Ash Princess(Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(114)

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 S?ren. 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 S?ren 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. S?ren 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.”