Ash Princess

THE LAST PERSON WHO CALLED me Ash Princess was the heart’s sister I orphaned.

We played together as children, learning to dance and pretending to be fantastical creatures, but when we meet again it will be as enemies. I saw the hatred in her eyes, felt her wrath like a hurricane ripping at my skin. She won’t stop until she has my head, and I did that to her. This I do regret.

But she was right, in a way. I was a princess made of ashes; there is nothing left of me to burn.

Now it’s time for a queen to rise.

As I deepen the kiss, I slide the dagger down my free arm until its handle is clutched tightly in my hand. It takes some maneuvering to unsheathe it, but he’s lost in my arms and his own pain so deeply he doesn’t notice anything. Not until the sharp point of my blade is pressed to his back.

His lips break away from mine and his blue eyes fly open, searching for answers that he discovers quickly. Shock registers on his face, but it’s all too soon replaced by resignation. The lump in his throat bobs as he swallows and gives an infinitesimal nod.

“An inch lower,” he whispers against my lips. When I comply, a smile ghosts across his face, though it doesn’t make it to his eyes. “There it is. Now strike hard and true, Thora.”

I don’t want to see his face when I kill him, but I can’t look away. “My name is…” I break off, taking a steadying breath. “My name is Theodosia,” I say quietly.

Confusion flickers across his expression before clearing. “Theodosia.” It’s the first time my real name has crossed his lips, and it sounds almost reverent. He rests his forehead against mine so that his eyes are all I see. “You know what to do.”

“I’ve withstood his wrath time and time again for things I didn’t even do. But I know who I am because of it; I know what matters to me and what I’m willing to fight for. Can you say the same?”

He swallows. “I know that I’m willing to fight for you,” he says quietly.

I don’t doubt that he means it, especially after the banquet. Søren wants so badly to be different from his father. And I wanted this to be easy, one way or another, but I feel like I’m being torn in two.

My dagger presses against the skin of my forearm from where it’s hidden in the sleeve of my cloak, but the weight isn’t uncomfortable as it was earlier. It’s almost welcome, an anchor in a stormy sea and the only thing keeping me from getting lost in the waves. I can’t be taken over by anger, not when there is still so much to do and time is running out.

“Thora,” Søren says, stepping closer to me. This time, I don’t move away. I don’t flinch when he reaches his hand up to touch my cheek. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, how I wish I could go back and undo it. I would, in a heartbeat.”

I am a princess made of ashes, after all. I can’t help but fall apart.

The time has come for little birds to fly. The words echo in my mind, in Ampelio’s voice and in my mother’s. The time has come to avenge them, finally. The time has come to reclaim what is mine, no matter what it costs me.

My hair is plastered to my forehead with sweat, despite the cold. The room is still, the jeers and shouts from the audience falling silent—at least to me. Nothing exists outside of my body, outside of this pain that I know will consume me.

My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara, Queen of Astrea, and I will endure this.

The whip cracks again and I feel it all the way to my toes. My arms ache from the guards’ grip. I can’t stand up, can’t stand tall the way my mother would have wanted me to. All I can do is scream and cry.

My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara, Queen of Astrea.

Another crack that bites through skin and muscle and bone. Another wound that will never heal.

My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara.

Screams and tears and fire scratch at my throat, but I swallow them all down, down, down. I cannot appear weak, not with my Shadows watching me. But someone is always watching me, aren’t they? Always expecting something of me, always waiting for me to slip.

With calm, measured steps, I cross to the water basin sitting on my vanity and dip my hands into it. The hands he touched. I scrub them until they are red and raw, but it doesn’t do any good. I still feel the Kaiser’s touch. I still feel the threat of him wrapped around my neck like a noose.

There is a pumice stone next to the basin, so I use that, digging it into every part of my hands, the palms, the backs, my fingers, even the spaces in between. It doesn’t matter, it’s never enough. Even when my knuckles bleed and turn the water pink. Even when my skin turns numb.

Screams and tears and fire scratch at my throat, but I swallow them all down, down, down. I cannot appear weak, not with my Shadows watching me. But someone is always watching me, aren’t they? Always expecting something of me, always waiting for me to slip.

With calm, measured steps, I cross to the water basin sitting on my vanity and dip my hands into it. The hands he touched. I scrub them until they are red and raw, but it doesn’t do any good. I still feel the Kaiser’s touch. I still feel the threat of him wrapped around my neck like a noose.

“The Prinz?” Blaise asks.

I don’t answer him except to nod. Søren’s handwriting is a sloppy, rushed scrawl that makes it difficult to read.

Dear Thora,

I dreamt of you last night and when I woke this morning, I could have sworn your scent lingered in the air around me. It’s been like this all week. You haunt my mind both sleeping and waking. I keep wanting to share my thoughts with you, or ask you for your opinion on things. Usually I look forward to time away from court, when it’s only my crew and me at sea. There are no pressures, no formalities, no games apart from those played with cards and ale. But now I would give anything to be back in that godsforsaken palace because you would be with me.

The short of it is: I miss you terribly, and I’m wondering if you miss me as well.

Erik has been teasing me relentlessly about you, though I suspect he’s a bit envious. If I were a better man, I would encourage him to pursue you and I would let you go, because I know he’s a safer choice for you. We both know what my father’s wrath would be if he learned how much I care for you. I’m not selfless enough to step aside, though if you asked me to, I would certainly try. You could ask me for the ocean itself and I would find a way to give it to you.

The seas are smooth and if everything goes as easily as it should, I’ll be back before the new moon with good tidings that should make my father a very happy man. If you would like to send me a letter, and I hope that you do, leave it where you found this one and trust that it will find me.

Yours,

Søren

She’s not your friend, I tell myself again and again, but I know it isn’t true. I remember the girl who saved me from bullies, who turned the shame of the ash crown into war paint when she knew she would be punished for it, who distracted me from the pain of my welts by reading to me from her favorite books. The girl who has been my friend even when she’s had a thousand reasons to shun me.

She is your enemy. But she isn’t. Crescentia might be a lot of things—selfish and calculating among them—but she isn’t cruel. She has no blood on her hands and has committed no crime but being born to the wrong country, to the wrong man. Is that something worth killing her for? Wouldn’t that make me the same as the Kaiser?