There is at least a fraction of truth in that. I used to play in those trees every summer when my mother took her annual tour of the town that had been leveled by an earthquake the year before I was born. Five hundred people had died that day. Until the siege, it was the greatest tragedy Astrea had ever faced.
The Kaiser tilts his head and watches me too closely, as if he can read my thoughts like words on a page. I want to cower, but I force myself to hold his gaze, to believe my lie.
After what feels like hours, he motions to the guard next to him. “Take your best men. There’s no telling what magic the heathens have.”
The guard nods and hurries from the room. I’m careful to keep my face impassive, even while I want to weep with relief. But when the Kaiser turns his cold eyes back to me, that relief turns hard and sinks to the pit of my stomach.
“Mercy,” he says quietly, “is an Astrean virtue. It is what makes you weak, but I’d hoped we saved you from that. Perhaps blood always wins out in the end.”
He snaps his fingers and the guard forces the hilt of his iron sword into my hands. It’s so heavy that I struggle to lift it. The Earth Gems glint in the light, and their power makes my hands itch. It’s the first time since the siege that I’ve been allowed to handle any kind of gem, or any kind of weapon, for that matter. Once, I would have welcomed it—anything to make me feel like I had a little bit of power—but instead, my stomach lurches as I look at Ampelio lying at my feet and realize what the Kaiser expects me to do.
I shouldn’t have spoken up; I shouldn’t have tried to save him. Because there is something worse than watching the light leave the eyes of the only person I have left in the world—it’s driving the sword into him myself.
My stomach twists at the thought and bile rises into my throat. I grip the sword, struggling to box myself up again and bury Theodosia even deeper before I end up with a sword at my throat as well. But it can’t be done this time. Everything feels too much, hurts too badly, hates too fiercely to be contained now.
“Perhaps sparing your life was a mistake.” His voice is casual, but it makes the threat all the clearer. “Traitors receive no pardons, from me or the gods. You know what to do.”
I barely hear him. I barely hear anything. Blood pounds in my ears, blurring my vision and my thoughts until all I can see is Ampelio lying at my feet.
“Father, is this really necessary?” Prinz Søren steps forward. The alarm in his voice surprises me, but so does the strength behind it. No one has ever contradicted the Kaiser. The court is as surprised as I am, and they break their silence with whispers that are only interrupted when the Kaiser slams his hands against the arms of the throne.
“Yes,” he hisses, leaning forward. His cheeks are a vicious red, though whether it’s anger at his son or embarrassment at being questioned it’s difficult to say. “It is necessary. And let it be a lesson to you as well, Søren. Mercy is what lost the Astreans their country, but we are not so weak.”
The word weak falls like a curse—to the Kalovaxians there is no worse insult. Prinz Søren flinches from it, his own cheeks coloring as he takes a step back, eyes downcast.
At my feet, Ampelio shudders, his grip on my ankle twitching.
“Please, My Queen,” he says in Astrean.
I am not your queen! I want to scream. I am your princess, and you were supposed to save me.
“Please,” he says again, but there is nothing I can do for him. I have seen dozens of men before him executed for far less than this. It was foolish to think that he would be spared, even if the information I gave had been true. I could beg the Kaiser until my throat was raw and it wouldn’t do any good. It would only end with a blade at my back as well.
“Please,” he says again before launching into rapid Astrean that I struggle to keep up with. “Or he will kill you, too. It is time for the After to welcome me. Time to see your mother again. But it is not your time yet. You will do this. You will live. You will fight.” And I understand. I almost wish I didn’t. His blessing is its own kind of curse.
No. I can’t do it. I can’t kill a man. I can’t kill him. I’m not the Kaiser, I’m not the Theyn, I’m not Prinz Søren. I’m…Something shifts deep inside me. Theodosia, Ampelio called me. It’s a strong name—the one my mother gave me. It’s the name of a queen. It doesn’t feel like a name I deserve, but here I stand, alone. If I am to survive, I must be strong enough to live up to it.
I must be Theodosia now.
My hands begin to shake as I lift the sword. Ampelio is right; someone will do it, whether it’s me or one of the Kaiser’s guards, but I will make it quicker, easier. Is it better to have your life ended by someone who hates you or someone who loves you?
Through the thin, torn shirt he wears—more red than white now—I feel the vertebrae of his spine. The blade fits below his shoulders, between two protruding ribs. It will be like cutting steak at dinner, I tell myself, but I already know it won’t be like that at all.
He turns his head so that his eyes meet mine. There is something familiar in his gaze that wrings my heart in my chest and makes it impossible to breathe. There is no doubt left in me. This man is my father.
“You are your mother’s child,” he whispers.
I tear my eyes away from him and focus on the Kaiser instead, holding his gaze. “Bend not, break not,” I say clearly, quoting the Kalovaxian motto before I plunge the sword into Ampelio’s back, cutting through skin and muscle and bone to strike his heart. His body is so weak, so mangled already, that it’s almost easy. Blood gushes up, covering my dress.
Ampelio gives a twitch and a shallow cry before going limp. His hand slips away from my ankle, though I feel the bloody handprint left behind. I withdraw the sword and pass it back to the guard. Numb. Two other guards step forward to drag the body away, leaving a trail of slick red in its wake.
“Take the body to the square and hang it for everyone to see. Anyone who tries to move it will join him,” the Kaiser says before turning back to me. His smile pools in the pit of my stomach like oil. “Good girl.”
Blood soaks my dress, stains my skin. Ampelio’s blood. My father’s blood. I curtsy before the Kaiser, my body moving without my mind’s consent.
“Clean yourself up, Lady Thora. There will be a banquet tonight to celebrate the fall of Astrea’s greatest rebel, and you, my dear, will be the guest of honor.”
I drop into another shallow curtsy and bow my head. “Of course, Your Highness. I look forward to it.”
The words don’t feel like my own. My mind is churning so deeply I’m surprised I can find words at all. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to take that bloody sword back and stab it into the Kaiser’s chest, even if I die in the process.
“It is not your time yet,” Ampelio’s voice whispers through my mind. “You will live. You will fight.”
The words don’t bring me any comfort. Ampelio is dead, and with him my last hope of being rescued.
I’M NOT TEN STEPS DOWN the hall when a hand grips my shoulder, restraining me. I want to run, run, run until I’m alone and I can scream and cry until nothing is left in me but emptiness again. You will live. You will fight. Ampelio’s words whisper through my mind, but I’m not a fighter. I am a frightened shadow of a girl. I am a fractured mind and a trembling body. I am a prisoner.
I turn to find Prinz Søren, a sliver of concern cracking through his stoic expression. The hand that stopped me is now light on my shoulder, the palm and fingertips surprisingly rough.
“Your Highness.” I’m careful to keep my voice level, hiding the tempest tearing through me. “Does the Kaiser need something else from me?”
The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel nothing. I suppose I have nothing left for him to take now.
Prinz Søren shakes his head. He lets his hand drop from my shoulder and clears his throat.
“Are…are you all right?” he asks. His voice sounds strained, and I wonder when he last talked to a girl. When he last talked to anyone but other soldiers.
“Of course,” I say, though they don’t feel like my words. Because I am not all right. I am a hurricane barely contained in skin.
My hands begin to shake, and I tuck them into the folds of my skirt so the Prinz won’t notice.
“Was that the first time you’ve killed?” he asks. He must see the panic flash in my eyes, because he hastens to continue. “You did well. It was a clean death.”
How can it possibly be clean when there was so, so much blood? I could take a thousand baths and still feel it on me.
Ampelio’s voice echoes through my mind: You are your mother’s child. The time has come for little birds to fly. You will fight. My Queen.
A memory surfaces and I don’t try to smother it this time. His hand around mine as he walked me down to the stables. Him lifting me up to sit on his horse so I towered above him, on top of the world. The horse’s name was Thalia and she liked honey drops. The feel of his hand at my back, keeping me safe; the feel of the sword, slicing through his skin.
Bile rises in my throat but I force it down.
“I’m glad you thought so,” I manage.
For an instant, he looks ready to ask another question, but he only offers me his arm. “May I escort you back to your room?”
I can’t refuse the Prinz, though I want to. I am in tatters and I don’t know how to smile and pretend I’m not. Thora is so much simpler. She is a hollow thing with no past and no future. No desires. No anger. Only fear. Only obedience.
“When I turned ten,” Prinz Søren says, “my father brought me to the dungeon and gave me a new sword. He brought out ten criminals—Astrean rabble—and showed me how to slit their throats. He did the first, to demonstrate. I did the other nine.”
Astrean rabble.
The words rankle me, though I’ve heard them called worse. I’ve called them worse under the Kaiser’s always-watching gaze, pretending I’m not one of them. I’ve mocked them and laughed at the Kaiser’s cruel jokes. I’ve tried to distance myself from them, pretended they were not my people, even if we share the same tawny skin and dark hair. I’ve been too afraid to even look at them. All the while, they’ve been enslaved and beaten and executed like animals to teach a spoiled prinz a lesson.
Now that Ampelio is dead, no one is left to rescue them either.
Bile rises up again, but this time I can’t hold it back. I stop and retch, the contents of my stomach spilling all over the Prinz’s suit. He jerks back and for a painfully long moment we can only stare at one another. I should apologize; I should beg for forgiveness before he tells his father how weak and repulsive I am. But all I can do is clamp my hand over my mouth and hope that nothing more comes up.
The shock in his eyes fades, replaced with something that might be pity.
He doesn’t try to stop me when I turn and dash away down the hall.
* * *
—
Even when I’m back in my room, stretched out on my bed, alone, I can’t fall apart. I can hear my personal guards settling into the small rooms on the other side of the walls that the Kaiser had installed after the siege. Their boots click against stone floors and their sheathed swords clatter down. They are always here, always watching through three thumb-sized holes. Even when I sleep, even when I bathe, even when I wake up screaming from nightmares I only half remember. They follow me everywhere, but I never see their faces or even hear their voices. The Kaiser refers to them as my Shadows, a nickname that has spread so far and wide that I think of them that way myself.
They must be laughing now. The little Ash Princess lost her stomach over a bit of blood, and all over the Prinz, too! Which of them will get the honor of telling the Kaiser that story? None of them, more than likely. The Prinz will tell it himself and the Kaiser will know of my weakness in minutes. He will only try harder to beat that weakness out of me. This time, he might succeed, and then what will be left of me?
My door opens and I sit up. It’s Hoa, my maid. She doesn’t look at me, instead focusing on undoing the buttons that run down the back of my bloodstained dress. I hear her sigh with relief when she realizes that the blood isn’t mine this time. Cool air hits my flesh as the fabric falls away, and I stiffen for the sting as she peels off the bandages on my back. Her fingers are gentle as she checks on my welts, making sure they’re healing properly. When she’s satisfied, she dabs on ointment from a jar Ion gave her and replaces the bandages with fresh ones.
Because I cannot be trusted with an Astrean slave, the Kaiser gave me Hoa instead. With her light gold skin and straight black hair that falls to her waist, I assume she must be from one of the eastern lands the Kalovaxians invaded before Astrea, but she’s never told me which one. She couldn’t if she wanted to, because the Kaiser’s sewn her mouth shut. Thick black thread crosses over her lips in four X’s from corner to corner, taken out every few days to allow for a meal before being sewn again. Immediately after the siege, I had an Astrean maid named Felicie, who was fifteen. I thought of her as a sister, and when she told me she had a plan for our escape, I followed her without question, so sure that all my dreams of rescue were coming true. I even believed my mother was still alive somewhere, waiting for me.
I was a fool.
Instead of giving me freedom, Felicie delivered me straight to the Kaiser, just as he’d instructed her.
He personally gave me ten lashes, and then he slit Felicie’s throat, telling me he had no more use for her. He said it was to teach me a lesson that would last longer than my welts, and I suppose it did. I learned to trust no one. Not even Cress, really.
Hoa gathers my bloody dress in her arms and nods toward the washbasin, a silent instruction to get cleaned up, before she leaves again to launder the dress.
When she’s gone, I sit down at my vanity and rinse my mouth with water from the basin, getting rid of the taste of sickness. I dip my hands in next to clean the specks of blood from them. My father’s blood; my blood.
Again I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I force myself to take deep breaths until it passes. The eyes of my Shadows weigh heavy on me, waiting for me to fall apart so they can report it to the Kaiser.
In the vanity mirror, I look the same as I did this morning. Every hair curled and pinned in the Kalovaxian style, face powdered, eyes rimmed with kohl and lips stained red. Everything is the same, even though I am not.
I take the small white towel hanging over the edge of the bowl and dip it into the water before rubbing it over my face. I scrub until all the powders and paints come away, coloring the towel as they do. It took Hoa the better part of an hour to apply them this morning, but it takes me less than a minute to wash them all off.
My mother’s face looks back at me from the mirror. Her freckles dance over my nose and cheeks like unmapped constellations. Her olive skin glows like topaz in the candlelight. Her hair shines, the color of deep mahogany, though hers was always down and wild, never held back so severely from her face like mine. The eyes are not her eyes, though. Instead, Ampelio’s dark hazel eyes stare back at me, deep-set, with heavy lashes.
Though these are flaws that Kalovaxian beauty standards demand I hide, I remember how people spoke about my mother’s beauty, how they wrote poems and sang songs in her honor.
I blink and I see the Theyn’s knife pressing into my throat—into my mother’s throat. I feel the bite of the steel, see beads of blood well up. I blink again and it’s only me. Only a broken girl.
Theodosia Eirene Houzzara. The name whispers through me again, followed by my mother’s dying words.
Would she forgive me for killing Ampelio? Would she understand why I did it? Or does she turn her back on me from her place in the After?
He’s with her now, I have to believe tha
t. He’s with her because he gave his life to spare me, though that isn’t fair. He risked everything for Astrea, while I have done nothing but try to appease the monster who destroyed us.
I can’t play the Kaiser’s game anymore. I can’t follow his rules and keep him amused while my people wear chains. I can’t laugh and talk about poetry with Crescentia. I can’t speak in their hard, ugly language. I can’t respond to a name that isn’t the one my mother gave me.
Ampelio was the last person I thought could rescue me, my last hope that this nightmare could end one day. I thought I’d killed that hope when I killed him, but I realize now that I didn’t. The hope inside me is not smothered yet. It is dying, yes, with only a few embers left. But I’ve seen fires rekindled with less.
Hoa still hasn’t returned, so I paint my face again, covering up every last trace of my mother. My true name feels heavy on my tongue after hearing Ampelio speak it earlier, and I want to hear it again. I want to say it, to banish Thora from my mind for good, but I don’t dare.
Theodosia, Theodosia, Theodosia.
Something in me is waking up. This is not my home. I am not their prize. I am not content with the life they have so kindly spared.
Ampelio can’t save me anymore, but I won’t let his sacrifice be in vain. I have to figure out how to save myself.
THE DRESS THE KAISER SENDS for me to wear is bright vermilion with no sleeves and very little back. It’s similar to the loose, simple chiton styles my people wore before the Conquering. Strangely, in recent years, Astrean styles have become popular among the younger courtiers, as opposed to the structured heavy velvets the Kalovaxians wore when they first arrived. But I don’t think the Kaiser picked it with style in mind. With my shoulders and back bare, my scars are exposed and his message can be read all the clearer.
Astrea is defeated. Astrea is broken. Astrea is no more.
I’ve always been ashamed of the red, gnarled skin of my back. The record of Astrea’s rebellions can be traced there. Each time Astrean pirates sank one of the Kaiser’s ships, each time one of the mines tried to revolt, each time a slave spit at their master, it was carved into my skin. The scars are ugly and monstrous and a constant reminder of what I am.
Ash Princess Page 3
