Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

  “Thank you,” I say, keeping it clutched in my left hand and going back to feeling the wall with my right.

  I don’t remember it being this dark. When I was here as a child, I could see things better. For all I know, we passed the hole ages ago or made a wrong turn somewhere. Memory is such a fallible thing. Still, I drag my fingers over the rough, craggy stones, even as they begin to bleed.

  A dog barks, and I don’t need Søren to tell me they’re closing in now. I press on faster, my mind a frantic blur. I must focus. All I can think of is this wall and my fingers. All I can think of is getting out.

  The hole is so small I almost miss it. In the dark, I can’t be sure it’s what I remember—but it has to be, because the warriors are so close now that I can almost smell them. It has to be or we are dead.

  “Thora,” Søren warns, but I ignore him and draw my dagger.

  Unsheathing it, I press the tip into the hole in the stone, pushing so hard I’m worried I’ll break the dagger altogether. The footsteps are so loud I can’t hear anything else, not even the sound of the tunnel door opening.

  I fall through it.

  * * *

  —

  I hear the splash before my skin registers the shock of the cold water, but when I hit, it turns my skin to ice. I push myself up on my hands. It’s a stream. Though it’s only a few inches deep, it ebbs and flows, and I suppose it must lead to the ocean.

  “Thora?” Søren whispers, stepping in with more grace than I did and closing the door behind him. It’s dark here as well, but there’s some kind of dim light coming from the distance, just enough to see a few inches in front of me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, taking his hand and climbing to my feet.

  I step back through the water to listen at the sealed door, Søren at my side. I can hear warriors thunder past. It’s only seconds before the dogs double back, stop, and begin barking and snarling on the other side.

  One of the warriors shoves against the wall and Søren grips my hand in his. I can nearly feel his pulse racing, and I squeeze back just as tightly.

  The door holds, not giving so much as a breath, and the warrior curses at the dogs, trying to drag them away, but they don’t budge.

  “Leave them,” another warrior says. “This deep in, the dogs lost the scent, but there’s no way out. She can hide, but we’ll find her before sunrise.”

  The footsteps hurry away and I feel Søren relax next to me, though he doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “Come on,” I whisper, setting off down the tunnel.

  The icy water gets deeper with each step, soaking my skirt and legs. Before long, we’re in knee-deep and my legs are numb. I don’t remember having to swim out of the tunnel when I was a child. Blaise and I walked right out to the shore, never going deeper in than our ankles. But that must have been low tide.

  “You’re shaking,” he says, and I realize I am. The air is even colder than it was in the dungeon, and my dress is soaked. “Take my cloak.”

  Ever the gentleman, I think before putting a hand out to stop him. “I’d imagine you’ll need it soon, too.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he insists, sliding it from his shoulders and passing it to me.

  I hold it gingerly in my arms. The lining of the coat is studded with Fire Gems, I remember, a perfect way to stay warm in the winter. I’ve gotten used to ignoring the draw over years of being surrounded by them, but this close, the power calls to me. It buzzes through my blood and mind. If I wore the cloak, I could be unstoppable. All those Fire Gems, all that power.

  We come to the fork in the tunnel: the water rushes to the left—the side that must lead to the ocean—but the other side inches uphill. That way goes to the throne room. The Kaiser is surely there, and he surely knows I’ve escaped by now. I can see his face—that furious, bloated red face—as he sits on my mother’s throne and blusters threats at his guards.

  How simple would it be to start a fire? I haven’t tried it, but I’ve seen Kalovaxians light fireplaces with the aid of a few Fire Gems. It can’t be that difficult, especially since I have the blood of Houzzah in my veins. I imagine watching the fire grow and grow and swallow the palace and everyone in it who ever hurt the people I love. For an instant, I think about ending this now. I could do it; it would even be easy, but it would cost me.

  In one act of sacrilege, I would give up my chance to see my mother and Ampelio again. The gods would damn me, and they just might damn my country as well. I don’t know if I believe that. I can’t help but think about Artemisia and her lack of belief in the gods. After everything my country has suffered, I don’t know if my mind believes in them anymore either. But I can still feel them in my heart, in the stories my mother told me. I want to believe in them.

  “I can’t take this,” I tell Søren, though passing the cloak back is one of the hardest things I’ve done. He frowns. “Why not?”

  “The gems. I…” I trail off. Now is not the time to explain, but I have no choice. “They are only meant to be handled by someone who has earned them, and never so many. Guardians spend years studying and worshipping in the mines for the privilege of carrying a single gem. Using one without proper training…it’s sacrilege.”

  “But aren’t you supposed to have the blood of a fire god in your veins? If anyone can use it—”

  I shake my head. “My mother always said that we rulers were the last people who should have that kind of power. I never understood it before, but I’m starting to.”

  Søren hesitates, still holding the coat out to me. “You’ll freeze without it,” he says. “The water is only going to get deeper, and if my navigation skills are what I think they are, we should emerge close enough to the boat that swimming will be our best chance to avoid attention. You didn’t come all this way to freeze to death.”

  “I’ll survive,” I tell him.

  He holds the coat out for another second before realizing that I’m serious. He starts to shrug it back on, but stops halfway and takes it off again. He holds it out to drop it, but I stop him, my hand on the cloth. Even through the thick wool, I can feel the pleasant hum of the gems rush through me again. It’s dizzying, but I try to ignore it and focus.

  “We might need that,” I say. “If we manage to liberate the mines, there will be some Guardians there and they’ll need gems. We need as many as we can get now.”

  He nods, taking the cloak back and hanging it over one of his shoulders.

  “These allies of yours…,” he starts.

  “You’ve seen some of them,” I say. “My Shadows for the last few weeks.”

  Søren frowns. “Your Shadows?” he echoes. “What happened to the other ones?”

  “Killed,” I admit.

  The water is up to my waist now. It’s beginning to lick at my freshly opened wounds, stinging them so painfully that I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out. I know it’s cleaning them as well, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. The light ahead is getting stronger.

  “I’m tired of death,” he says finally. “When I killed the guards…it didn’t even faze me. I didn’t think twice about it. I don’t even feel guilty. What kind of person doesn’t feel guilt over killing?”

  “Someone who’s done it too many times,” I say. “But you don’t need me to tell you that it was necessary.”

  “I know,” he says. “It just feels like every time I do it, even in battle, I turn a little bit more into him.”

  I don’t have to ask who he means.

  “You aren’t your father, Søren,” I tell him.

  I’ve said the same words to him a few times before, but each time I think he believes them less, even as I believe them more.

  He doesn’t answer me, and we lapse into silence as we wade deeper and deeper, each lost in our own thoughts. Blaise will have told the others my plan by now. How are the
y reacting? Not well, I imagine. Artemisia will scowl and roll her eyes and make some snarky comment. Heron will be subtler, but he’ll wear his quiet disapproval in the crease of his brow, the twist at the corner of his mouth. I can make them understand, though. It’s the right move.

  “There.” Søren’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

  The end of the tunnel appears in the distance, a small circle of indigo sky. We hurry toward it. The tunnel widens around us into a cove that opens directly into the ocean. There is just enough moonlight to confirm that we’re facing west. There is nothing visible but a small ship bobbing in the distance. Wås.

  “You’re right,” I say. “We’re going to have to swim it.”

  He looks at me. “The current isn’t strong, but it will be against us.”

  It’s nothing for him, I’m sure, but he’s worried about me. And he has good reason to be. The most swimming I’ve done has been in the heated pools below the palace. Still, bath-warm water. Nothing like this.

  “Sounds like fun,” I say lightly, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

  I don’t. He sees right through me, but he also knows we don’t have a choice. It’s swim or die.

  “Stay close to me,” he says. “Let me know if you need a break. We don’t need to get to the ship itself, just those rocks.” He motions to the cluster of boulders the ship is tied to.

  They’re closer, but not enough to make much of a difference. There’s also the added risk of being seen when we climb them. But as long as there’s a chance, I have hope.

  “Let’s go,” I tell Søren. We can’t waste another moment.

  * * *

  —

  It feels like every inch I gain, the waves knock me back two. If this is what Søren calls a weak current, I’d hate to see a strong one. I’m so cold that I don’t feel it anymore. My fingers and toes have gone numb and I’m worried that they’ll fall off before I reach the rocks.

  Søren is ahead of me, but I can tell he’s holding himself back to stay close.

  “Break?” he asks, gasping out the words over the waves. Despite the Fire Gem cloak wrapped around him, the cold is getting to him as well.

  My teeth rattle against each other, drowning out almost everything else. “We’re almost there,” I reply, pushing on.

  “About halfway,” he corrects.

  I want to cry, but it would be a waste of energy I can’t afford to spare. I can cry later, when I’m warm and safe. I can cry all I want then, but not now.

  The only way I can survive this is if I let my mind leave my body, the way I do during the Kaiser’s punishments—the way I did, I remind myself. He’s never touching me again. Without my mind to get in the way, all I have to do is breathe and paddle and kick. My mind is far ahead of me, on the boat already, warm and safe and free.

  Warm and safe and free.

  Warm and safe and free.

  I repeat the words to myself like a mantra, timing them to the beat of my heart and the rhythm of my strokes. Nothing else matters. I’m hardly even aware of Søren paddling ahead of me, though he keeps looking back to make sure I’m still afloat.

  An eternity passes before we reach the rocks and he stops to help me up.

  “Y-you…said…o-o-only thirty…m-minutes,” I manage to get out when I reach him, clutching the boulder so hard the jagged edges dig into my fingertips.

  “I actually think we made good time,” he tells me, sounding impressed. “You might have even done it in twenty-five.”

  My teeth are chattering so badly that I can’t answer. He tries to give me the cloak again, but I push it away.

  “Just for a minute,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say, but I don’t expect him to believe it.

  “There are blankets on the ship,” he says, tying the cloak around his shoulders. He grips my waist and helps boost me onto the boulder. “And a few changes of clothes.”

  “And c-c-coffee?” I ask him, scrambling for purchase on the rock. I lost my shoes long ago, so I have to do it barefoot. My poor fingers are bloodied and raw and stinging from the salt water. I’m surprised they can do anything, but they manage to hold on. I find my footing as well, and take the opportunity to get my bearings. The ship is a stone’s throw away, maybe a few yards.

  Søren pulls himself next to me.

  “No coffee. But wine. Good wine,” he tells me.

  I take a deep breath and begin to move, inch by inch, toward the boat. The frigid wind freezes the joints in my hands, making it hard to grip, but I push through it. I know that I need to move faster, especially now that we’re so visible from the shore, but I can’t. Even this feels like it will kill me.

  “You’re doing fine,” Søren tells me through clenched teeth. It makes me gladder than it should to see that he’s struggling as well. He was born to be a warrior, made for worse things than this, and he’s still having a hard time. “Just don’t look down,” he warns.

  But of course, as soon as he says it, I do exactly that. And of course, I regret it immediately.

  We’ve moved far enough and high enough along the boulders that the water is now a steep drop below us. At its edge, smaller, jagged rocks break the surface, threatening to tear me to pieces if I slip. I take a shuddering breath and draw my eyes away.

  “I told you,” he grunts. “Just keep looking ahead.”

  I grit my teeth but don’t argue. It’s close now, the bow almost close enough to touch, though it’s tethered a few feet off to keep it from crashing into the rocks.

  “We’re going to have to climb higher,” Søren says, as if reading my mind. “And then we’re going to have to jump.”

  “I w-w-was a-f-f-fraid you were g-g-going to say s-s-something like th-that,” I manage.

  Though it sounds like it costs him, he laughs.

  It’s difficult to find traction under my feet farther up, and more often than not, my arms are doing most of the work holding me. They’ll feel like seaweed after this, I’m sure, but there will be an after this, and that is what matters.

  The Kaiserin was right. Sometimes just surviving is enough.

  A shout from shore cuts through the air and next to me, Søren lets out a string of curses—only about half of which I’m familiar with.

  “It’s fine,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “We’re almost there, and all their ships are on the other side of the peninsula. By the time that guard gets to anyone else, we’ll be gone. It’s fine.” I get the feeling that he’s assuring himself more than me.

  I want to turn around and look myself, but I don’t need Søren to tell me that’s a bad idea. All I can do is put one foot ahead of the other, one hand in front of the other, and climb. Everything else is out of my control. In a way, there is freedom in knowing that.

  “All right,” he says after a moment. “Now you’re going to need to jump.”

  I look down at the ship a few feet below and swallow.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Thora, it’s going to hurt,” he says. His voice is so reassuring that I almost don’t bristle at the name. “You’re going to need to keep your knees soft and roll from the impact so you don’t break anything. Can you do it?”

  I nod, even though I’m not sure. It’s the only answer I can give.

  “On the count of three. I’ll be right behind you. One. Two…”

  I get ready, bending my knees.

  “Three.”

  I push away from the rock with my last remaining burst of energy.

  For a blissful moment, it feels like flying, with nothing but air around me. But when the impact comes, it’s hard, and even though I do as Søren said and keep my body soft, I still hear a crack when I land, and pain floods my right side. My rib. I ignore it as best I can and roll away, making room for Søren to land as well.

 
His fall knocks the air out of him and he wheezes for a moment, struggling to catch his breath.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, when he can speak.

  “Broken rib, I think. But I’m fine, other than that.”

  He nods, but his eyes are troubled. He struggles to his feet and starts untying the boat from the rocks.

  “I’ll get us moving. Go down into the cabin and warm up. There are clothes in the chest at the end of the cot,” he says. Even though he’s limping and shaking, he still sounds like a commander. All business.

  “Søren,” I say softly. My voice almost gets carried away on the wind, but he hears it and turns to look at me. He’s smiling, even after everything, ready to embark on a new adventure, ready to fight against the only family he has left. Ready to stand at my side no matter what.

  If only it were that simple.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he tells me, misreading my expression.

  I shake my head before cupping my hands around my mouth.

  “Attiz!” I call out, loud enough to hear over the wind. Now.

  Before Søren has a chance to ask what’s happening, three black-cloaked figures pour out from the cabin and rush toward us. Blaise, Artemisia, and Heron.

  Søren draws his sword, but he’s still weak from the swim and the climb, and shock slows his movements. Artemisia knocks it from his hand without any effort. Heron shoves him down onto his knees and drags his arms behind him, binding them with a length of rope.

  I’m frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch. I put this into motion, I remind myself. It was the right thing to do. Still, seeing Søren hurt and unable to fight back breaks my heart.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you all,” Søren spits out, struggling against them.

  I find my voice. “Søren,” I say again, and he drags his eyes to me.

  It’s then that he realizes they aren’t hurting me. Blaise comes forward to wrap a blanket around my shoulders. Confusion flashes across Søren’s face but it’s quickly replaced by a coldness I recognize only too easily. I saw it a few hours ago on Crescentia’s face. He stops struggling, but his eyes stay hard.