Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

  “Here,” Heron says quietly, appearing behind me. “I can hold your hair back, if that helps.”

  “Please,” I say, barely louder than a whisper.

  His fingers are gentle as they rake through my hair, pulling it away from my face. Ash is there, too, coating the top of my head in a sheet of gray, but there is nothing to do about that. Søren won’t be long, and now, more than ever, everything needs to happen perfectly. With Heron holding my hair, I splash water from the basin onto my face, washing away the sweat and ash and cosmetics.

  I give myself one more moment as I pat my face dry with a towel, and Heron steps away from me, letting my hair fall down around my shoulders again. When I turn around to face them, I am strong and sure and ready to rise. I am Queen Theodosia.

  “It worked,” I tell Heron and Blaise, looking between them. “Better than I expected, even. The Prinz made a scene—called the Kaiser selfish and laid the lives of his fallen comrades at his feet. Honestly, given the way the Kaiser was looking at him, he might kill Søren himself, though that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Søren will be here soon and the plan is on track.”

  Blaise nods, eyes holding mine. “Elpis’s family is on board Dragonsbane’s ship. Artemisia is waiting there to make sure her mother keeps her word.”

  Heron digs into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a leather hair tie, a scrap of crimson fabric embroidered with a gold dragon, and an Earth Gem.

  “I nicked these,” he says, passing them to me. “Scatter them on the ground, make it look like a fight.”

  I nod, taking them. I’ll need a different dress, one with pockets to hold them, but I’m anxious to get out of this one anyway.

  “Søren will be here soon,” I tell them. “You should both already be gone when he gets here. I’ll tell him I want to go for a sail and I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige—he’s more comfortable on the water than here in the palace. Off the East Harbor, it’s a small boat with a red sail.”

  “I’ll be waiting in another boat nearby. We should have a signal for if you run into trouble,” Blaise says.

  “I’ll scream. That’ll be signal enough,” I tell him before turning to Heron. “That leaves you to get Elpis. Do you remember where the Theyn lives?”

  Heron nods. “I remember,” he says. He takes a step toward the door before turning back toward me. “Is it all right if I hug you?”

  “We’re going to see each other in an hour or so,” I say with a half smile. “But yes, I would like that.”

  Heron smiles back before closing the distance between us and wrapping his lanky arms around me. It’s a good hug, the kind that feels like safety and home and love. I let myself get lost in it for a moment before pulling back.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I tell him emphatically.

  “Soon,” he repeats before hugging me again, briefly, and letting me go. Quiet as a light breeze, he slips from the door, leaving Blaise and me alone.

  “I don’t like the idea of you taking on the Prinz on your own,” he says quietly.

  “I know,” I tell him. “But you can’t very well follow us through the tunnels without being noticed. And I can do it. You said it yourself: Søren won’t hurt me.”

  “He will if he thinks you’re trying to kill him.”

  “He won’t,” I say, certain of it.

  Blaise is quiet for a long moment. “I believe you can kill him, but you shouldn’t have to be the one to do it.”

  “It’s war,” I point out. “I won’t lose sleep over it.”

  Blaise shakes his head, his eyes heavy. “Yes, you will.”

  A lump rises in my throat and I swallow it down. “You really need to go, Blaise,” I tell him. “Søren will be here soon, and I need to change.”

  He nods, but he doesn’t make a move to leave.

  “Blaise—”

  “I’ll go, don’t worry,” he says, hands fidgeting in front of him. “It’s just…we might never come back here, Theo. This is our home.”

  His words twist in my chest and I shake my head. “It’s a cage, stained with the blood of too many people we’ve loved. It hasn’t been home for a long time now.”

  “Still,” he says, his voice hoarse as he takes a step toward me. “We took our first steps here. We said our first words. This was the last place we were truly happy.”

  I hold back tears that threaten to fall. “It’s only walls, Blaise, and roofs and floors. Yes, it’s full of memories, but that’s all they are.”

  He stays quiet for a moment, hands coming to rest on my shoulders. He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead.

  “Be safe,” he says. “And don’t do anything foolish. I’ll see you soon, Your Highness.”

  It isn’t until after he’s gone that I realize he’s never called me that before. I’ve always just been Theo with him, but maybe Theo—like Thora—won’t exist for much longer. Soon, all that will be left of me is Queen Theodosia, and as much as I want that, I can’t help but mourn the loss of those other parts of me.

  I CAN’T SIT STILL WHILE I wait for Søren. Elpis said that Cress and her father would eat dinner late—usually not until ten—and I instructed Elpis to poison their dessert wine. Heron will get her from the Theyn’s suite to Dragonsbane’s ship. It’s a tight schedule to keep, but unless something goes horribly wrong, there’s no reason I won’t be on the ship by the time the Theyn’s body is discovered. They’ll find Søren’s soon after.

  Every part of me buzzes like I’m covered head to toe in Spiritgems. I can’t stop thinking about what I’m about to do. It’s easy to focus on the Søren that Erik painted earlier, the Prinz so eager to earn his father’s respect that he used my people as weapons, but I also remember the boy on the boat who resented his court, the boy desperate to turn his back on it all, the boy who stood up to his father in front of the entire court. The boy who needed me to assure him that he was nothing like his father. How can they both exist in one person?

  The knock on the wardrobe comes just after the midnight bell tolls, followed by Søren stumbling out. Though he already seemed like a shadow of himself at the banquet, up close he’s even rougher around the edges. With his shaved head, his face is all sharp, haggard angles. His bright eyes are darker than I remember, sunken deep in his skull. When he looks at me, it feels like he isn’t seeing me at all.

  He stands before me broken, and despite everything, I want to comfort him. Because I know what it is to be changed so irreparably and without consent.

  “Søren?” I say, taking a tentative step closer.

  He can’t know anything’s changed, but I can’t look at him the way I used to, no matter how hard I try. Now when I look at him, I see blood and death. I see the Kaiser. Luckily, he’s too lost in his own anguish to notice, and my voice seems to break whatever spell has come over him. His attention snaps to me, and in a few long strides, he has me in his arms. He buries his face against the side of my neck, the stubble on his jaw scratching my skin. I struggle between his warmth and the thought of the blood he’s drenched in.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” I tell him, bringing a hand up to run over his patchily shaved head.

  He doesn’t reply at first, keeping his face buried in my neck.

  “Let me see it,” he says, his voice muffled against my skin.

  “See what?”

  He tugs at the shoulder of my dress and I swallow, realizing what he means. My wounds. Erik must have told him. I turn my back to Søren and lower the shoulder of my chiton so he can see the tops of the fresh wounds. His breath hitches. He reaches out to touch my shoulder where the whip didn’t.

  “I’m so sorry, Thora,” he says under his breath. “If I hadn’t failed…” He trails off and shakes his head.

  I turn back to face him fully and take his hand in mine. I don’t have the patience to make him feel bett
er about my pain, and I certainly don’t have the time. I think of the Theyn and Crescentia sitting down for dessert and wine before bed and how they will not get up again.

  “Take me away from here, please,” I say. “Let’s go for a sail, just for a few hours.”

  Søren nods, but the haunted look hasn’t left his eyes. “I’ll bring her back by sunrise,” he says to my Shadows.

  There’s no response. They’re long gone.

  “Let’s go,” I tell him, pulling him toward the wardrobe. The time is now and the urgency of what I need to do is suddenly pushing me forward. My edges are fraying like a worn blanket, but I will hold it together for just a little while longer. And then I’ll be free.

  He doesn’t protest, instead following me into the wardrobe and through the tunnel entrance as he did before. I don’t stop, but continue down the tunnel path, this time pressing forward in tense silence.

  When the tunnel becomes tall enough to walk upright, I get to my feet and brush my dirty hands over the skirt of my dress. I hear him behind me, but as soon as I turn to face him, his mouth falls on mine and I’m caught between him and the tunnel wall. He kisses me with a desperation I’ve never felt, like a man dying of thirst. I struggle between pulling him closer and shoving him away.

  He must feel my hesitation, because he pulls back after a few seconds, resting his forehead against mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I just needed to do that one more time.”

  Panic shoots down my spine. “One more time?” I ask, resting my hand on the back of his neck and tugging him an inch closer. “But we have until sunrise, Søren.”

  I start to pull him into another kiss but he stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “I can’t, Thora,” he says quietly. “There are things you don’t know, and once you do, you aren’t going to want to see me again. I won’t even blame you.”

  “The whipping wasn’t your fault,” I tell him. “There was nothing you could have done.”

  He drops his eyes. “It isn’t that,” he admits.

  My hands fall away from him. “Then what is it?” I press.

  He tries to rake a hand through his hair, forgetting it’s all but gone. He paces a few steps away from me before turning back.

  “I love you,” he says after a deep breath. “I just want you to know that first. I love you and I would never want to do anything to hurt you.”

  “I love you, too,” I say, careful to keep my voice even. My mother once told me it was a sin to lie to a dying man, but I don’t know if that’s true. Søren will be dead soon enough and my lies will die with him.

  “At the mines,” he starts, forcing the words out. “The slaves working in them, we had physicians observing them. Running tests. Experimenting.”

  No. I want to cover his mouth, stop him from talking, suffocate him with his own words. He doesn’t get to do this; he doesn’t get to confess to a crime I’ve already hanged him for. I have no use for his guilt and I am not here to make him feel better. But there are so many things I want to say to him, and it’s almost a relief to get the chance, to stop acting for a moment and let my rage loose.

  “What are you saying?” I force my voice into shock. “You’ve been experimenting on my people?”

  “They aren’t your people,” he replies. “And you know better than to say that out loud.”

  “To anyone else, yes,” I say, my anger finally able to rise to the surface. “But I didn’t think I had to lie to you.”

  In the dark, I can barely make out his expression falling. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s…it’s just…this is hard to talk about.”

  “Not nearly as hard as I would imagine it is to endure,” I reply, struggling not to raise my voice.

  He has the good sense to look chastened, and I can feel a fraction of my steeled heart soften ever so slightly. I ball my hands into fists at my sides, to keep from reaching out. He does not get to be the wronged hero.

  “What were they looking for?” I press.

  He hesitates another second before continuing. “Prolonged exposure in the mines…it does something to a person, it imbues them with qualities of the gems they mine, somehow. Some people can stand it, most can’t. We knew this. You knew this. What we didn’t know was why. But my father thought it was something that could be useful if it could be understood. And it turned out it was. The physicians have been running tests and comparisons for years. Months ago they finally concluded the cause. The magic in the mines is so thick that it’s in the air itself. It gives the gems their power, but it also seeps into a person’s body—into their blood, specifically. A rare few people can survive with it, but most aren’t so lucky. The magic drives them mad.

  “At first, we killed off anyone who showed signs of it, because we feared they were lethal. But my father decided that was wasteful. Maybe they were a danger to us, he said, but wouldn’t that also make them a danger to others? He thought he could weaponize them, send them into battle on the front lines to do as much damage as possible and limit loss of life.”

  “But that doesn’t limit loss of life at all,” I say, struggling not to yell.

  He flinches anyway. “I know. I know.”

  “And you used them in Vecturia,” I continue. I’m no longer playing a part. My anger has bubbled to the surface, and it makes me dangerous. With so much at risk, I know I need to keep my temper, but it feels impossible. I realize that I don’t know Søren any better than he knows me. “How many?”

  He doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “Hundreds, I think. My father gave the order.”

  “Your father was here, Søren. You gave the order.”

  His face blanches. “I didn’t want to. It was always the plan, even before we set sail. He wanted to test them out in a battle he knew we could win so he could then begin selling them to other countries. My father always gets what he wants, you know that better than anyone,” he says. His voice turns pleading as he reaches for my hand, but I pull away as if his touch burns.

  He wants my forgiveness again, he wants me to cleanse him of his father’s sins, but the blood is on his own hands this time.

  “I do,” I say, looking down at the ground between us. Anger is one thing, but disappointment will wound him worse. “I’ve withstood his wrath time and time again for things I didn’t even do. But I know who I am because of it; I know what matters to me and what I’m willing to fight for. Can you say the same?”

  He swallows. “I know that I’m willing to fight for you,” he says quietly.

  I don’t doubt that he means it, especially after the banquet. Søren wants so badly to be different from his father. And I wanted this to be easy, one way or another, but I feel like I’m being torn in two.

  My dagger presses against the skin of my forearm from where it’s hidden in the sleeve of my cloak, but the weight isn’t uncomfortable as it was earlier. It’s almost welcome, an anchor in a stormy sea and the only thing keeping me from getting lost in the waves. I can’t be taken over by anger, not when there is still so much to do and time is running out.

  “Thora,” Søren says, stepping closer to me. This time, I don’t move away. I don’t flinch when he reaches his hand up to touch my cheek. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, how I wish I could go back and undo it. I would, in a heartbeat.”

  “There’s no going back,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. I force myself to look up and meet his eyes and let Thora take over, one last time, before I bury my dagger in his back. “It’ll be all right, Søren. We’ll get past it. I know you’re nothing like your father,” I say, because I know that’s what he needs to hear.

  Unbidden, the Kaiserin comes to mind, telling me about how she fell in love with the Kaiser, how she never imagined he w
as capable of everything he’s done. What is Søren capable of? I wonder. What evil will fester in his soul and grow if I don’t kill him now? In a dozen years, he could be worse than the Kaiser himself.

  I twine my fingers through the short hair at the base of his skull, pulling him down into a slow and bruising kiss. After a second, he returns it, cradling my face in his hands like he’s afraid he’ll break me. There’s wetness on my cheeks, but I’m not sure if the tears are mine or his. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. For a breath, we’re one person and I feel his sadness as acutely as I feel my own.

  As I deepen the kiss, I slide the dagger down my free arm until its handle is clutched tightly in my hand. It takes some maneuvering to unsheathe it, but he’s lost in my arms and his own pain so deeply he doesn’t notice anything. Not until the sharp point of my blade is pressed to his back.

  His lips break away from mine and his blue eyes fly open, searching for answers that he discovers quickly. Shock registers on his face, but it’s all too soon replaced by resignation. The lump in his throat bobs as he swallows and gives an infinitesimal nod.

  “An inch lower,” he whispers against my lips. When I comply, a smile ghosts across his face, though it doesn’t make it to his eyes. “There it is. Now strike hard and true, Thora.”

  I don’t want to see his face when I kill him, but I can’t look away. “My name is…” I break off, taking a steadying breath. “My name is Theodosia,” I say quietly.

  Confusion flickers across his expression before clearing. “Theodosia.” It’s the first time my real name has crossed his lips, and it sounds almost reverent. He rests his forehead against mine so that his eyes are all I see. “You know what to do.”

  He’s right, I know exactly what to do. It’s the same thing, more or less, that I did to Ampelio—my father. Killing the Prinz shouldn’t be more difficult than that, surely, but in this moment he’s just Søren, the sad-eyed lost boy who once let cats follow him everywhere, who befriended his bastard brother no matter the threat it posed, who kissed me like maybe we had the power to save one another.