Ash Princess

by Laura Sebastian

  “Take him below,” I say, surprised that my voice comes out level. Even my shivering has stopped. “Let him change into something dry. He won’t make a very good hostage if he’s dead.”

  SØREN WAS RIGHT. WHEN WÅS starts going at full speed, nothing can touch her. For a moment, the Kaiser’s ships were dots trailing us, but we lose them quickly, and soon there is nothing behind us but water. Even Artemisia, who’s taken charge of the ship, is impressed with how she moves. I want to tell her that Søren built it with his own hands, but I doubt she would find that as endearing as I did. She would give me that look she specializes in, the one that says she still isn’t sure I’m trustworthy. I would hope I’ve more than proved it, but I don’t think I ever will with her.

  I understand, though. Girls like us have learned what trust gets you.

  Heron hasn’t learned that lesson yet. He sticks to my side, devoted, using his gift to mend my rib and the other scrapes and cuts. He fixes Søren as well, though no one asks him to and Artemisia even chides him for it.

  Søren is drugged immediately, Heron deftly pouring a vial of something down his throat and holding his nose until he swallows. He said it will keep him unconscious until we reach Dragonsbane. Her ship will have a proper brig, he said, with bars and locks and chains, that will be more effective in keeping him captive.

  Even though the cabin of Wås is small, and Søren is slumped in the corner only a few feet from me now, I force myself not to look at him. Like this, in sleep, he looks like a child, and guilt swells in my chest until I can’t breathe.

  It was necessary. It was the only way this could have ended. He had turned on his father, I truly believe that, but no one else will. And I can’t be any kind of queen if I side with my enemies over my people. Søren is my enemy, even if we both wish he weren’t. He has the blood of hundreds of innocents on his hands.

  Though mine aren’t quite clean anymore either.

  I can’t relax with him this close, even if I don’t look at him from my place curled up on the cot. His cot. It even smells like him—salt water and fresh-cut wood. My body aches with exhaustion, but my mind spins and I can’t find sleep—I’m not sure I want to. I don’t know what will await me in my dreams.

  The door to the cabin creaks open and Blaise slips in, holding two mugs of steam-plumed tea.

  He looks worse than I feel, violet half-moons underlining his eyes, standing out starkly against his dull, ashen skin. I wonder when the last time he slept was. Unbidden, I hear Erik’s voice in my mind, but I push it away. We are warm and safe and free and that is something to celebrate.

  “I figured you would still be awake,” he says, maneuvering nimbly around Heron’s sleeping form and casting a suspicious glance at Søren’s unconscious one. He sits at the edge of my cot and sets his mug down on the small folding table next to it before passing me the second one. Before I take a sip, he stops me.

  “I drugged it,” he says. “Not that badly,” he adds, jerking a head toward Søren. “But you should get some sleep, and I thought that was the only way you would.”

  I nod my thanks and start to take a sip as he crouches down by Søren, checking his bonds. Before I can overthink it, I switch our mugs. When he turns back to me, his eyes dance over my features. He sees my guilt, but only part of it.

  “You did what you had to do, Theo.” It takes me a moment to realize he means Søren. “And it’s over now.”

  I snort. “No, it’s not,” I tell him, taking a long gulp of my non-drugged tea.

  “But you aren’t alone anymore. You don’t have to pretend to be anything you aren’t,” he says, coming to sit back down on the edge of the cot. “That’s something.”

  I nod even though I’m not sure he’s right. Queen Theodosia feels almost as much of a charade as Lady Thora was, and it’s a much trickier role to fill. No one expected anything from Thora, but people will expect miracles from their queen. I force myself to finish the tea and watch warily as he does the same.

  Already his eyelids begin to grow heavy, but he fights it. “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Everyone keeps asking me that—you, Heron, even Art—and I keep saying I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. But I’m not.”

  “I know,” he says, frowning. His eyes are growing unfocused now, slipping over mine. He tries to blink away the sleep. “I don’t think any of us are.”

  “I don’t think we ever will be,” I admit.

  Blaise is quiet for a moment. He sags back against the pillows. “When Ampelio rescued me from the mines, I told him we should run. That you seemed to be perfectly fine being kept in the castle.” He glances at me to see my reaction. “It’s what everyone said; it’s the impression the Kaiser was careful to give, unless he was having you punished. He wanted us to believe that you were happy to go along with his rule so that all of us would stay in line as well. But Ampelio never doubted you.”

  I swallow, trying not to think about the last time I saw Ampelio alive, the second before I plunged that sword through his back.

  “Did he ever say anything to you about…Did he see me as his queen or…”

  Blaise knows what I’m asking.

  “He was careful to only ever speak of you as his queen,” he tells me, but before my heart can sink too low, he continues. “After Ampelio rescued me from the mine a few years ago, we came to the capital. We were so close to infiltrating the castle and rescuing you, but it fell through, and Ampelio didn’t want to risk your safety for anything less than a sure thing. But it was…” He swallows. “Dragonsbane had just sunk a cargo ship with thousands of gems, set for the North.”

  I stiffen, knowing the incident he’s referring to. Dragonsbane sank a ship and I paid the price, as I always did. I was twelve or thirteen at the time, but I still have the scars from that punishment.

  “We watched,” he tells me. “Ampelio insisted. He said we had to see it, to know what we were fighting for. But I had to hold him back that day, and I almost couldn’t do it. That fury, that desperation…it wasn’t a subject wanting to protect his queen. It was a father trying to protect his daughter.”

  I swallow, feeling tears burn behind my eyes. I close them tight, trying to keep the tears at bay, and squeeze Blaise’s hand.

  “Thank you.”

  He squeezes my hand back, but neither of us pulls away. The question that’s been weighing on my mind since I saw Cress bubbles up.

  “What is Encatrio made of?” I ask. I think about the cell bars, scalding hot after Cress touched them. I think I might already know part of the answer, but I need to hear him say it.

  He frowns. “Water, mostly,” he says. “It isn’t what it’s made out of that makes it deadly, it’s where the water comes from.”

  “The Fire Mine,” I guess.

  He nods. “There’s a stream deep in the mine, almost impossible to find. As far as I know, the Kalovaxians have never found it, though they don’t go in the mines for more than a few minutes a day to avoid the mine madness, so they’ve never explored much. Why do you ask?”

  “You know Cress survived it,” I say slowly. “But it…changed her.”

  “I saw,” he says.

  I shake my head. “Not just like that.”

  I tell him about the cell bars, how her touch had turned them hot.

  “In theory, it’s possible,” he says after a moment. “The magic in the mines affects the water the same way it affects the gems, the same way it affects a person’s blood. It kills most people, but…”

  “But not everyone,” I finish. “I never heard of Encatrio blessing anyone, though.”

  He yawns again, trying to shake the exhaustion from himself before slouching down further in the bed.

  “No, but we were children and that was hardly the sort of thing anyone would have told us. And it wouldn’t have h
appened often; the victim would have needed not just to be blessed by the gods, but by Houzzah in particular.”

  My stomach twists. “How could Houzzah have blessed a Kalovaxian?” I ask Blaise quietly. “How could he have blessed her?”

  He doesn’t answer. I turn to look at him to see that his eyes are closed and his face is slack. Asleep, he looks like a different person entirely. Giving him the drugged tea was wrong, I think, but I don’t regret it. I keep hold of his hand in the dark. I hold it tight in my own until it doesn’t feel so hot. Until it feels the same as mine.

  * * *

  —

  Crescentia haunts my dreams. In them we are children again, playing in the underground pools and pretending to be sirens. Our laughter echoes through the cavern as we splash and dive while her nanny watches from far away. I arc down, keeping my legs together so they look like a tail. When I breach the surface again and open my eyes, the scene has changed.

  Now I’m standing on the raised platform at the center of the capital square, and around me everyone jeers—Kalovaxians and Astreans alike. They are all shouting for my death, begging for it. Even Søren. Even Blaise. Behind me, I hear a sword being pulled from its sheath, and I turn, expecting the Kaiser or the Theyn. But it’s Cress, holding her father’s sword in her hands.

  Like the last time I saw her, her neck is black and flaking, skin pale gray, hair charred white. My mother’s crown gleams black on top of her head. She stares at me with such hate in her eyes, even as her mouth curves into a smile. Hands shove me to my knees and she comes closer, her steps dainty as ever.

  She crouches down next to me and touches my shoulder gently, drawing my gaze to hers.

  “You’re my heart’s sister, little lamb,” she says, smiling wider. Her teeth have turned to sharp points.

  She kisses my cheek like she has so many times before, but this time the print left behind is warm and sticky like blood. She stands back up, drawing the sword over her head and bringing it arcing down toward me, whistling through the air.

  Time slows enough for me to realize that even now, I don’t hate her. I pity her, I fear her, but I also love her.

  I close my eyes and wait for the blade to find its mark.

  * * *

  —

  I wake up in a cold sweat. The weight of the last day is heavy on my shoulders, but it’s almost welcome. It’s a reminder that I am alive, that I have survived to see another day—even if it is also a reminder of those who didn’t. Elpis. Olaric. Hylla. Santino. I say a silent prayer to the gods that they are greeted warmly in the After, like the heroes they are.

  Next to me, Blaise shifts in his sleep, brow furrowing deeply. His head jerks to one side and he lets out a whimper that clenches around my heart. Even asleep, he is not at peace.

  I roll onto my side to face him and place my hand on his chest, fingers spread. He’s gained weight over the last few weeks in the palace, but I can still feel the hard line of his sternum through cloth and flesh. He continues to thrash for a moment, but I keep my hand steady until he calms and the tension smooths from his expression. Once more, he looks like the boy I knew in a different lifetime, before the world made ruins of us.

  So many people I loved have been wrenched from my grasp. I have watched as the life left their eyes. I have mourned them and I have envied them and I have missed them every moment.

  I will not lose Blaise, too.

  Rustling comes from behind me and I pull away from Blaise, turning over to find Søren watching me with dazed, half-shut eyes.

  Seeing him like this, bound and bewildered, causes guilt to rise in my chest until I can hardly breathe. Then Artemisia’s voice echoes in my head: We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them. I cannot apologize for doing what I had to.

  “Was it ever real?” he asks, breaking the fragile silence.

  I wish he would rage or yell or fight. It would be better than having him look at me like this, like I’ve destroyed him. Søren might be a prodigy warrior, but just now he’s nothing more than a heartbroken boy.

  It would be better to lie to him. It would make all of this easier, for both of us. Let him hate me and maybe one day I’ll be able to hate him, too. But I’ve lied to him too many times already.

  “Every time I look at you, I see your father,” I say. The cruelest twist of the knife I can deliver, the words hurt me as much as him.

  His body grows rigid and his fists clench. For a second, I’m worried he’ll tear through the ropes like they’re little more than straw, but he doesn’t. He only watches me, cold blue eyes glowing in the dim light.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  I dig my teeth hard into my bottom lip, as if that can keep the words in. “Yes,” I admit finally. “There was something real.”

  He softens, the fight going out of him. He shakes his head. “We could have fixed things, Thora—”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap, before remembering Heron and Blaise are sleeping. This is not a conversation I want them to hear. I lower my voice but emphasize each word. “My name is Theodosia.”

  He shakes his head. It makes little difference to him—a name is a name—but to me it means the world. “Theodosia, then. I am on your side, you know that.”

  “I do,” I say after a breath. I mean it. He went against his father for me; he was willing to leave behind his country and his people.

  “Then why…” He trails off, finding the answer on his own. “Because you would lose their respect. They would say that you were letting your emotions cloud your judgment, that you were putting me before your country.”

  “And they wouldn’t even be wrong,” I say. “I can’t do that, Søren.”

  If I didn’t know about the berserkers, would I have betrayed him?

  But that’s the trouble with ifs. Once they start, there is no stopping them.

  If he hadn’t told me that ridiculous cat story, could I have killed him?

  If he hadn’t looked at me with such resignation, such self-loathing, could I have driven that knife home?

  Paths stretch around me like cracks in a mirror, growing longer and fracturing off until I’m not sure where I stand anymore.

  Søren shakes his head. “We want the same thing,” he says. “We want peace.”

  A laugh bubbles up in my throat before I can stop it. It’s such a simple solution, and such an impossible one.

  “After a decade of oppression, Søren, after tens of thousands of my people have been killed and even more forced into insanity in the mines. After they have been experimented on. After you let them be used as weapons. How can you think peace is possible between our people?” It takes all my self-control not to shout, and I have to breathe deeply to calm myself. “Between us?”

  “Isn’t it?” he asks. “I know that I love you.”

  The words give me pause, and for a moment I don’t know how to respond. He said that before, in the tunnel, but with everything happening there was no time to dwell on it. Søren isn’t the type to throw the word love around lightly, and I don’t doubt that he thinks he means it. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

  “You love Thora, and Thora doesn’t exist. You don’t even know me.”

  He doesn’t reply as I turn my back to him, curling my legs up to my chest. Tears sting at my eyes, but I hold them in. Nothing I said was untrue, but I wish it were. I wish there were some way for me to save my country and him. But there isn’t, and I made my choice. I might care for him, but I can’t forgive him for the berserkers, and I doubt he can forgive me for this betrayal, no matter what he says.

  The earth between us has been scorched and frozen and salted for good measure. It’s not a place where anything will grow again.

  I’m not sure how long we stay silent, but I’m acutely aware of his presence, his eyes on m
e, his pain. I almost wish I’d taken the drugged tea. Oblivion would be better than this.

  Blaise shudders in his sleep, arms flailing to fight whatever nightmares plague him. I hold his wrists, pinning them down before he hurts himself or me. When he’s calm again, I release him, smoothing his short hair away from his face.

  “It’s not a cure,” Søren says, his voice gentle. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

  I keep my back to him and curl in tighter, fitting myself against Blaise’s side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

  “Giving him a sleeping draft is like using a tea with special herbs to dull pain—it works for a time, but when it wears off, the pain is still there, just as bad. We tried similar things in the mines. It didn’t change anything, in the end. There is no cure for mine madness.”

  Hearing the term sends a jolt through me. I roll over again to face him and the pity in his eyes sours my stomach.

  “You’re wrong,” I say, the words barely a whisper.

  He shakes his head. “I saw hundreds of men going through the same thing after the mines. First they can’t sleep; then they lose control of their powers. It’s only a matter of time before he turns volatile.”

  “He just has trouble sleeping,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. “After everything he went through in the mines, it’s hardly surprising.”

  “He’s one of the ones who tied me up,” Søren replies. “I remember his skin was hot.”

  “Some people run warmer than others.”

  “There have been other things, though, haven’t there?” he presses.

  I think of the Kaiser’s chair breaking. I think of the throne room, when the Theyn’s whip bit into my back, the hairline cracks spreading out on the stones beneath my feet like spider legs. I think of the fear in Blaise’s eyes as he told me later how there was something different about his gift. I think of how he told me he started the earthquake at the Air Mine because he lost control. How even Ampelio was frightened of him.