Kingdom of Ashes

by Rhiannon Thomas

  “Yes,” Aurora said. She refolded the parchment and placed it in her lap. “Thank you.”

  Nettle smiled at her. “You will be fine, Aurora,” she said. “I know that you will. Trust your instincts. They’re stronger than you believe.”

  When Aurora returned the next morning to bid her good-bye, Nettle had already gone.

  FIFTEEN

  THE ADDRESS LED HER TO THE EAST SIDE OF THE island. The ocean stretched out ahead of her, the sea breeze tangling her hair. She could just make out the foam on the crashing waves. Some people strolled along the pier, friends with their arms looped together, couples walking a few awkward inches apart, the occasional individual staring at the water in thought.

  A row of buildings overlooked the water, tall and so thin that they could barely have a single room per floor. They did not look threatening, but it would most likely be risky to enter any of them alone.

  Aurora walked along the street, checking the numbers above each door. She was looking for number 33, but the buildings stopped with number 29. After a gap, they leapt to number 50 without any explanation.

  Aurora turned back to look at the ocean, at the people walking there. It was peaceful, after the pounding energy of the rest of the city. A boy was sitting on a stone bench nearby, a few feet from the drop into the water. He had messy brown hair.

  Aurora stared at the back of his head. She couldn’t be sure it was Tristan. She couldn’t know she was safe even if it was Tristan. But she had not come here to shy away from him now.

  She crossed the street. As though sensing her gaze, the boy turned around. His eyes widened in shock, and he stood.

  “Mouse?”

  He looked gaunter than Aurora remembered, and his brown hair was longer. Something about him seemed wilted, his exuberance dimmed. She walked slowly toward him, keeping a few feet between herself and the bench.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s me.” She was not sure what else to say.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The breeze tossed her hair across her face. She pushed it away. “I could ask you the same thing. Why aren’t you in Alyssinia?”

  She couldn’t quite believe she was seeing him, in daylight, against the backdrop of the ocean. She had forgotten so much about him since she last saw him, her memory reducing him to the tiniest details: his knowing smile, the anger in his eyes when he spoke of the king, the sickness she felt when she realized people had been executed because of him. And yet he was here.

  “I thought I was meeting Nettle,” he said. “I had some things I wanted to say to her, now I know who she works for.”

  “She had to leave. And it was always me who wanted to talk to you.” She let herself take another step closer. She would not be a fool with him, not this time.

  A small group of people walked past them. Aurora and Tristan stood in silence until they were out of earshot again.

  “Why are you here, Tristan? What happened to the rebellion?”

  He sank onto the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, Aurora sat beside him. “There is no rebellion. Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean, there is no rebellion?” That couldn’t be right.

  “How do you think the king reacted to what happened on your wedding day? We weren’t the ones who started that, but the king blamed us anyway. He was so desperate to crush us that more people fought, for a bit. Guess they didn’t like him destroying their homes and killing their friends for no reason.”

  “But it didn’t work?”

  “He responded hard, and ended it all in one night. One night, after everything. The king attacked people in their homes and rounded up anyone even suspected of rebel sympathies. They’re all dead now. He couldn’t have your wedding on those castle steps, so I guess a mass execution had to do.”

  Aurora gripped the back of the bench to stop herself from swaying. “How many?” she said.

  Tristan shrugged. “I couldn’t exactly count.”

  But then, Tristan didn’t care much for incidental lives, did he? He had been involved in a scheme that led to many deaths, innocent deaths. Aurora had seen it herself. He could not play the victim entirely.

  “How did you escape?” Aurora said. “If you’re here . . . how did you get out?”

  “I wasn’t home,” he said. “I was out on the roofs; I saw them coming . . .”

  Aurora gripped his arm. “The inn,” she said. “Your cousin . . . Nell . . .”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “By the time I got back, the inn was on fire. Trudy and Nell weren’t at the executions, so maybe they escaped . . . but I couldn’t find them. I couldn’t do anything.”

  “So you left?”

  “I couldn’t find them,” he said. “They’re dead, or they’re hiding, but I couldn’t find them. And I couldn’t lead the king to them, if they were alive. So I left. There was no hope anymore. There was no point in staying.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aurora said. The words felt so inadequate, but she did not know what else to say.

  “Yeah, Mouse,” he said. “So am I.”

  She stared out at the crashing water. “It’s not over,” she said. “I’m going to go back. I’m going to do something about this.”

  He laughed. Actually laughed, a single gasp of amusement.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “What can you do? You’re hiding here. You don’t even know what’s happening. And it’s your fault, isn’t it? You helped to start all this, and then you ran off. You left us with your mess.”

  “My mess?” She fought the urge to stand, to leave now. She had not asked for any of this. She had woken up and had this whole mess thrust at her. She had not reacted perfectly, but who would? Who could? “You were as involved in this as I was, Tristan. You left too. There are still people to help, but you left too.”

  “I guess we’re the same after all.”

  She looked at the water, her blond hair falling about her face. She had so many questions, about Rodric, about Alyssinia, but they stuck in her throat. “Why did you come here?” she asked eventually.

  “Easiest place to get to. And what about you? You don’t look like you’re on the run anymore. Enjoying Prince Finnegan’s protection? Or are you a spy like Nettle now?”

  Aurora pushed her hair behind her ear and straightened her back. “He’s helping me,” she said eventually. “I’m going back. But I can’t do it alone.”

  “If you wait much longer, there won’t be anything to go back to.”

  A ship bobbed on the horizon, breaking up the endless blue. “How did you leave?” she said. “Did Rodric help you?”

  “Prince Rodric?” Tristan sounded genuinely confused. “Why would he have helped me?”

  “I’ve heard rumors,” she said. “That Rodric has been working against his father. Helping people get out of the city. I thought perhaps he was helping the rebellion, but . . .”

  “No,” Tristan said. “I never saw him. And there’s no rebellion now to help. If he’s doing anything, he’s doing it alone.”

  Aurora could not see Rodric acting alone. But then, he had always cared about people. He had always wanted to help. Maybe he had finally figured out how.

  What would Rodric think of her plan now? More destruction, more horror, in the name of peace. Dragons and magic and fire. She did not think he would approve.

  She could ask Tristan what he thought of her plan, whether he thought the risk was worthwhile. He cared about Alyssinia, for all of his flaws. But she swallowed the words at the last moment. She had seen Tristan’s methods before, had hated them. His approval would not be reassuring.

  And he had left. After all of his impassioned words, all the sacrifices he wanted her to make, the risks he had taken . . . he had run away to save himself. He had lost his right to an opinion on her actions long ago. “What are you going to do now?” she said instead. “Are you going to stay in Vanhelm?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
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  She turned to look at him again. He looked so diminished. He no longer seemed like Tristan. “You should go back,” she said. “You should help.”

  “And do what? What could I possibly do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Try.”

  Another laugh, a slight shake of his head. “You didn’t like it when I tried. Why would things be any different now?”

  And there it was, the truth neither of them had wanted to mention before. They both wanted the king gone, and they had a history, but that was all, in the end. She could not see him as anything other than rash and blind, and he could not stop seeing her as closed-minded, too privileged to possibly understand. They could sit on a bench by the ocean and talk for hours, but that would never change.

  “And you?” he said. “What is Vanhelm doing for you?”

  “We’re figuring out how I can win,” Aurora said.

  “So then you can be queen?”

  “So I can help. Whatever that means.” She stood. “I should go,” she said. “I shouldn’t stay here. But it was good to see you. It’s good to know you’re alive.”

  “You too,” he said. “Princess.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. She doubted she would ever see him again. He would return to Alyssinia, or run farther, find some other life for himself. And she had already learned the dangers of associating with rebels. She’d learned all about the ruthlessness behind their idealism.

  But he had still been something to her, once. He had still helped her feel less lost, in those first days after she awoke, when everything felt wrong. This was still a good-bye, whatever had occurred between them.

  There were no words to express that. Nothing to bridge that gap. So she stepped back, giving him one last look, memorizing his features. And then she left him behind.

  It took her a few minutes to realize that she was being followed. Three men, falling into step behind her as she left the oceanside road, and taking all the same streets afterward, always about twenty feet away. The city was crowded with people heading in every direction, so the fact that they were following her could mean nothing. But one of the men was a pale blond, a rare enough sight in Vanhelm, and there was something off about the way they walked. They weren’t talking to one another, Aurora noticed, as they followed her around another corner, but they stuck together.

  She paused outside a tailor, looking at the bright cloth and sample dresses through the window.

  A few paces back, the men stopped to look in a different store.

  Aurora ducked into the shop and browsed for several minutes, pretending to be fascinated with the different fabrics.

  When she emerged, the men were still there.

  She walked faster, using her shoulders and her small height to squeeze through gaps in the crowd. The space between her and the men grew slightly, but they were still there, still pursuing her.

  Another turning, another busy street. People’s elbows bumped into her sides. The crowd engulfed her, so close that Aurora could barely breathe, but she struggled her way through, dodging onto a smaller side street at the last moment and running as quickly as she could.

  Another turn, a leap around a street preacher, and she found herself on a narrow road with shops on either side. Cloth awnings hung over the entrances, embroidered with store names, and people stood outside the doorways, passing out free samples of bread and brandishing trays of earrings and bracelets.

  Aurora glanced over her shoulder. The men were still behind her, closer than before.

  Were they working with Tristan? She did not think so. If he had wanted to corner her, he would not have waited until their conversation was over. So either Finnegan was having her followed, or they were working for King John.

  She needed to know. And a busy shopping street would be a better place than most to confront them.

  She stopped in front of another shop window and waited for the men to pause as well. Then she turned to face them.

  “Why are you following me?”

  She expected them to deny it, but the man nearest to her bowed his head. “We’re here to take you home, Princess. If you cooperate, it’ll be easier for all of us.”

  “Princess?” she said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. We’re been watching you awhile, Princess. Staying in the palace. Traveling with the prince. So don’t try and lie to us now.”

  Aurora stepped sideways, toward the shop.

  “You’ll get no help from in there,” the man said. “People mind their own business here. So come quietly. Walk off with us now, Princess, and there’ll be no trouble, right?”

  “If Queen Orla finds out you’re here, trying to force one of her people to leave, it’ll be taken as a declaration of war.” She didn’t know that, not for certain, but it seemed a credible threat. She had Finnegan’s support, and no ruler would abide foreign threats in her kingdom uninvited.

  “That’s the king’s problem,” he said. “All I know is there’s a damn good reward for your return. No one said anything about when and where we can grab you.”

  Some of the shoppers were watching them now, but as many were pointedly not watching them. They stood with stiff backs, their eyes focused elsewhere, or their voices grew louder as they riffled through the stores’ wares. No one moved to intervene.

  She glared back at her pursuers, hoping she looked defiant. “You will stop following me,” she said.

  The man laughed. “I don’t think we will, darling.” He reached for her arm. The moment his hand clutched her skin, something in Aurora snapped. She jerked away, and fire cracked along the cobbles, sending the men flinching backward. Red marks scorched the spot where they had stood, and the man’s hand burned red as well, his fingers blistering.

  The dragon flared around her neck.

  “It’s true,” he gasped. “You witch.” He lunged for her again, but she was already running, darting around his outstretched arm. The world blurred. She elbowed her way through the crowd, then swerved onto another hectic street, then another. Running footsteps pounded behind her, and someone shouted, but she did not pause to look.

  She reached an even wider street. A wire hung in the air along the center, marking the path of a tram, so she ran beneath it, searching the ground for the stars that marked its stops, hoping that a car would rattle down the street so she could ride it to safety.

  She turned a corner, and a tram waited ahead. It was stuffed full of people, and one last person was trying to squeeze aboard.

  “Wait!” she shouted, waving her arm in the air. “Wait, please!” She forced her legs to move faster. The driver gave her a weary expression through the window, but the tram did not move. She swung herself aboard, crashed into another traveler, and dropped a bronze coin into the slot.

  “Thank you,” she gasped.

  The man shook his head. “You kids,” he said, “always rushing about. Try to be on time next time, all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Her pursuers watched them as the tram hurtled away.

  SIXTEEN

  AURORA HURRIED TO THE LIBRARY. THE ANGER, THE fear of what might have been, was so strong that it nearly choked her.

  Had Tristan known those men? Had he had been the bait to distract her? No. He couldn’t have been. He did not even know she would be there. And those men hadn’t seemed like rebels. But the meeting with Tristan had thrown off her balance, and those men had grabbed her in the middle of the day, like they were invincible, like no one would stop them.

  An old candle sat on the center table, and she grabbed it, holding it up to her eyes. Light, she thought. She shoved her anger forward, and the wick burst into flame. Grim with triumph, she blew it out and lit it again, then again, all her anger and frustration burning outward.

  Yet as she calmed down, as the adrenaline slipped out of her, the fire faded too. The attack had unsettled her, infuriated her, and the urge to burn had overwhelmed her, swallowing h
er thoughts.

  She wasn’t controlling the magic. The magic was controlling her.

  She threw the candle to the ground. It landed with an unsatisfying thud.

  “Oh!”

  Aurora spun around. Erin stood in the doorway, a pile of books under her arm.

  “I am sorry to disturb you,” Erin said. She paused in the door another moment, and then crept farther into the room. “I was coming to return some books.”

  “No,” Aurora said. “No, you’re not disturbing me. I was just—”

  “Just getting revenge on the candle?” Erin smiled. “I hope it is not my fool of a brother who has made you so angry. I assure you, he’s not worth the effort.”

  “No,” Aurora said again. “No, I just—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper like that.”

  “Who am I to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do? And if you were angry at my brother, I would not be surprised. He often deserves it.”

  Erin began arranging the books on the table. She had lugged four of them with her, all tomes with Alyssinia in the titles.

  “History books?” Aurora asked. “On Alyssinia?”

  “Yes. My mother wanted me to study Alyssinian history in more detail . . . I presume because you are here.”

  “I’ve been trying to research too,” Aurora said. “I missed so much while I slept.”

  “None of these books are that modern, I’m afraid. It’s mostly older history. Alysse, Queen Desdemona, the Golden Age . . .” Erin fidgeted with her books. “They are my favorites, I think,” she said. “The hated queens. Driven out for having too much power. It’s fascinating.”

  “Yes,” Aurora said. “Fascinating.”

  Erin pulled one of the books toward her, and then paused. “Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you. The other day, you spoke of Prince Rodric as if you liked him well.”

  “Yes,” Aurora said. “He’s a good person. Why?”

  “I had wondered, with you running here. . . . People always say good things about princes, but you were still reluctant to marry him.”