She nods, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. After a second, she gives me a smile, but it’s sharp enough to cut through steel.
“Well, then I suppose I can keep it to myself, given that it stops.” She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee. She is playing a game where she holds all the cards, and she knows it. She’s weighing how much she stands to gain from her win. “You’ll end things with the Prinz when he returns. The Kaiser is going to arrange our betrothal when Søren gets back, and I don’t want him to refuse because of your meddling.”
“Of course,” I say obediently.
“And the others? The ones you gave my gems to?” she says. “They’re the ones who put you up to all of this, I know. You would never have done this on your own. They led you astray, and we’ll have to turn them over to the Kaiser.”
Cress has written her own version of this story, and it’s an easy enough one to play along with. Better, by far, than the truth. She wouldn’t have forgiven me so easily if she knew my feelings for Søren were genuine, or that I acted of my own volition. But if she thinks of me as a pet, trained to do tricks for her amusement, why would she expect anyone else to see me differently?
“They’re gone,” I tell her. It’s getting easier to lie to Cress. This one doesn’t even cause my stomach to clench. I know I need to convince her, though, to keep the others safe, so I continue. “They knew a hopeless cause when they saw one. After I gave them the gems, they left. They said they would barter passage on a ship to Grania. They offered to take me with them, but I…I couldn’t leave.”
Cress’s smile softens into something more natural. “I’m glad you didn’t go,” she says. “I would have missed you.” She picks up her quill again and glances at her book before looking back at me again. She hesitates for a second. “This is what’s best for you, Thora. He’ll kill you otherwise. You know that.”
The words stick in my throat, but I force them out. “I know.”
She reaches across the table to pat my hand before returning to her poem. Her mind is easy once more, the one wrinkle in her life smoothed out. It is simple to her, like the chess games she and her father play. She has me in checkmate, so the game is over and done. She’s won.
But it is not simple. Everything in me feels torn to pieces, and I know there will be no mending me.
I focus on the candle between us, the steady dancing of the flame as it shrinks and grows at the same pace as my quick heartbeat. I watch as it slows and a strange calm spreads over me. I shouldn’t be calm. I should want to rage and scream and slap her across her pretty face.
I should not be calm, but I am. There is one path ahead of me now, and I can see it clearly lit. It is an awful path, one I hate. I will never forgive myself for walking down it. I will not come out the other side the same.
But it is the only path I can take.
Cress glances up and opens her mouth to speak, but then she catches sight of something over my shoulder and shoots to her feet, posture ramrod straight. A second too late, I realize everyone else has stood as well, and I hurry to follow, even as my stomach sinks. With the Kaiserin dead and Søren still at sea, there is only one person whose presence could cause such a reaction.
In the instant before I fall into a curtsy, I see the Kaiser standing by the double-door entrance, dressed in a velvet suit with gold buttons that strain over his round stomach. As if that weren’t bad enough, the Theyn is at his side, which can only mean one thing.
Sure enough, they are coming our way. The Theyn is as stone-faced as ever, but the Kaiser’s eyes are bright with the kind of malicious glee that haunts my nightmares. Already, I am struggling not to shudder under the weight of his gaze.
Soon, I remind myself. Soon I will have nothing to fear from either of them. Soon I will be far away from them both. Soon, hopefully, they will be dead. Soon they will never be able to touch me again. But soon is not now. Now, they can still hurt me. Now, I still have to play the Kaiser’s games.
Again my eyes find the candle, because it’s easier to look there than at them. Though my heartbeat is quickening again, the flickering of the candle still matches it.
“Lady Crescentia, Lady Thora,” the Kaiser says, giving me no choice but to look at him.
His next move is coming, his latest game, but for the first time I am a step ahead of him, and I will use that to my advantage.
In my mind, Thora is a huddled mess of panic and fear. She remembers his hands, she remembers the whip, she remembers his sickening smile when he called her a good girl. But I will not be afraid, because I have a vial of the deadliest poison known to man in my pocket and I can end his life with half of it.
“Your Highness, Theyn,” I say, keeping my voice soft and level. I am a simple girl who thinks only simple things. “It’s so lovely to see you both. Won’t you join us for coffee?” I ask, gesturing to the table. As if I have any say in the matter.
The Kaiser’s gaze flickers to Crescentia.
“Actually, Lady Crescentia, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a few words alone with Lady Thora,” he says, and though the words are polite enough, they are a pointed command. Cress must hear it as well, because she hesitates for a breath and her eyes find mine, a reminder there that I do not need. Her threats from a moment ago are still echoing in my mind.
“Cress,” her father says. He holds an arm out to her, and after a last glance my way, she links her arm through his and lets him lead her away.
The Kaiser takes her seat and I retake mine, trying to calm my racing heartbeat. The candle is still matching it, though a quick glance at the other tables tells me that theirs are calm and solid. Only mine is erratic, and I cannot think about why that is, not now with the Kaiser staring at me like he is. I’m painfully aware of the other courtiers watching and whispering. I push them out of my mind, focusing on the Kaiser, on the pot of coffee between us and the vial in my pocket. If I can manage to kill the Kaiser, Blaise and the others will call it a success even if Cress and the Theyn are still alive. Maybe I can even get out before Cress discovers what I did, before she tells her father everything and they arrest me. But even if I am killed for this, it will be enough. My mother and Ampelio will greet me in the After with pride.
I slide the vial from my pocket and into the long sleeve of my dress so that the corked top is wedged between the skin of my wrist and the cuff. When I slipped it into my pocket this morning, I never imagined I would actually use it. It was a gesture to placate my Shadows, but now I can actually see myself pouring the poison into the Kaiser’s cup when he isn’t paying attention. I see him drinking it. I see him burning alive from the inside out. And I don’t flinch from those thoughts, murderous as they might be. If anyone deserves to die from Encatrio, it’s the Kaiser.
“Coffee, Your Highness?” I ask with a bland smile, lifting the pot. If I just pretend to scratch my wrist, I can uncork the top and slip the poison in without anyone noticing….
But his nose wrinkles. “I never developed a taste for the stuff,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.
Frustration rises in my chest but I force it aside. So close, but I can’t very well shove the poison down his throat.
“Very well,” I say, setting the pot back on the table. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”
Though it nauseates me, I glance up at him through my eyelashes and summon my sweetest smile.
His smile broadens and he leans back in the chair, which creaks under his girth.
“The Theyn and I have been discussing your future, Ash Princess, and I thought you might like a say in it.”
I have to choke back a laugh. He already has my future plotted, and nothing I say could change that. It’s the illusion of a choice, just like the one he gave me when he asked me to kill Ampelio.
“I’m sure you know what is best for me, Your Highness,” I reply. “You have been so kind to me
so far. You must know how grateful I am.”
His hand slides across the table toward mine and I force myself not to pull mine back. I let him place his thick, clammy fingers over mine, and I pretend his touch doesn’t revolt me. I pretend I welcome it, even as bile rises in my throat.
“Perhaps you could show me just how grateful you are,” he murmurs, leaning toward me.
I can’t look at him, so I watch his hand instead. His sleeve is touching the base of the candle, only inches away from the flame. If it isn’t my imagination or a coincidence—if I really am controlling the flame without meaning to—what else can I do? How difficult would it be, really, to make a spark jump and catch his sleeve on fire? It would look innocuous enough, but it would make him stop touching me.
I would give anything for him to stop touching me. Anything.
Even your chance at the After? Even your mother? Even the future of your country?
The questions give me pause.
Suddenly a crack slices through the air and the Kaiser is yanked back, falling to the ground in a graceless heap, the chair splintered beneath him, the iron frame snapped cleanly in half. Shocked, I leap to my feet, along with everyone else on the pavilion.
Lying on his back, he reminds me of a turtle flipped over onto its shell. His bloated stomach strains at his shirt as he writhes, struggling to sit up to no avail. His guards rush forward to protect him, but when it becomes clear there was no attack, only the Kaiser’s girth breaking the chair, even they have to struggle to keep straight faces as they help him up to his feet. The courtiers crowded on the pavilion are less able to hide their giggles, which makes the Kaiser’s face grow redder and redder with fury and embarrassment.
I search for my Shadows lurking in the corners, and for Blaise in particular. The Kaiser’s weight alone wasn’t enough to break the wrought-iron chair, not without a touch of Earth magic. But it’s hard to believe Blaise would have done something so reckless on purpose.
There are only two figures standing in a dark corner, one tall and one short. Blaise isn’t there, though I know he was a few seconds ago.
All I can do is hurry around the table to where the Kaiser is being helped up by his guards.
“Your Highness, are you all right?” I ask.
He pushes his guards away and brushes off his clothes before taking a step toward me. His blue eyes—the same color as Søren’s—dart around the pavilion. No one dares laugh out loud, and many avert their gaze, pretending not to have seen the blunder at all. But he must know it’s a lie. He must know that they are all mocking him. He pushes his guards away from him, setting his jaw in a firm line and coming toward me. The smell of sweat and metal is overwhelming.
“We’ll speak again soon, Ash Princess,” he says, reaching his hand up to touch my cheek. Søren did the same thing when we were on his boat, but this is so much different. It is not a touch of affection, it is a claim staked in front of dozens of courtiers, and in an hour’s time, the whole city will know about it.
When he turns to go and finally takes those cold eyes off me, my knees all but buckle and I have to grip the edge of the table for support, though I try to hide it. Now more than ever, everyone is watching me, praying for me to fall so that one of their girls can take my place.
I am a lamb in the lion’s den, and I don’t know that I can survive.
WHEN I GET BACK TO my room, I’m relieved that Hoa isn’t there. It’s all I can do to keep the storm of fear and doubt buried deep in me. Screams and tears and fire scratch at my throat, but I swallow them all down, down, down. I cannot appear weak, not with my Shadows watching me. But someone is always watching me, aren’t they? Always expecting something of me, always waiting for me to slip.
With calm, measured steps, I cross to the water basin sitting on my vanity and dip my hands into it. The hands he touched. I scrub them until they are red and raw, but it doesn’t do any good. I still feel the Kaiser’s touch. I still feel the threat of him wrapped around my neck like a noose.
There is a pumice stone next to the basin, so I use that, digging it into every part of my hands, the palms, the backs, my fingers, even the spaces in between. It doesn’t matter, it’s never enough. Even when my knuckles bleed and turn the water pink. Even when my skin turns numb.
Good girl. You’ve grown awfully pretty, for a heathen. Perhaps you could show me just how grateful you are.
A strangled cry breaks the silence and I look around for the source before realizing that it’s coming from me, that I’m the one crying, and now that it’s finally started, I can’t make it stop. My legs give out and I fall to the floor, bringing the basin down with me and drenching the skirt of my dress with bloodied water.
I don’t care. I don’t even care when the door opens, even if it’s Hoa, ready to run to the Kaiser. Let her. It’s too much. I can’t do this. I am not enough.
Footsteps come toward me and I look up to see Artemisia in her black cloak, indigo hair spilling over her shoulders and something that might be pity in her hard eyes.
“Stand up,” she says, her voice soft.
I should listen to her, I shouldn’t let her see me like this. She thinks I’m useless already, and I don’t want to prove her right. Still, I can’t move. I can’t do anything but cry.
With a sigh, she drops to her knees in front of me and reaches for my bloodied hands, but I pull them back and cradle them against my stomach.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she snaps. “Let me see how bad it is.”
Hesitantly I hold them out to her, flinching when she none too gently turns them over.
“Heron?” she says over her shoulder to where a tall boy with overgrown black hair and thick eyebrows lingers in the doorway, looking like he might be sick. “A little help?”
Her words send a bolt of energy through him, and he shakes himself out of his stupor, coming to sit on my other side. He towers over me by at least a head, and though he looks stricken, I can see signs of the mysterious boy who’s been behind my wall for the last couple of months, the voice of reason. It’s there in the softness of his hazel eyes, in the lopsided quirk of his mouth.
He takes one of my hands from her, inspecting the damage himself. His hand dwarfs mine, but it’s comforting. “It’s not too bad,” he says after a moment. “I can fix it.”
My throat is so raw from crying, but I still can’t stop. “Where’s Blaise? Is he all right?” I manage to ask between sobs.
“He’s fine. We thought it best he take a walk and calm down after that outburst,” Artemisia says.
The chair. The Kaiser falling. It was Blaise’s power, and not an intentional use of it, apparently. I nod and try to take deep breaths, but they come out ragged.
“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.” I don’t mean to say the words, but the dam inside me has broken, and there is no controlling what comes out with the tears.
“Then don’t.” Artemisia’s voice is all hard edges.
“Art,” Heron warns, but she ignores him.
“Give up. Go as mad as their Kaiserin. What’s stopping you?”
Her words burn through me, but at least they’ve dried up my tears.
“There are twenty thousand people counting on me,” I whisper, more to myself than them. “If I give up…”
“Most of them won’t know the difference,” she says. The words are cruel, but the fight has gone out of her voice. She sounds as tired as I feel. “You might be the queen, but you’re just one girl. The revolution won’t stop because you do. It didn’t stop when Ampelio died, and he’d done far more than you have. If you died, or I died, or Heron, or Blaise…We’re all just pieces. We do what we can, but at the end of the day, we’re all expendable. Even you.”
“Then why do it at all?” I ask her. The words come out bitter, but I don’t mean them that way. I really do want to know.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. It’s only when I’ve given up hope of getting an answer that she speaks, her voice low and steady and so unlike the brash, loud Artemisia I’ve gotten to know.
“Because that’s how water works. The river flows, pushing against a stone, even as it knows it won’t move it. It doesn’t have to. Enough currents go by, over enough time, and even the strongest stone gives in. It might take a lifetime or more, but water doesn’t give up.”
“Nothing will stop him. I can’t win against him,” I say.
“No,” she says. “You likely can’t.”
“Art,” Heron warns again. The hand he’s holding has turned to pins and needles, like it’s fallen asleep. It doesn’t feel the way it does when Ion heals me after the Kaiser’s punishments. His touch always leaves my skin feeling tacky and slick and grimy, but Heron’s touch is comforting, warming, as his power travels over my skin.
“I won’t lie to her,” Artemisia scoffs.
Her words are harsh, but there’s something refreshing about her honesty. I think I prefer it to Heron’s kind fibs.
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Heron says. “As soon as the Prinz is back, we’ll get you out.”
“After I kill him, you mean. And the Theyn, and Cress.”
If Blaise were here, he would probably tell me that my safety was the priority. He would begin making plans for all of us to leave immediately, and I don’t know that I would have the courage to turn him down. But he isn’t here.
Heron and Artemisia exchange a look that I can’t read.
“Yes,” Artemisia says.
Heron releases my hand and the skin of my palm is smooth and clear, as if I never fell apart. He takes the other and begins again.
“In the mines,” Artemisia says, drawing my attention back to her. She isn’t looking at me, instead staring at the patterned tile floor, tracing the lines with her little finger. “I learned quickly how to use the only leverage I had with one of the guards. It…was its own kind of torture, but he gave me extra rations in return, and the easiest shifts. He looked the other way when my little brother didn’t pull his weight. I told myself…I told myself he cared for me, that I cared for him even. It’s easier to lie to yourself, isn’t it?”
Ash Princess Page 24