Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

For a beat, he looks uncertain, his eyes flitting away before landing on me again.

  “Nothing else makes sense, Thora,” he says, but his voice wavers.

  “And this does?” I ask him. “That I’m a spy, giving information to pirates? How does that benefit me at all?”

  He lifts a shoulder in a defiant shrug, but it’s halfhearted. “Dragonsbane is known to work with Astrean rebels. It’s a way of striking back, a way of weakening our troops, even a way of getting rid of Søren—”

  “I would never,” I say, letting my voice rise to a shout before I hasten to lower it, stepping closer to Erik. “I…” I trail off, making a show of biting my lip and looking troubled. “I love Søren.”

  It’s not the truth, but it isn’t as much of a lie as it should be. I give a mournful sigh and sit down on the stone bench at the garden’s center, letting my shoulders slump forward.

  “I’ve been raised here among Kalovaxians,” I continue, making my voice fray like I’m on the verge of tears. “After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve endured, I can’t believe you would still question my loyalty.”

  I hear him huff out a breath before sitting down next to me. “I’m sorry,” he says after a minute, and it takes all I have to hide the relief coursing through me.

  He clears his throat. “When you said the Kaiser made you answer for our failure…” He trails off.

  I sigh and turn my back to him, tugging down my collar just low enough that he can see the tops of some of the fresh scars. Even with Ion speeding up the healing process, they’re raw. They look a few days old instead of a few hours, but are still red and raised and painful. He lets out a curse under his breath, and when I turn back I see he’s gone a few shades paler, so that he almost looks like a full-blooded Kalovaxian.

  He’ll tell Søren about this, I realize, and I can use that to my advantage. I can fuel Søren’s anger at his father even more.

  “It’s not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last,” I say, pulling the collar of my dress back up so that the wounds are covered once more.

  “When Søren finds out—”

  “He’ll do what, Erik?” I ask, choking out a bitter laugh. He’ll repeat this to Søren, so I need to make it count. “He won’t stand up to his father. He won’t take me away from here. He’ll marry Crescentia, just like the Kaiser wants him to, and keep me as, what? His mistress? Or his stepmother, if the Kaiser gets his way. And we both know he always does.”

  The idea is so ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh, as much as it sickens me. I glance at Erik, expecting surprise, but he shows none.

  “You’ve heard the rumors,” I say. “He hasn’t been very subtle. Does Søren know?”

  He shakes his head. “Søren prefers to ignore rumors, even ones he knows are true,” he says. “In our many years of friendship, he’s never once asked me if I’m really his father’s bastard.”

  The revelation shocks me, but at the same time, it makes sense. I assumed Erik was someone important’s half-Gorakian bastard, though I’d thought it was a baron or a count. I never even considered the Kaiser, which was foolish. Now that he’s said it, I see the similarities in their features—the jawline, the nose. He and Søren even have the same eyes, the Kaiser’s eyes.

  He must see my surprise, because he laughs. “Come now, Thora. Here I thought you were brighter than you pretended. I thought you’d have figured it out by now, especially since you see more of my mother than I do.”

  “Your…,” I start, but trail off. There are very few people I see regularly, and since Crescentia can’t be his mother, that only leaves one other woman. Hoa. He’s talking about Hoa.

  Erik gives me a level look and for a second I could swear he knows all my secrets. But that’s impossible. “My mother plotted against the Kaiser from his bed after the Conquering of Goraki. He was kind enough to spare her life, even though she’s a traitor.”

  He says the words too easily, the way I do when I’m reciting one of the lies the Kaiser has burned into my mind. I want to challenge him on it, but I can’t without losing part of my mask as well, and I cannot risk that. His eyes scan my face, watching for a reaction I’m careful not to give. After a moment, he sighs and pushes himself off the bench.

  “It’s a person,” he tells me.

  “Pardon?” I ask, bewildered.

  “A berserker,” he says. “It’s an Astrean, to be exact. I’m assuming you know what happens when most people spend too long in the mines.”

  “They go mad and are put to death,” I say.

  He avoids my gaze, staring at the stone floor instead. “Yes to the first, no to the second. The madness, I’m sure you know, is caused by the concentration of too much magic from the mines. It’s what gives the gems their power. Over time, it makes its way into the blood of people who work there. Some people can handle it, most can’t. You know the symptoms,” he says.

  I frown. “No. People still went mine-mad before, occasionally, but the details weren’t the kind of thing anyone talked about in front of a child, and after the Conquering…well, no one discusses anything like that with me.”

  Erik lists them off on his fingers. “Feverish skin, erratic bursts of magic, emotional instability, insomnia. The short of it is, they become dangerous,” he says.

  A thought rises in my mind, but I push it down before it takes shape. No.

  He continues. “Human powder kegs. Send them to the front lines with a gem to nudge them over the edge and it’s only a matter of minutes before their power is unleashed, uncontrollable and strong enough to take out everything within a twenty-foot radius. In fire, water, earth, or air. It doesn’t matter much, the result is the same: ruination.”

  “You’re lying,” I say, though I don’t think he is. Try as I might, I can’t imagine it. Corbinian is evil, I have never doubted that, but this? This is beyond anything I thought even he was capable of. “How do you know?”

  The look he gives me is one I’m not used to, almost tender. It puts me on edge. It is the kind of look you give a person before you shatter them.

  “Because I saw it. In Vecturia. Søren used ships full of a few hundred of them, but even that wasn’t enough. Søren put off using them until the last minute. It was too late—the battle was already lost.”

  All my breath leaves me. No. The Kaiser may be capable of this, but not Søren. Not the boy who ate chocolate cake with me and asked me the Astrean word for it. Not the boy who promised to take me away from this godsforsaken place. Not the boy who kissed me like maybe we could save each other.

  But of course he did. Because that is who he is: a Kalovaxian warrior to his last breath. He is not the chivalrous prinz and I am not lovesick Lady Thora, no matter how we try to pretend otherwise.

  “He refused at first,” Erik says after a moment, as if that makes it any better. “The Kaiser insisted.”

  I swallow the rage burning through me. I can’t let it show. Not yet. “I’m sure Søren did what was required of him,” I say as calmly as I can, though I know I don’t sound convincing. Tears blur my vision, but I will not let them fall.

  “Thora,” Erik says after a moment. “Are you all right?”

  How can I possibly be all right? I want to scream and hit something and maybe vomit at the thought of hundreds of my people being used like that, dying like that.

  With a concentrated effort, I get to my feet and smooth out my skirt. When I look up at Erik again, I keep my expression neutral.

  “Is your mother loyal to the Kaiser, Erik?” I ask him.

  He watches me warily, like I’ve become a tiger who could pounce at any moment.

  “As loyal as you are,” he says finally. “She doesn’t want trouble. She’s had enough of that in her life.”

  It isn’t an answer, really. I can interpret those words any number of ways, and after my misstep with Cr
ess, I should be more careful. I should trust no one. Yet I can’t help but remember Hoa tucking me into bed when I was a child, how she held me when the Kaiser had this garden burned. I don’t know what the Kaiser will do when he finds out I’ve escaped—when he finds out I’ve killed his friend and his son—but I know I can’t leave her here to face the brunt of it.

  “Take her and get out of the city tonight,” I tell him.

  I expect a protest, or at least a question, but Erik only searches my expression for a few seconds and nods tersely.

  “Thank you,” he says with a slight bow. “May our paths meet again, Theodosia.”

  It isn’t until he’s left me alone in the garden that I realize he called me by my true name.

  I ALMOST DON’T TELL MY SHADOWS about the berserkers. The idea of them is so horrifying, part of me wishes I didn’t know what they were myself—not to mention the fact that it likely happened to people they actually knew and loved. I think of what Heron told me about the boy he was in love with, Leonidas, and how he was taken away for his execution after he went mine-mad. Isn’t it better that he thinks that of him, that he was given a quick death instead of turned into a weapon? But they deserve to know what became of their friends and family, and they need to know what we’re up against.

  “There were rumors,” Artemisia says after the moment of shocked silence that follows my explanation. “I heard that the mad ones were taken away for testing. There were even whispers about Kalovaxian physicians harvesting magic from their body parts, selling their blood overseas. But I never thought…” She trails off.

  My voice breaks despite my best efforts to keep it strong. “Elpis has the poison. She’s giving Cress a powder that will cause her face to redden and swell so that she’ll have to miss the banquet tonight. If she doesn’t attend, the Theyn will have no reason to either, since he detests parties. They’ll dine together, alone, since the Theyn is due to ship out again soon. Søren is already furious with his father, and tonight I can push him over the edge and get him to confront him publicly. Then I’ll convince him to come for another late-night sail, and when we’re on the boat alone, I’ll kill him with the dagger.” I don’t hesitate or stumble over the words like I might have only a few hours ago. I’m an altogether different person now, and so is he. “Artemisia, is your mother ready for us to leave?”

  “She’s been waiting on the order,” she replies. Even with the wall between us, I know she’s smiling. “I’ll go now and make sure everything is ready. Any destination in particular?”

  I lick my lips, turning over options. There are precious few of them. “The Anglamar ruins. It’s the perfect place to regroup and strategize before we liberate the mines.”

  The answer is met with protests. All three of them speak over one another to tell me the same things: liberating the mines is a bad idea, there are too many guards, it’s impossible. I wait for their protests to die down.

  “It’s the only way,” I say. “With our current numbers, we can’t make a real stand. Help from other countries will come with strings, but there are thousands of Astreans in the mines. And knowing what we do now…I can’t let my people—many of them children—stay there a day longer than necessary. It’s the only thing to do. And with the Prinz dead and the court fighting among themselves over what to do about it, they won’t be at their full strength. If there was ever a time to try to take the mines back, it’s now.”

  I wait for more protests, but they don’t come.

  “My mother will say it’s too risky,” Artemisia says finally. I open my mouth to argue. “But I can convince her.”

  I nod, fighting a smile. Having Artemisia on my side is new and welcome. “Heron, go gather evidence to frame the guard. I’ll need it by the time I return from the banquet.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” he says.

  * * *

  —

  The knock at my door takes me by surprise. It’s only midafternoon and the banquet isn’t due to start until dusk, so it can’t be Hoa or an attendant bringing my dress and crown. At first I think it might be Søren, but it’s a far too conventional entrance for him. Hesitantly I set aside the book of Elcourtian histories—reading is the only way to calm my anxious mind—but before I can get out of bed to answer, the door opens and Cress glides in, pink silk dress flaring behind her. She hasn’t started getting ready for the banquet yet, and her fair skin is still unblemished and smooth.

  When she sees me, her steps grow slow and hesitant, her gray eyes finding mine before quickly darting away. Though she must still be giddy from her lunch with Søren, her expression is somber.

  “I…,” she begins, dropping her eyes to the floor. She brings her hands together in front of her, wringing them. “I heard about what happened. The…” She can’t say the words, but I know she means my punishment, which is surprising on its own. In ten years, she’s never brought up my beatings. She pretends they don’t happen at all.

  But after our last conversation, she must feel guilty. It shouldn’t soften me; it shouldn’t make my heart clench in my chest. But it does. I try to think of the things she said to me yesterday, the coldness in her voice, the unveiled threat she poses even now. The girl who put her ambitions over my life. That is not a friend, I tell myself, but the way she’s looking at me now, shamefaced and concerned—I could almost forget what I now know to be true.

  I should tell her to go, I should give some excuse or other—I’m not feeling well, I want to sleep, I’m in too much pain. I could tell her I will see her at the banquet tonight, make some plan that will never come to fruition. Because having her here, I know I will waver again and I can’t afford to do that.

  “Come on,” I say to her instead, scooting over on the bed to make room for her to lie down next to me. My back aches as I move, but I’m only dimly aware of it now.

  Cress’s smile is beatific as she does just that, picking up the book of Elcourtian histories.

  I’m going to miss her smile. The thought is like the Theyn’s whip, a pain I feel to my bones.

  “It’s good,” I tell her, nodding to the book.

  “Have you gotten to the Fishmongers’ War?” she asks eagerly, flipping through the pages until she finds the right chapter.

  I have, but I let her read it to me anyway, her voice soft and melodious as she discusses the peasant fishmongers who rose up against the Elcourtian royalty almost five hundred years ago. It wasn’t a fight they had any right to win, they were inexperienced and outnumbered, but it wasn’t long before peasants across the country joined their cause, fed up with the current corrupt regime. That, combined with the fishmongers’ better mastery of the surrounding seas, led them to execute the entire royal family and strip the nobility of their titles and wealth, redistributing them among themselves.

  It’s practically a fairy tale, but the real thorn is in the ending. The current King of Elcourt, generations removed from his fishmonger forefather, is as awful as the one the country rebelled against in the first place.

  That bit isn’t in Crescentia’s book, of course, but I’ve heard the rumors all the same.

  After reading for only a few moments, Crescentia puts the book aside and takes hold of my hand.

  “I’m sorry. I understand now,” she says, voice heavy. The words twist at my stomach because she doesn’t understand, as much as I wish she did. She thinks she understands why I tried to rebel against the Kaiser, but only because of the punishment, only because of the recent reminder of how terrible my circumstances are. She thinks that is why I acted. She understands my pain because she loves me, but her compassion ends there.

  She takes a shaky breath. “I told you I didn’t remember my mother, but that isn’t true. I remember some things, though I wish I didn’t.”

  I sit up, though my welts scream at the movement. In the ten years I’ve known her, Cress has mentioned her mother exactly once,
when she told me she’d died when she was very young. I don’t even know her name.

  “You know we were in Goraki before we were here. I was born there. So was Søren,” she continues before her voice turns bitter. “My mother was said to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. Everyone was in love with her. She could have married a duke or an earl if she’d wanted, but for some reason, she chose my father, an upstart warrior at the time, the son of a shipsmith. I suppose she must have loved him.”

  Her smile is a brittle, broken thing, so different from the one I’m used to from her, the one that can light up a room and elicit a smile from me, even at my moodiest.

  “I’m sure you can surmise that he climbed from there until he became the Theyn. I’m sure you can surmise what it means to climb to that position. My mother hated it. I heard her scream that she didn’t want him to touch her, not with the blood of so many on his hands. She didn’t realize, or maybe didn’t care, that he did it all for her, to give her the life he thought she deserved.”

  She pauses and swallows. There are no tears in her eyes, but she looks like she’s in physical pain. She’s never spoken about this, I realize, not to any of her other friends or even to her father. This must have sat between them, heavy and unacknowledged, for the better part of her life.

  “She didn’t die when I was a baby. She didn’t die at all, as far as I know, but it’s easier to pretend, I suppose. She left us before we came here; she said she couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted to take me with her, but my father wouldn’t allow it, so she left me behind.”

  There, her voice cracks, and she hastily wipes away tears that have only just begun to form at the corners of her eyes. Normally, Cress’s tears are weapons, employed against her father or a courtier who won’t invite me to a party or a dressmaker who claims not to have time to make her something new that week. These tears are not weapons, though, they are a weakness and so she cannot show them. She is the Theyn’s daughter, after all.

  “Did you want to go with her?” I ask carefully.