffee.
Relief seeps through me at the sight of her, my friend, but it’s quickly quashed by the sharp memory of the poison hidden in my room and what I’m meant to do with it. My conversation with Blaise echoes in my mind, but I push it aside.
“The night is young,” she tells me with a grin, passing one mug to me.
I thank her and take a small sip. In the Astrean tradition, the coffee has been mixed with honey, cinnamon, and milk. It’s too sweet for most Kalovaxians, but it’s the way Cre
scentia always orders it. Not for the first time, I wonder whether it’s because she has a sweet tooth or because she understands how much the small gesture means to me.
The coffee tastes like my mother’s breath when she kissed me good morning, and the memory soothes me and breaks me all over again.
Crescentia links her arm with mine and steers me not through the crowded entrance hall, but through a smaller one that shoots off to the side. Having her so close and knowing what I’m expected to do feels like a splinter in my heart, sharp and nagging, no matter how I try to ignore it.
“I should go to bed, Cress,” I tell her. “I’m exhausted.”
“That’s what the coffee’s for,” she says cheerfully, squeezing my arm. “We hardly had a chance to talk the entire night, Thora.”
“I know. You were such a wonderful hostess and I didn’t want to steal you away. But we’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.”
Crescentia glances sideways at me as we walk, though she doesn’t let go of my arm.
“Are you angry with me?” she asks after a long moment of quiet. She sounds wounded and, despite myself, my heart lurches.
“No,” I say with a laugh. “Of course I’m not.”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she insists. “This week. Tonight. Now, even.”
“I told you, I was sick.” The words sound hollow even to me.
“Just one hour, Thora. Please.”
She sounds so hurt that my soul cracks and I’m tempted to say yes. And why shouldn’t I say yes? What’s waiting for me back in my room? Another argument with Blaise and Artemisia, with Heron trying to play the mediator? And Blaise will want to talk about the Kaiser, what he saw, and I can’t do that. I shudder thinking of the Kaiser’s hand on me, his breath against my skin.
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