Kingdom of Ashes

by Rhiannon Thomas

“Maybe she offered her power,” Finnegan said. “People always want power.”

  “But why would that tempt Celestine? She had more than enough.”

  “Maybe she saw her power was fading. Maybe she wanted more.”

  Was the curse what she had wanted all along? Perhaps her mother had never been meant to honor her bargain. Perhaps the bargain had been designed to be impossible to keep.

  “So she used me to wake up the dragons,” Aurora said. “So she could have their power too.”

  “Yes,” Finnegan said. “Perhaps.”

  She pushed herself into a sitting position. There was something of the dragon in her. And she was not sure she wanted to know exactly what it was. If her magic was like theirs, if it was destructive, if nothing could live where her fire had been . . .

  She pressed her hand to the grass and urged it to grow. To twist around her hand, to prove that she could create as well as burn. To show that she was more than she suspected.

  The grass did not move. She tugged it with her fingers, as though that would make it respond. The strands tore from the ground.

  “Rora?”

  She shifted around to face Finnegan, close in the dark. “She told me that I was like her. What if my magic can only destroy things, like she does, no matter what I intend? What will happen to me if I keep trying to use it?”

  “I don’t know,” Finnegan said slowly. “I guess you have to insist on being yourself.”

  “But I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Not Celestine. Not like her.”

  Loose strands of grass floated from her hands. She turned away, staring at the outline of nearby buildings against the night sky. “It feels like my choices are do nothing, and allow awful things to happen, or try and fight, and do awful things myself. And sometimes . . . I don’t know which is worse.”

  “Waiting,” he said. “Not being able to do anything. Always that.”

  “To you, perhaps,” Aurora said. “I’m not so sure.”

  She leaned her head against Finnegan’s shoulder and closed her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, and they settled into silence, her magic still flickering around them.

  EIGHTEEN

  AURORA STRUGGLED TO SLEEP THAT NIGHT.

  It wasn’t only a question of good versus evil, of fighting or waiting, of who she wanted to be. Rodric was helping. He had to be. And if she did nothing, if she left him to fight alone . . . she did not see how he could last, not with his father so close. But if she fought for him, if she challenged the king, if she did so with dragons . . . would Rodric want her help, if it meant causing more destruction along the way? He would not want her to burn the kingdom in his name.

  But people believed in her. People were relying on her. She could not just leave them. But neither could she betray them with fire.

  She needed advice, the thoughts of someone she could trust. And although she had talked in the dark with Finnegan, telling him things she wanted to hide even from herself, he did not really know war. For all of his bravado, he had little more experience than Aurora herself.

  But Orla might know. Aurora could not tell her about their plans with the dragons, but she could reveal more about her magic and about the king’s state of mind to gain her trust, and the queen could tell her more about whether violence could ever really lead to peace. Orla had a no-nonsense attitude that suggested she had tackled many difficult decisions before. She seemed as fair as she was practical, and Aurora could not imagine her letting her feelings get in the way of the right decision.

  As soon as the sun rose, Aurora wrote a note to the queen, requesting that they have lunch, and sent it off with a servant. Half an hour later, the servant returned with another piece of paper, fastened with the royal seal of Vanhelm. The parchment was littered with inkblots. Among them, Orla had scribbled an invitation to join her in her study.

  “I’m glad you wrote to me,” Orla said, after Aurora sat and a servant had gone to fetch food. “I have been wishing to speak to you alone for some time. Things are tense, as I am sure you know. And with Vanhelm between Alyssinia and the dragons . . . every day, discussions, every day, strategy. But that is the role of a queen, is it not?”

  She watched Aurora as though expecting some reply. Aurora nodded.

  “So tell me,” Orla said. “What is it that you wished to speak with me about? I am certain that you did not simply wish for my company.”

  “Oh.” Aurora said. She could not think how to respond without being rude. “I wanted your advice.”

  “You want advice from me? I am your kingdom’s enemy, am I not?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Aurora said. “And even if you were, that doesn’t mean your perspective isn’t worth listening to.”

  “And what is it you want advice on?”

  Aurora smoothed her skirt to stop herself from fiddling with her hair. “It seems,” she said carefully, “that the only way I can possibly stop King John is by challenging him. Whether I get people there to support me or find outside help . . . I’m going to have to fight.”

  “You do not have to fight,” Orla said. “You could leave things as they are.”

  “I could,” Aurora said. “But if I wish to change anything, then I have to fight. But I can’t stop thinking that my interference could make it worse. I could be responsible for awful things that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t interfered. But if it’s to do good . . . is that good?”

  “Aurora.” Orla rested her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her lips. She watched Aurora thoughtfully for a moment. “Such questions have disturbed our greatest minds for about as long as we have existed. If you wish for me to give you a solid, undisputable answer, I am afraid you will be disappointed. No one can answer that but yourself. But perhaps you are asking the wrong question here. It is not about what is ‘right,’ but what is practical. What is the best course of action, assuming that all of them will have some bad ends? So the first question, perhaps, is whether you intend to return to Alyssinia.”

  “I have to return,” Aurora said. “Eventually.”

  “Why? Alyssinia already has a queen. A king, too, and a prince, and plenty of people fighting for the throne. If you can make a difference for the better, then you should go. But can you do that?”

  “I have to,” Aurora said. “It’s what I’m meant to do.”

  “Meant to do? Oh, my poor girl. No one is meant to do anything. According to your country, no woman is meant to rule on her own, and I am sure they’d see our dragons as punishment for our audacity. But I believe I am where I am best suited, and I believe I do good work for my kingdom. I barely sleep, but I have found I am good at these things, Aurora. At strategizing, at working hard, at getting people to compromise. You must figure out what you can do best with the skill you have, and then tell everyone else that that is what you are meant to do. If you are convincing enough, they will believe you.”

  Orla was watching Aurora carefully. “I put little stock in rumors,” she continued. “Gossip is my son’s distasteful domain. But there are whispers that you have magic. I do not believe they are baseless superstition. Am I right?”

  Something about Orla’s bluntness compelled Aurora to trust her, at least in this. “Yes,” she said. “I have some magic. Although I do not understand it.”

  “And that may be for the best. You can’t rely on magic when making plans.” Orla tapped her fingers against the desk. “Here is the truth about magic, Aurora. It makes people weak. They do not study, they do not strive, because they expect magic to save them. And when that magic fails . . . well. You have seen what Alyssinia has become. What it was, even in your own time. A backward little kingdom, unable to survive. I do not see how magic will help.”

  But Orla was wrong, in that at least. Magic was the only chance that Aurora had. It might not work by itself, perhaps, but she had seen what magic could do, how it had torn her own life apart. If one person had magic and the other did not, the person with magic
would be the one to succeed.

  “You do not believe me,” Orla said. “That is the Alyssinia in you, I suppose. But consider this, then. Consider what happened to your kingdom in your absence. Even after your curse, they were complacent. They had mountains, and they had the memory of magic, so they had no proper defenses, no city walls, no advancements, nothing to protect them when Falreach attacked.”

  “But they survived.”

  “Yes,” Orla said. “They survived. Because my kingdom helped them. Alyssinia was our neighbor and trade partner, not Falreach, and it had more to offer us. They could promise aid in return if we ever ran into difficulty. They could give us access to the sleeping princess, in case her true love came from our kingdom. The kingdom would have fallen without Vanhelm’s aid. That was not something we wanted.”

  Aurora had seen a similar opinion in the diplomatic documents Finnegan had shown her. “So you saved my kingdom,” she said carefully. “Is that why John and Iris are nervous of you now? They think you’re waiting for the debt to be repaid?”

  “Not precisely. You must know that the years after the war were not good for Alyssinia. Drought and famine, kings changing as rapidly as the seasons, and each ruler more distant from the royal bloodline . . . and then Falreach attacked again. And once again, Vanhelm offered assistance, for one simple price. We wished to be included in the line to the Alyssinian throne. My mother would marry the current king’s son. The children were four and seven at the time, but a treaty was drawn up, and we saved them once again.”

  “But the marriage didn’t happen?”

  “No, it did not. We had not foreseen that dragons would return. They destroyed our kingdom, and while we struggled to rebuild, Alyssinia denied us aid. They claimed they were still too weak themselves. And then when the old king of Alyssinia died, a council of nobles disinherited his son, staged a coup of their own, and threw Vanhelm aside. Considering the state Vanhelm was in, we could hardly retaliate. Both kingdoms had to fight to survive . . . but Vanhelm has always been the stronger side of the sea, and while Alyssinia grew weaker, we recovered. So now Alyssinia fears that we will pursue revenge. That we want our promised throne.”

  “And do you?” Aurora said. “Do you want the throne?”

  “Revenge is a waste of energy,” Orla said. “We have more productive things to be doing than fighting over fifty-year-old slights. I renewed the trade treaties between the two kingdoms myself, when I became queen. Finnegan would have the chance to wake you, although he was only one year old when we made the agreement, and eventually we decided that young Princess Isabelle would marry him when she was grown. We have no interest in revenge.”

  Yet Aurora could not help noting that wanting revenge and wanting the throne were not the same thing.

  “So you see,” Orla said. “Magic is not the boon you believe it will be. Your fears are misplaced. Fighting will not be your greatest mistake. It will be believing that magic will not hurt far more than it helps.”

  Aurora had never believed that magic would not hurt. But Orla’s words had not had their intended effect. Magic was dangerous, yes. But it was Aurora’s only advantage here. She couldn’t proceed without it now.

  “So,” Orla said. “How do you find the truths of Alyssinia’s enemy?”

  “Enlightening,” Aurora said.

  “A diplomatic answer if I ever heard one. Iris has trained you well.”

  The door creaked open, and the servant returned, carrying a plate piled with different breads and fruit.

  “But come,” Orla said, as the plates clattered onto the table between them. “This is getting too serious for a lunchtime chat. Why don’t you tell me of my son’s behavior in Petrichor? I need some entertainment.”

  After that, they only talked about light and humorous things. Orla told Aurora stories from her own past, and tales of Finnegan when he was younger, and Aurora told the queen all her impressions of Vanhelm, how overwhelming and inspiring she found its streets.

  Yet when Aurora left Orla’s study, with promises to meet again once the queen had a free moment, all she could think of was how different Orla was from Iris. She was so self-assured, so fond of the truth, so powerful, yet no one appeared ready to knock her aside or fight for her claim. She ruled alone.

  And she was supposed to rule Alyssinia as well. Both kingdoms were meant to be her heritage. Both kingdoms were meant to be Finnegan’s.

  Aurora found Finnegan bent over a chessboard in one of the palace’s many studies. He held a rook in one hand, a few inches above the board. Erin sat on the other side of the table, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Don’t think I’ll bend the rules for you,” she said, as Aurora slipped in through the door. “Once you’ve touched a piece, you must move it. I am not to blame if you did not think ahead. Am I right, Aurora?” The younger girl turned her head and smiled. “He cannot cheat, just because he is losing.”

  “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly,” Aurora said.

  “Fine.” Finnegan placed the rook, knocking one of the white pawns out of the way. “Slaughter me if you must.”

  Erin leaned forward, as though reaching for her queen, and then laughed. “Surely, after sixteen years, you do not think I’m that easily fooled, do you, brother? I’m not going to allow you to pantomime me into checkmate.” And, ignoring his rook, she moved a pawn instead.

  “Good move,” Finnegan said.

  “I know.”

  “Well, you did learn from the best.”

  “And when they weren’t available, I picked up a few tips on how not to play from you.” She looked at Aurora. “Do you play chess?” she asked her.

  “A little. I have not had many people to practice with.”

  Erin stood. “Did you wish to speak to my brother?”

  Aurora glanced at Finnegan. “Yes,” she said. “Just for a moment.”

  “Of course,” Erin said. “Please make sure he doesn’t move anything on the board while I’m gone. He never has been above cheating to gain the advantage.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you had to leave—” Aurora said, but Erin waved her words away.

  “It is fine,” Erin said. “I wish to speak to my mother about something anyway. I’ll be back soon.”

  Her footsteps echoed as she walked away.

  Finnegan did not move from his chair. His black hair fell about his eyes, and a little stubble lined his jaw. Aurora’s stomach tightened at the sight of him. She had been so close to him last night. She had told him secrets that might have been better left unsaid.

  “You wanted something?” Finnegan said. “Or can you just not go a day without the pleasure of my company?”

  She stepped closer. “You never told me you’re supposed to be entitled to my throne.”

  “I’m entitled to many things,” he said. “I wasn’t aware your throne was one of them.”

  “Your mother told me,” she said. “About your treaty. She said that the thrones of Alyssinia and Vanhelm were both supposed to belong to Vanhelm.”

  “Well, it looks like I’m not getting either of them, doesn’t it?” Finnegan said. “So what does it matter?”

  “It matters,” she said, “because you didn’t tell me. You brought me all the diplomatic reports on Alyssinia over the past hundred years, and you didn’t show me any of this.”

  “I brought you everything I could find, Rora. And we still haven’t gone through them all. I didn’t hide this from you.”

  “You must have known, though. You told me that we had a shared heritage, that we belong together. But you didn’t say one word about this.”

  “If you thought I thought I was entitled to you, you’d never have trusted me. You’d never have even pretended to trust me. You have enough of that whole entitlement thing with Rodric, don’t you think? And I’d much rather get what I want on my own terms. Do you think I care at all about history or about what I’m supposed to do? When has that ever figured into anything I’ve done?”

  “I don�
��t know,” she said. “I’m still trying to figure you out.”

  “Well, be sure to let me know when you do.” He picked up a rook and twisted it between his fingers.

  It sounded like a dismissal, so Aurora turned away. But she paused when she reached the door, her hand on the doorknob. “I want to believe you,” she said. “I do. But everything you say seems too good to be true.”

  She stepped out of the room before he could reply. But that night, a piece of paper slid under her door. The truth is what you make it, Finnegan had written. So why not make it something good?

  NINETEEN

  THE DEATH KNELL WAS SO INNOCUOUS WHEN IT CAME. A letter in Finnegan’s hand. Concern that even he could not hide. And a mud-splattered poster, shipped across the sea.

  “I received a letter from Nettle,” he said, marching unannounced and unexpected into the library. “You’ll want to see it.”

  Aurora looked up. She had been searching through the diplomatic documents, hunting for evidence of what Orla had told her. She had found nothing so far. “What is it?” she asked, as Finnegan approached. “Has she found out more about Rodric?”

  “No,” Finnegan said. “She has no news about him; she wrote before she reached the capital. But she sent this.”

  He held out a worn sheet of paper, and Aurora took it from him. It was surprisingly thick, the edges contorted by rain. Aurora unfolded it.

  It was a wanted poster, like many Aurora had seen before. Aurora’s likeness stared back at her, regal and commanding. The king now promised two thousand gold coins for her capture.

  It was covered in graffiti. Several different hands had scrawled insults across the paper, over her forehead, filling every spare inch. Traitor, one said. Murderer. Whore. And across the bottom, underlined several times, witch.

  She tightened her grip on the paper, contorting the words. Murderer. Witch.

  “This is what they think of me?”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew the lies that the king had spread about her. But to see it there so baldly, to see people’s hatred of her, their words thrown out like truths, like nothing . . .