Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

  No, I want to say. It’s not the same thing. But I can’t help thinking that maybe it is. Maybe lying to yourself is the only way to survive.

  When she speaks again, the softness is gone. “But when my brother went mine-mad and that same guard smashed his head against a boulder five feet from me, I saw the truth of it.” Her breath shakes. “For months after, I would fall asleep next to my brother’s murderer and pray that death take me as well.” She laughs, but it’s an ugly sound. “I never prayed before, never saw any use for it. I didn’t believe any of it, even as I thought the words; I just needed to talk to someone, even if it was only in my mind. I still don’t believe in your gods, but I do know that I grew stronger and stronger, until I had the strength to slit the guard’s throat while he slept.”

  Her dark eyes flash up to meet mine and there is a kind of understanding there I never expected from her. I realize suddenly that I don’t know her at all, or Heron, or even Blaise anymore. They all must have stories like this, stories I haven’t heard, about horrors I can never really understand.

  “We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.”

  * * *

  —

  When Artemisia and Heron leave, I can’t sit still. It isn’t the same panicked energy from earlier—there is a calm to my thoughts, a distance. I see the situation as if it were happening to someone else. My mind is busy, and so my hands yearn for something to do as well.

  I go to my hiding place in the mattress and dig around until I find the nightgown I ruined when I first met with Blaise what feels like a lifetime ago. The once-white material is gray with dirt and grime.

  It tears easily into strips, though they’re sloppy and frayed at the edges, not like they would be if I were allowed a pair of scissors. But it will do.

  Artemisia and Heron say nothing as they watch me roll each strip into a shoddy rosette, bound with pieces of straw from inside the mattress. After a few moments, Blaise settles back into his room without a word, but I barely hear him. I’m barely aware of any of them. All that exists are my fingers, the rosettes, and my mind turning over every possible outcome.

  Though I know what I have to do, I can’t help but wonder if my mother would make the same choice in my position. The truth is, though, I don’t know what my mother would do. She is half memory, half imagination to me.

  I tie the last of the four rosettes and gather them in my hands.

  “Happy Belsiméra,” I say into the silence.

  Heron shifts behind his wall. “It isn’t—” he starts, but breaks off.

  “Is it?” Blaise asks.

  I shrug. “Elpis says it is, and I trust her to know.”

  I thread a rosette through each wall in turn, squishing them a bit to fit through the holes. “I know it isn’t much,” I say when I have only one left—for Elpis the next time I see her. “But I want you all to know that even when we disagree on things, you are my friends—no, my family. I trust you, though I know I don’t always know how to show it. And I hope you all know that I would give my own life for yours without hesitation. I will never be able to properly express how grateful I am not only that you came here to help me, but that you’ve stayed when I haven’t made it easy. Thank you.”

  For a long moment, none of them speak, and I worry I’ve gone too far, said too much. They’ll think me a sentimental fool who has no business being anyone’s queen.

  Finally Heron clears his throat.

  “You’re family,” he says, which is somehow so much better than him saying I’m his queen. “Family doesn’t walk away.”

  “Besides,” Art adds, “I find it amusing when you try to argue. That’s when I like you best.”

  My laugh takes me by surprise, but hers comes a second later. She is my friend, I realize. Not the same way Cress was, not the kind I enjoy light conversations with, not the kind I dance with or try on dresses with. I might not always like her, but she is here when I need her in a way Cress couldn’t be. The thought of it causes a lump to rise in my throat, but I try to ignore it. Belsiméra is a happy occasion.

  “When we were children,” Blaise says, a smile in his voice, “you used to always try to give me a flower, do you remember?”

  “No,” I admit, sitting down on my bed and looking at the flower in my hand. It’s not as pretty as the one Elpis gave me, but I hope she’ll like it. “It was so long ago, it’s a bit fuzzy. I remember making them with my mother, though, much prettier than these.”

  “They were,” he agrees. “And in the two years before the siege, you would always try to give me the prettiest one you had and I would always run from you.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I say, looking at his wall. “Why?”

  “Because your flowers always came with strings attached,” he says. “You kissed everyone you gave one to.”

  “I did not,” I say with a laugh.

  “You did,” he insists. “Every Belsiméra, you would prance through the castle with your basket of flowers, passing them out to everyone you saw and demanding a kiss in return. Everyone thought you were the funniest thing, but they all obliged. No one could ever say no to you. Not because of her title,” he adds quickly, to the others. “Everyone loved her.”

  “I grew up in this tiny village on the eastern coast,” Heron says. “Even we heard about you there, how everyone who met you cherished you.”

  The words warm me and bring out a hazy memory, though I’m not sure how much of it is real. I remember the wicker basket hanging on my arm. I remember maids and cooks and Guardians crouching in front of me or lifting me up to kiss my cheek or my forehead and saying Thank you, Princess. I’ll treasure it always. Happy Belsiméra.

  “Blaise clearly didn’t,” I say, teasing.

  He hesitates for a minute. “I did,” he says. “But you were still a girl chasing me around and demanding a kiss. It wasn’t anything personal. At that age, I was refusing to kiss even my mother.”

  “We never really celebrated on the ship,” Artemisia admits. “My mother is Astrean, but the crew comes from everywhere. If we celebrated every holiday, we never would have gotten anything done. This is my first.”

  “Do you not know the story, then?” I ask her.

  “I don’t think so. My mother taught me the names of the gods, but she isn’t one for stories,” she admits.

  I stumble over the beginning, but by the time I reach the part where Suta makes the flowers for Glaidi, my mother’s voice has taken over and the story spills out without me thinking about it. I’m more audience than I am speaker, and when I tell her about Belsimia growing from the love and friendship between the two gods, tears are leaking from my own eyes.

  “In the version I heard,” Heron says quietly, “it wasn’t Glaidi’s tear that caused Belsimia to grow from the flower, it was when she kissed Suta.”

  “My parents used to argue about whether Belsimia grew from the flower or was transformed from the flower itself,” Blaise says.

  “I can’t imagine your parents arguing about anything,” I tell him. “They were always so happy.”

  Blaise is quiet for so long I worry I’ve upset him. “My father used to say they argued because they cared too much. He said I would understand when I was older.”

  The words feel more like a confession than a memory, and even with the others present, I know it’s meant for me. Warmth rises to my cheeks and I turn my face away so he can’t see.

  He clears his throat.

  “While I was out…calming down after the accident with the Kaiser, I did some thinking,” he says. “About the Theyn’s daughter…” He hesitates. “It isn’t necessary. You were right.” It pains him to say the words, I can tell, but it does
n’t bring me any joy to hear them now that Cress showed me who she really is.

  “Blaise,” Artemisia snaps.

  “Art,” Heron adds, a soft warning in his voice.

  “If either of you can think of a reason to kill the girl that has nothing to do with Theo’s feelings for her, I’m happy to hear it. But we all know the Theyn can be killed alone.” Blaise sounds so much like his father that my heart lurches in my chest.

  Artemisia must have a retort; even Heron must have something to say to that, some argument for killing Cress. I wait for it. I yearn for it, for some other reason besides my own foolishness in trusting her in the first place. But they both stay quiet. I close my eyes tight before forcing myself to tell them the truth.

  “She thinks I was seducing the Prinz to get information,” I confess. “She hasn’t figured anything out past that, but she knows I’m working against the Kaiser, she knows about Søren and me, and she knows I stole her gems because I was working with others. She isn’t going to tell the Kaiser, so long as she thinks I’m just a pawn and that I’m repentant. I told her I was. But I don’t know how long she’ll think that. She wants to be a prinzessin, and if she still thinks I’m standing in the way of that—” I break off, a heaving sob tearing through me.

  Saying it out loud hurts. Not just emotionally—it’s a physical pain in my chest, dagger-sharp. Because no matter what I want to tell myself about loyalty or friendship or duty, the truth is startlingly simple: I put Cress before my people and she put her ambition before me. I made a mistake and it isn’t one I’ll repeat.

  I wait for their condemnation, for them to call me a fool, but the words never come. Not even from Artemisia. Instead, they stay quiet until I speak again.

  “There’s your reason,” I tell Blaise, hard resolve coming into my voice. “I’ll do what I need to do, but not yet. The Kaiser will find a way to blame me, even if there’s no proof of it. The Encatrio will make it clear it’s an Astrean attack—which we want—but if I’m still here, he’ll blame it on me. The Theyn is his closest friend; he might even kill me for his and Crescentia’s deaths, no matter what it costs him. We should wait for Søren to get back, for him to speak out publicly against his father. Then we’ll end it all, strike out at the Theyn and Cress and Søren at once. They’ll never see it coming.”

  I take a deep breath, surprised at how sure I suddenly feel about all of this. There is no room in me anymore for uncertainty or guilt. I sound older than I am, harder than I am. I don’t sound like my mother—not quite—but I think I might sound like a queen.

  “And then we’ll leave. I know we can’t free the slaves in the palace on our way out, there are too many and it would slow us down too much, but we can’t leave without Elpis and her family. I think we owe her that after everything she’s done. Will that be a problem?” I ask.

  “No,” Blaise says after a moment. “No problem at all.”

  I’M JERKED AWAKE IN THE middle of the night by my door being forced open and a cacophony of heavy boots thundering toward me. It’s a sound that often haunts my nightmares, and at first I think this is just that, but the rough hands that grab my arms and haul me from bed can’t be imagined. The guards are silent and I think my pounding heart is loud enough for all six of them to hear. I want to scream and thrash against them, but I know well enough that that doesn’t do me any good, so I swallow my terror and try to focus.

  The Kaiser sent six guards to escort me, more than he usually does when this happens—when he wants to punish me. I would be flattered if I weren’t so afraid. Still, I gather myself enough to cast a gaze to the walls where my Shadows are watching, praying to all the gods that they don’t do anything foolish.

  “Would you mind telling me what it’s about this time?” I ask, snapping like Crescentia does when one of her slaves combs her hair too roughly or doesn’t cook her morning egg long enough. Like it’s only a mild annoyance and I’m not facing a whipping. No matter how many times I’m dragged before the Kaiser and beaten to the edge of death, the horror of it never lessens.

  I have to struggle not to tremble, not to retreat so deep into my mind that I’ll never find my way out again. But I know my people have endured so much worse than this. I think of Blaise and his scar. Of Heron’s losses. Of what Artemisia told me yesterday. I have to endure.

  “Kaiser’s orders,” one guard barks at me. I don’t know his name, though I should by now. He’s one of the Kaiser’s favorites, a former warrior with a scarred face and a nose that looks like it’s been broken too many times to count. He has a meaner streak than most, which is truly saying something, and I know better than to push him.

  “I’ll come willingly,” I say, struggling to keep my voice level. “We’ve gone through this enough times that you know I’m no threat. Whatever it is that’s happened, I’ll take the Kaiser’s punishment without complaint. Just as I have in the past.”

  The words are less for them than they are for Blaise and the others. Then the thought hits me—What if they’re not there? What if that’s what this is all about, and I’m walking not toward a punishment, but toward an execution?

  What if Cress went to the Kaiser anyway and told him everything?

  Those thoughts echo through my mind as the guards haul me from my room in my thin nightgown, not even letting me put on shoes. I stumble barefoot on the cold stone floor, stubbing my toes as two guards pull me along by my arms, not slowing down even when the scrapes and scratches of the stones beneath my feet draw blood and they’re more dragging than escorting me. I barely even notice the pain. All I can think is that Cress went to the Kaiser after all and that he has found my Shadows. He’s killed them and now he’ll kill me and all will be lost.

  When we finally round a corner, I nearly let out a sigh of relief. They’re taking me to the throne room, not out to the capital square, which means it won’t be a public punishment, as they usually are. The only times punishments happen in the throne room are when the Kaiser doesn’t want word of what caused them to spread outside the palace. If he were executing me for treason, he would need an audience. This is something else, something embarrassing that’s happened that he wants to keep quiet.

  The throne room is less crowded than usual, but everyone who matters to the Kaiser is present. The high dukes and duchesses cluster near the throne, the barons and baronesses, the counts and countesses. All the usual joy and merriment has gone out of them; there is only blood in their eyes. Standing in the shadow of the throne is Ion, the traitor Guardian. His eyes are focused on the ground, as they usually are when I’m called before the Kaiser like this. His cowardice won’t let him look at me, not even at the end, when the Kaiser will instruct him to heal my wounds just enough that I can function with them.

  “Lady Thora,” the Kaiser says from his seat on my mother’s throne. He leans forward, the Spiritgems that all but blanket him clinking as he moves.

  “You summoned me, Your Highness?” I ask, letting my fear show in my voice. It’s no fun for him if I’m not afraid.

  For a long moment, he doesn’t speak; he only watches me. His eyes cross my skin, making me too conscious of the thin nightgown I wear, of my exposed calves and feet. I want to cover myself, but that would only anger him and I cannot afford that right now, so I do nothing. I let him look, which feels worse than any whipping.

  Finally he speaks. “Three weeks ago, my son led a battalion of four thousand men to Vecturia. Two weeks ago, I received word that they were met with troops that had been expecting them, but my son assured me that victory was still possible. He and his warriors fought valiantly until days ago, when his ships were attacked from the other side by a fleet believed to be under the command of the notorious pirate Dragonsbane. What was supposed to be a simple Conquering became an ambush that cost many of our men’s lives.”

  Many of the courtiers gathered have sons who would have been in Søren’s crew, I
realize, young men who had been sent on an easy Conquering that should have bolstered their reputations with minimal risk to their safety. At least until I evened the field.

  But these people don’t know that. They can’t. If the Kaiser knew I’d sent a warning to Vecturia with Dragonsbane, it would mean he knew about my Shadows as well, and I would be taken straight to my execution.

  No, this is merely a show, a way to make the Kaiser and his dearest supporters feel better about their embarrassment. Most of them must have daughters they would like to see made kaiserin as well, another strike against me. They called for this, and the Kaiser was all too eager to agree. After all, this is how he likes me best: beaten and broken.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness. That is terrible news.”

  His eyes narrow and he shifts again in his seat.

  “Your people were behind this,” he says.

  It isn’t the first time he’s accused me of this, but this time I actually am responsible, and I am proud of that. These will be scars I will wear with pride.

  But the war isn’t won yet, and we have much farther to go. So I drop to my knees and let Thora come forward to do what she does best: beg.

  “Please, I have no people, Your Highness. I haven’t spoken to another Astrean in years, on your orders. I had no hand in this, you know that.”

  His games grow boring when he wins them too easily.

  “Theyn,” he says, snapping his fingers.

  The crush of nobles parts for the Theyn, scarred face drawn and stoic, a whip in hand. He doesn’t look at me, but then, he never does. Not like the Kaiser, who enjoys every grimace, every scream, like a child watching a puppet show. The Theyn does this out of duty, which somehow makes me hate him more.

  One of the guards rips my nightgown so that my back is bare, but thankfully everything else remains covered this time. The two who hold each of my arms brace themselves, as if I could possibly overpower them. But I don’t even try. Fighting only makes it worse. I learned that lesson a long time ago. Better to save my fighting for when it can actually make a difference.