Kingdom of Ashes

by Rhiannon Thomas

  “That is a bold theory.”

  Aurora nodded.

  “I have seen many strange things in my travels, but nothing quite so strange as that.”

  “Finnegan said I could use them to regain Alyssinia. To frighten King John away. But . . . I don’t know.”

  Nettle was quiet for a long moment. “I do not think that Alyssinia will achieve peace without violence now. But it does not matter what I think. It matters what you think.”

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Then perhaps do nothing until you decide.”

  “I don’t have time to do nothing,” Aurora said. That was the worst part of all this, the need for time to process things, to research, when everything was already falling apart. “Alyssinia needs help now.”

  “And rushing into things without a plan will not make things better.”

  “You said I should rush into kissing Finnegan.”

  “It is not rushing if it is what you want to do.”

  Aurora traced the pattern on the quilt. Her hair fell in front of her eyes. “I was wrong before,” she said finally. “When I thought I liked somebody.”

  “You’re speaking of Tristan?”

  She nodded. “I suppose I did like him,” she said. “For a time. I thought—how romantic. Meeting a boy at an inn, watching the city from the roofs . . . how exciting. But it wasn’t at all like that.”

  The mattress sank as Nettle sat beside her. “But Finnegan is not like that,” Nettle said.

  “He’s not?”

  “You wanted Tristan to be romantic, did you not? You wanted him to be the answer to your problems. But Finnegan . . . you did not like him. You did not want his help. And yet now you have spent time with him, you have these feelings for him. It is different, do you not think?”

  “I suppose it is,” Aurora said. But she still could not let herself give in to it. She needed to help Alyssinia. That was her first priority. She could not get distracted with another boy, after the trouble caused by true loves and rebels and her own mixed-up fate.

  “Have you heard anything about Tristan?” she said. “Any hints that he’s here?”

  “I’ve seen nothing, Aurora. If he is here, I do not think he wishes to be found.”

  Aurora let her head fall against Nettle’s shoulder. Would she prefer for Tristan to be here, safe, or fighting in Petrichor? She did not know. And the day had been too exhausting to figure it out now. “What have you seen?” she said instead. “On your travels? What was the strangest thing?”

  “Well,” Nettle said. “In one kingdom, there was a princess who slept for over a hundred years before being awoken with a kiss. That was rather strange.” Aurora laughed, and Nettle leaned back, resting her head against the wall. “Let me see,” she said. “There is a city-state in the northeast where all disputes are settled with games of chess. There are people who live in the mountains who believe that they are at risk of suffocating if they go near the sea, because the air will be too thick and heavy. There is a deadly desert near Palir, and people run across it for days, for fun. Just to say that they have done so. But still, Princess. I believe that your story is by far the strangest.”

  “I would like to see them someday,” Aurora said. “The things in the other stories.”

  “You will,” Nettle said. “You already are.” She combed the ends of Aurora’s hair with her hands. “Shall I pin your hair up for you?”

  “Please.”

  Nettle ran her fingers along the curve of Aurora’s face, separating strands. Then she twisted them back, one by one, layering them and leaving the ends flowing free.

  “So,” Nettle said. “Are you going to kiss him?”

  Aurora closed her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  It should have been such a simple question to answer, and yet . . . “I don’t know.”

  “You do,” Nettle said. “You just do not want to accept it.”

  “Do I have to accept it?”

  “You do not have to do anything,” Nettle said. “But it will help, I think. It does not have to change what you do, but lying to yourself . . . it is not worth it in the end.”

  FOURTEEN

  ANOTHER ROSE WAITED ON AURORA’S PILLOW WHEN she returned to her room. This one was as red as blood, with a single thorn on its stem. Half of the petals had been torn away.

  There was no note.

  Was this a message, a comment that she was getting closer to the truth? Or was it a mockery of Aurora’s attempts? The last rose had appeared once Aurora began to control her magic. Had this one appeared because Aurora was beginning to figure out what Celestine wanted her to do?

  Aurora shredded the petals, letting them flutter to the ground. She stepped on them as she strode to the window and threw the bare stem into the breeze.

  If Celestine wished to frighten her, she would have to try harder than that.

  But Aurora tossed in bed that night, her heart pounding with fire. She imagined she could feel a heartbeat inside the necklace as well, a whisper just for her. She imagined Finnegan beside her in the dark, his hand on her hip, his lips so close that she could feel him exhale.

  She imagined, and the dragon pendant was warm against her skin.

  Aurora awoke in the morning to a knock on the door. “Yes?” she said, before she had time to think. She shoved her tangled hair from her face and sat up.

  Finnegan stepped through the doorway. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I trust you’re well.”

  She glared at him, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. “It’s early, Finnegan,” she said. “What are you doing in my rooms?”

  “My dear mother has summoned us. She has some news, I assume, or else wants to be sure we haven’t caused chaos yet.”

  Aurora climbed out of bed, raking her fingers through her hair. “And you couldn’t send a servant to fetch me?”

  “And miss this delightful sight? I would never do such a thing. Get dressed quickly, though. My mother is casual, but not quite that casual.”

  “And what does she want to see us about, so early in the morning?’ she asked, as she walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out the first day dress she could see.

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  “Now that’s something I don’t often hear from you.” She turned back to face him, dress held against her chest. “Go outside while I change.”

  “If you insist.”

  She waited until the door clicked shut before she moved again. She tried to throw together a polished early-morning look, but even dressed, her hair brushed with an actual brush, she looked like someone who had just woken up. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as though that would make them less puffy. What could the queen be summoning them for? She could not have learned about Aurora’s connection to the dragons. Could she know about their trips across the waste, and be planning to berate them for that?

  Finnegan waited on the other side of the door, looking as collected as always. He held out his arm to Aurora, and together they walked through the palace.

  Orla’s study was messier than the rest of the palace, with books piled high on a huge oak desk. Several tomes held down the corners of a huge map, and quills of various lengths were strewn across the surface. Erin sat between the desk and the door, while Orla sat behind it, her black hair tumbling out of a bun.

  “Ah, Aurora,” she said. “And Finnegan. I’m glad to see you. Do sit. I have been meaning to speak with you, Aurora, but with things as they are . . . the dragons coming closer, the threat to Alyssinian trade . . . I have not found the time. But now a more pressing matter has arisen, and we must turn to business. Tell me. What was your opinion of Prince Rodric when you met him?”

  Her opinion of Rodric was pressing business? Aurora looked at Orla for a long moment, hoping to decipher something from her expression, some hint of what the queen wanted to hear, but her expression gave nothing away. “He�
��s nice,” Aurora said slowly. “A good person. Nothing like his father.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Orla said. “But did you think he would make a good leader?”

  A good leader? Was Orla intending to interfere with Alyssinia? Or had something already happened? “He cares about people,” she said. “And he wants to do good. I think people would be loyal to him, if they knew him. Why? What’s going on?”

  Orla ignored the question. “Any ruthlessness?”

  “No,” Aurora said. “Not ruthless at all.”

  “Not one to make harsh decisions, then,” Orla said. “And what about his subtlety? What are his political abilities?”

  “What is this about?” Aurora said. “Surely you have met Rodric yourself.”

  “I have,” Orla said, “although not for many years. I wanted your opinion on him. You seem in the position to know him best.”

  “But why?” Aurora said. “How is my opinion on his subtlety useful to anything?”

  “His subtlety is everything,” Orla said. “If you give me your opinion, honestly, then I will answer your questions.”

  Aurora stared back at her. If something bad had happened, if Orla was planning to interfere, then she had to say the right thing. “He can keep a secret,” she said. “I would trust him with my life.”

  “And yet you left him.”

  “It wasn’t him I was worried about.”

  Orla nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I have received reports from Alyssinia, regarding your prince. They say that Prince Rodric is working against his father. I wanted some insight as to whether it might be true.”

  Rodric, working against the king? “It’s possible,” she said. People dying because of unrest, homes burned, not enough food . . . he would want to help. He had always complained of being so useless, just as she had. And he was in a position to do good. He had the money, the influence. He could be trying to help.

  But it was as Finnegan had said, forever ago in Petrichor . . . his was not a heart for this place, for this time. It was a heart for when peace had already been won.

  “What do the rumors say he has been doing?” If the king found out he was involved in the rebellion, in any way, the punishment would be swift. King John would not bear any betrayal, and Aurora could not believe that he would forgive Rodric simply because he was his son.

  “Distributing food, mostly, I believe. Helping people to leave the city who need to.”

  It could be true. Rodric was kind enough, selfless enough. But would he brave enough to face his father like that? Aurora did not know.

  “Where did you learn this?” Aurora said. If Orla had heard these rumors, all the way across an ocean, then surely the king would have heard them too.

  “I have sources,” she said. “Different ones from King John, I assume. He may be too distracted to check constantly on his son.”

  “Then what shall we do? How can we help him?”

  Orla pursed her lips. “Nothing, for the time being. We cannot interfere.”

  “You interfered with me.”

  “My son interfered with you. I told him not to go. And we certainly will not be putting ourselves at risk for a foreign prince who may or may not be doing things his father disapproves of.”

  “Then why did you bring me here?” Aurora said. “Why ask me about him?”

  “I was not entirely decided,” Orla said. “On whether it was true, or on how to respond. I am still not entirely decided. But as you implied, he is loyal, but not a schemer. Not a leader. Not subtle. His attempts will probably fail, and it would be too great a risk for us to interfere. We will watch the situation, and if things change . . . perhaps we could consider it. But for now, no.”

  “He’s a good person,” Aurora said softly. “A good prince. If you wish for someone to support in Alyssinia, he is a good choice.”

  “But Aurora,” Orla said. “It is quite clear that we have already put our support behind you.” She sighed. “I will have it investigated further. There may be something in it. But for now, I expect you to have patience.” She waved her hand. “I wish to speak to my children, in private. Excuse us.”

  Aurora stood. She wanted to argue, wanted to scream in protest, but Orla was her host. She was only here because of her goodwill. “He deserves to be safe,” she said eventually. “He deserves your support.”

  Orla nodded, her expression almost understanding. “If only I could make all my decisions based on what people deserved,” she said.

  Aurora tried to practice magic again that day, but her thoughts would not settle. She could not stop thinking of Rodric, of what he might be doing now. Rodric captured, Rodric arrested, Rodric hurt by the rebels he wanted to help. Rodric, still in the middle of it all, while she ran far away.

  She had left him there, to deal with his father and the fighting alone. He had wanted to help people, together, and she had run and taken that hope away from him.

  Worst of all, she had barely thought of him since. She hadn’t imagined him in danger or putting himself at risk. A few moments of concern, perhaps, a request for Finnegan to write to him, but that had been it. She had not even penned the letter herself.

  How could she have been so selfish?

  Flames burst around the candle, growing larger and larger. She tried to pull the fire back, to make it dim. It only grew brighter.

  So much practice, so much effort, and she still could not fully control it. Meanwhile, Rodric was actually helping. He was actually making a difference.

  If the reports were true.

  She knocked on Nettle’s door a little while later, too frustrated to practice any longer. “Aurora,” Nettle said, as she opened the door. “Are you all right?”

  “Did you hear?” Aurora said. “They think Rodric is working against the king.”

  “I have heard,” Nettle said. She guided Aurora into the room and closed the door.

  “Tell me everything you’ve heard,” Aurora said. “Every detail. I have to know if it’s true.”

  “I doubt I know any more than you.”

  Aurora paced across the room. “If Orla has learned of it, then the king must have learned of it too.” And the king’s reaction would not be pleasant. “I don’t understand. Is he working with the rebels? They seemed to hate him. Or is he working alone? How would he know where to begin?”

  “I do not know, Aurora. I wish I could tell you.”

  Aurora suddenly noticed that the room was half-bare. Most of the pots of color had been cleared from the dresser, and the gowns were tidied away. Nettle’s pack leaned against one wall.

  Aurora stopped pacing. “You’re leaving.”

  Nettle nodded.

  “You’re going to find out more about Rodric?”

  “To find out if these stories are true.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Tomorrow morning? It was so soon. Aurora sank onto the bed. “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Yes,” Nettle said. She sat beside Aurora. “Of course. I only found out recently myself.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous?” Aurora said. “If Petrichor isn’t safe—”

  “Nowhere I go is ever safe, Princess. Do not worry about me.” Nettle combed Aurora’s hair with her fingers. “Such lovely hair,” she said. “Do you mind if I braid it?” Aurora shook her head, and Nettle began to braid, her hands moving as quick as spiders.

  “Take care of Rodric,” Aurora said. “If you can.”

  “I will try,” Nettle said softly. “But I am a spy, not a fighter. I do not know what I can do.”

  “Then stay safe. Promise to stay safe.”

  “Only if you promise me the same.”

  “I promise.”

  Nettle tugged lightly on her hair. “Liar.”

  She was braiding it into a crown, Aurora realized. Aurora reached up to touch the spiral of hair that stood out from her head, but Nettle pushed the hand away. “Not yet,” she said. “I haven’t finished
.”

  Aurora closed her eyes. A shiver ran along her scalp. Nettle’s very presence was soothing. And she had done so much. She had saved Aurora, in her own way. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For helping me, in Alyssinia. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

  “You would have survived, Aurora. You are good at surviving.”

  “I don’t just mean that. You were my friend, too. I have not had many of those, but you . . . you made things easier. So thank you.” She wanted to say more, but she could not think of the words. She could sense Nettle smiling behind her, but the singer did not reply.

  Nettle tied off the end of the braid and tucked it in. “There we are,” she said. “You look beautiful.”

  “Like a princess?”

  “Oh,” Nettle said. “Much more beautiful than that.” She hesitated, and then moved to pick up a folded piece of paper from her dresser. “Here,” she said. “You should have this.”

  Aurora unfolded it. An address had been written there in precise letters, followed by a time.

  “What is this?”

  “I found Tristan.”

  Aurora stared at her. “You found him?”

  “Perhaps. I have not seen him myself. But he should be there, at that time, at that address, tomorrow. It may have been better if I did not tell you, but as I can no longer go . . . I know the address, and it is as safe as one could hope, but that does not mean it is actually safe. Still. I believe I should let you decide what you wish to do with this information now.”

  “Thank you,” Aurora said. Her voice wavered. This was trust. Information given, without distortion or agenda. “How did you find him?”

  “An Alyssinian, matching his description, new in the city. It was far from my most challenging assignment.” Nettle looked at the piece of paper again, and her voice took on a note of warning. “I cannot be certain it is him, and I cannot be certain meeting him will be safe. Be careful. But if you wish to know why he is here, you may find your answer there.”

  Aurora looked at the address again. She had to go. “What will I say to him?”

  “Whatever you wish.” Nettle leaned forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Aurora’s ear. “You do not need to go, if you do not wish to. But if you do . . .”