AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  “I believe you. You have nothing to fear. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

  “It’s not you,” she says, her shoulders shuddering. “It’s your father. Oh no.” She covers her mouth. “He’s a great king. The best. I’m sorry. I’m scared,” she says with a whine.

  “I’ll protect you. Don’t be afraid.”

  “What about spies?”

  “There are spies?”

  “Everywhere. For both sides. You never know who listens. I’ve said too much.” Kilyn’s purple eyes dart around the room, searching for spies hidden in the shadows, lurking behind the clothing racks. “We should get you ready for dinner. We need to clean the blood off you. You need a bath. Your hair is a knotty mess. I’ll pick out a dress. I need to do your hair, makeup, and pick out jewelry. I hope the doctor comes soon.”

  Knock. Knock.

  As if on cue, someone is at the door. The only person I’d expect is the doctor or Manadhon.

  “I’ll get the door.” She scampers across the room and mumbles something through the door. The only words I’m able to make out are Princess Megan.

  Princess Megan. Something about that sounds downright awful. Fake, disturbing, not me.

  A mousy, petite woman comes in. She announces her name as Doctor Denning but doesn’t say another word. Neither does she comment on my jaw or ask what happened to my hands as she looks me over. She is so nervous it surprises me she doesn’t shake.

  In her hands is a hard-shelled briefcase. Inside, she has organized different rows of colored gauze in clear pockets lining the top half of the case. The bottom half contains various knives, scissors, and jars of ointments.

  She first motions me to sit down. Again not saying a word, she picks up my hands and peels away the bloody scarves. She inspects each finger before deciding which color gauze to use. Rotating my hands, she looks at them from different angles. She seems to be deciding between yellow and brown. She picks brown. After cutting the right size gauze, she then carefully wraps each finger, starting at the point. I’m surprised my nail didn’t snag on the cloth. Instead, the second it touches my fingernail, a cool sensation ripples down my finger and anywhere the gauze is applied. The feeling continues to spread as she wraps each finger. It doesn’t hurt as the gauze pulls my mangled nails back into place. Finished with the right hand, she begins with the left.

  It doesn’t feel like cloth against my skin but as if I sunk my hands into a bowl of cool gel that formed a Jell-O mold around my fingers. There’s no pain, only cool numbness. When she’s finished with the left, she takes out tiny scissors and cuts away the gauze, starting on the right to reveal my hands are better than before I clawed the tub. My nails are reattached with no scrapes or jagged edges. Only smooth, sturdy nails manicured with a tiny tip of white on top. Each groomed to the same perfect size, like magic.

  She repeats the process on my jaw, thoughtfully selecting the right color gauze for the job. This time baby blue. She starts behind my right ear and applies until she reaches behind the left, then places layer upon layer four times. After, she returns everything except the tiny scissors to her case, arranging it just so. Her eyes focus on the blue gauze, shifting back and forth from one side of my head to the other. She nods as if acknowledging it’s time and picks up her scissors to remove the cloth. When I’m pain free and back to normal, she puts the used gauze in a sack. The only thing she says is that if the pain worsens or if I need anything, send word. I give her my thanks before she scurries out of the room as quietly as she entered.

  I wanted to ask her so many questions but yielded. I think she would have been uncomfortable answering. I assume she’s intelligent and well-educated, knowing when to speak, and is smart enough not to say a word to the new princess.

  Changing gears, Kilyn begins to fill the bath with hot water. “Your bath will be ready soon. You can undress and get in. I’ll get the soaps and towels.”

  “You don’t need to do anything. I’m capable of—”

  “Please. King Taliesin ordered. I must obey.”

  Arguing seems futile. This is normal for her but very strange for me. I don’t want to stress her out more by fighting. She’s had a horrific day. I’m not sure there are words to define mine.

  Kilyn said she was new, but how long is new in Fae years? Questions fill my head as I step into the tub. Kilyn looks preteen, maybe ten or eleven. Her life span, I assume, is different. I heard Manadhon mention decades earlier, but we look the same age. The girl might have lived for a hundred years already. Her life experiences must differ from mine, in every detail. How long was she a babe? How did her parents raise her? Where did she live? What was the extent of her education?

  “How old are you, Kilyn?”

  “I’m one hundred and twelve.”

  Damn. “How old is the king?”

  “He celebrated his five hundred and twenty-fifth birthday last month.”

  I’m relieved she can’t see my facial expression of sheer shock. My father is five hundred and twenty-five years old? He would have turned forty-eight on Earth. Were the couple of years he spent with our family so insignificant, so minuscule in his lifetime that they didn’t truly matter? Did he have other families? More children? Why does he want me, out of all his children, to be his heir?

  “I know nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  I wasn’t talking to Kilyn, but more or less stating that I’m mystified. Usually that’s my game. That’s how I control my life. I know nothing about me. Who or what I am. My cryptic life is a mystery to myself. Reality spirals out of control. Nothing is the way it seems. Nothing is what it was before.

  Who am I?

  From one prison to the next, each becomes trickier to navigate, becoming more complex to survive. I survived the first circle of Hell to discover that there are eight more. Suddenly, I’m glad Kilyn is washing my hair because my body shut down. I’m unable to wash myself. She babbles on about things not being so bad and cheer up, you are a princess now.

  I can’t blink.

  I am royally fucked. I have no clue what I’m up against. I have no idea what awaits me. How do I navigate this world? My only friends are miles away and can’t help me, except maybe Brynjar. I really, really wish we had finished talking before Manadhon took me. Even Kilyn hinted I couldn’t trust anyone here.

  I have no one.

  “I’m doomed.”

  “Stop that. You can’t act weak at dinner. You must be strong.”

  “He said a small social gathering. What do you mean?”

  “There’s a banquet tonight. Not as big as a Quarter Soiree, but it will be in the Gold Room. A couple hundred people will attend.”

  “Hundred? I’m not going.”

  “You must. It won’t be that bad. There will be tons of food and a sit-down meal with candles, music, and dancing. By tonight, everyone will be excited. Everyone will be thrilled to meet you. Well, maybe not your aunt.”

  “I have an aunt?”

  “Two aunts and two cousins, brothers Mek and Liam. I think your cousin Mek planned to inherit the throne. His mother, your Aunt Meloda, won’t be happy. Your Aunt Carmia sails the oceans and travels to faraway places. I’m surprised she’s in Paradise.”

  I had forgotten the king had mentioned he came back to save his mother and sisters; it went right over my head. Too much information at once. My mind was on overload. He had told my family he was an orphan. That he grew up in orphanages and foster houses. He used to boast how lucky my sister and I were to grow up with a family who loved us. Lies upon lies upon lies. I felt bad for my father, alone as a child. It had helped me rationalize his suicide, knowing he’d had a horrible childhood. He never did. He grew up as royalty, with the most lavish childhood I could imagine. Father never suffered as he claimed. He was never alone. Not like Kilyn. She is an actual orphan.

  “How many children work and live here?”

  “I don’t know how many. Some live in the barracks, others in town, at the school.”

  “Take
a guess?”

  “Well, maybe two hundred or more live in the castle. I don’t know how many live in the school and barracks.”

  He is a monster. If correct, my father might have close to a thousand child slaves, two to three hundred in each establishment, if not more in Paradise. A whole generation of kids brainwashed and molded into what the king needs. Boys are training to become soldiers while girls work as servants, but what’s the purpose of the school? Ignorant people don’t fight or question authority. What could he teach but control?

  A strong emotion brews within. I can’t name it. Pity mixed with anger and contrition. How can I not want to try to change their lives for the better? The king said I was here to change the kingdom, but he didn’t prepare for my perspective. I never wanted any of these responsibilities, but how can I ignore the destruction when I could help rebuild?

  Is the feeling ambition? I never felt ambitious before. I have never strived for more, yet fuel pumps through my veins, giving me power. Is this who I’m supposed to be? A queen and mother to a kingdom? Married to the land?

  I don’t know who I am anymore, but there’s a change deeper than appearance churning inside.

  Tonight, I’ll play the part. I’ll become who the kingdom needs me to be, someone who will overthrow my father and bring peace to the land. I’ll free children. Stop forcing couples to have more kids than they can support. Create equality, somehow, in a land seemingly devastated by divide. Right all the wrongs my father committed.

  First, I have to become popular and gain the trust of the people, which can start tonight. Second, after the party, I have to study every aspect of Fae life. Politics, religion, culture, gifts. There has to be a library in the city, some trove of information I can access.

  I wish Sarah were here. I wish they all were, but she would have the most insight on laws and customs. I don’t know how to accomplish this without them. They better be safe.

  “I need to look radiant and royal. I need to portray prestige and peace while respectful and modest. Something that makes me looks like… a queen.” I almost threw up saying those words.

  “Hmm… I think I know which color, but the style… hmm.”

  Kilyn hands me a towel, then runs to rummage through the dresses. She creates two piles. After a few minutes of sorting, she holds up two gowns, an emerald green and a gold dress. She eyes them both, taking in their details while humming the same tune as earlier. She shakes her head and places the gold one back on the rack.

  “Perfect.”

  In her hands is a dark emerald green dress with a regal high collar in the back that becomes a semi-sweetheart in the front. A modest back with a sheer cape—it’s the same color as the dress but studded with diamonds in the shape of flowers. The material is lightweight and silky in my hands. The form-fitting dress has no embellishments. The only bling shines on the cape.

  Kilyn runs over to the vanity—now with a mirror—and digs through the drawers. I hang the gown on the closest rack and join her. She dries my hair with towels that absorb the water quickly and then weaves silver and gold strings into an intricate braid that encircles my head. The rest of my hair, she leaves down, working the curls until they are tame. It’s gotten long, halfway down my back, and thicker. When we left Dana’s house to go on the ill-fated picnic, it brushed the top of my shoulders.

  While she works on my hair, I apply makeup. With over fifty different palettes of eye shadow to choose from, I play to my strengths and go with the more natural tones. Gold, tans, and creams to enhance my blue eyes. I conceal the bags under my eyes and dust my cheekbones with a shimmery blush. Lastly, I pick a cinnamon pink lipstick to bring it together.

  I don’t recognize my reflection. A woman stares back with luscious red curls, sky-blue eyes, a freckle-dusted nose, flawless skin, and sharp, pearly teeth. It feels like I swapped bodies, transferring my mind into another with no memory of the process.

  Kilyn slips the dress over my head. It clings to my curves but isn’t tight. The dress fits me like a glove. It feels loose and free, but it wraps my body in sleek silk. The cape sways behind, starting at the neckline and flowing past my knees, reaching my ankles. I need a small heel, no larger than two inches. I don’t want the kingdom’s first impression to be me tripping. Black kitten heels with comfortable padding finish the outfit.

  I wonder what the girls are doing. I hope they are okay and that they are miles away from Capo. Far away from danger. I feel guilty going to a ballroom dinner while they are on the run, worried about me. If they could see me now, they would laugh their asses off. I make an ironic princess. They would be shocked to hear this was the reason we were under attack. No one would guess it was because I’m a princess.

  “Oh, one last thing you need: A necklace. Let’s see.”

  She pulls open the drawers on the vanity. Each drawer contains jewelry boxes displaying fancy gems and diamonds mounted on various types of intricate metal. There’s gold, silver, black metal rope, pink metal, copper; so many shades of polished metal gleam from each of their display boxes. It’s an insane amount of jewelry, a mere fortune. One necklace catches my eye. It’s the one Kilyn picks up. A large white opal the size of my eye, set with tiny golden diamonds on a thin gold chain. Rivers of neon green, pinks, and blues zigzag back and forth all over the opal.

  Kilyn drapes it around my neck.

  It shimmers, adding dazzle to the stranger’s image reflecting at me. The person staring back in the mirror isn’t me. She’s royal, confident, strong, calm, assertive, not me.

  This isn’t me.

  My heart pounds as I fight the impulse to rip off the dress and wipe off the makeup. I can’t do this.

  But I need to fight for Kilyn and everyone else. I should fight. They need justice. My family deserves it. My mother and sister deserve it. I clasp my hands in front of me, focusing for a moment on each muscle in my face, relaxing each one by one, and steady my breathing. I can do this. Maybe it’s the real reason we were brought to Capo, to this world. Maybe this is my future. Goosebumps cover my skin. Does this have something to do with destiny? I can almost hear Ciara’s voice. She would say something about prince charming I’m sure.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Are you ready for dinner?” Manadhon asks, as if he knew we had just finished.

  I close my eyes once more, breathe in, and breathe out. Steady. I must stay steady, unshaken.

  Kilyn smiles. “You look amazing. A queen in training. Be confident. Don’t let them know you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Exactly,” she says, walking me to the door.

  Chapter Nineteen - Megan

  A white block begins with two steps. A white block ends with two steps. A blue lamp hangs every five steps. Another blue lamp hangs every five steps. The perpetual cycle repeats. There are no windows or natural sunlight shining upon the hallways or corridors. Not at least the ones I’ve been down.

  It reminds me of the catacombs buried beneath Rome and Paris. Dark, damp, endless tunnel systems miles long, hidden under the old metropolitan cities. In the past, I’ve read news articles about people getting lost in various catacomb systems across Europe, mostly after wandering away from their tour group. Tourists stop to take pictures, lingering for too long, and then suddenly, they become separated from their group. They realize too late that they have been left behind and panic. I imagine most run to catch up to their group, until they’re stopped by a four-way intersection, and then they’re stuck with indecision. Right or left, continue straight or wait until the next tour comes through. One choice will lead them to safety. The other three will lead them to eternal darkness, starvation, and death.

  Manadhon leads me downstairs, continuing down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs, down another hallway, then up another flight—after that, I lose track.

  Today has been a whirlwind, and I’m not looking forward to tonight. I’m positive the elite members of society will flaunt their latest ensembles. A competition among the
wealthy to win a proverbial pat on the back for the best dressed. A sport for the rich. They won’t work up a sweat—that’s for the poor. Instead, they compete with wits and money. Women prancing around wearing cage ball gowns, adorned with priceless jewels. Their main goal is to uncover juicy gossip while competing for the wealthiest bachelor. Men swirling this world’s version of expensive scotch talk business and watch women swoon. It can’t be very different from Earth’s aristocratic affairs, not that I ever attended. Movies and the internet displayed enough information to know what to expect.

  I had assumed it would be a rather humdrum affair, but my opinion changes quickly, standing before the colossal golden doors. Realization hits me. I am so naïve.

  It feels like I’m walking into a fairy tale, but the darker Brothers Grimm version.

  Beautiful, handcrafted, golden double doors depict a grand party. Intricate artwork chiseled into the doors displays two long banquet tables of food, roasts on fancy platters, piles of vegetables, and dainty desserts. Between the buffet tables, people adorned with masquerade attire dance. They wave, inviting everyone to the party. Guests laugh, drink, and enjoy themselves under the watchful king. The artwork depicts the king having fun, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he studies everyone, meticulously watching individuals, judging their personality, appearance, and demeanor while in his presence. A crooked smile peels his lips back—it hints at his sly and cruel nature. I can’t help but look at the doors and realize this is a perfect portrayal of what awaits me.

  Instead of a warm welcome, it’s a stern warning.

  If I open this door, will it ever close? Is this what I should do, or should I run, leaving Kilyn and countless children to suffer? What plan am I capable of that my father won’t have a scheme ready to counter? How many doors will open after this sole decision? Should I turn away and hide from the truth? Am I evil enough to walk away, turning my back on those suffering, knowing that I might be the only one to instigate a successful rebellion?