Ash Princess(Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(47)

He hesitates for a few heartbeats. “I think so,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Artemisia asks.

I cross to her wall. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you two,” I say, slipping the hairpin through her hole and then the earring through Heron’s.

“A bit small, but it’ll do,” Artemisia says. “Strange setting, though, isn’t it?”

“The Kalovaxian courtiers like to wear them as jewelry,” I explain. “Water Gems for beauty, Air Gems for grace, Fire Gems for warmth, Earth Gems for strength.”

“You’re joking,” Heron says, spitting the words out like they’re poisonous. “They use them as jewelry?”

“Very expensive jewelry, as I understand it,” I add. “They sell them for a fortune to countries in the North.”

“Believe me, I hate the Kalovaxians as much as anyone, but I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Artemisia says. “Ampelio wore his gem as a necklace, and so did all the other Guardians.”

“A pendant,” I correct, at the same time as Blaise and Heron.

“It was earned, not bought,” Blaise says. “And it meant something, not just decoration. It was an honor, not a fashion trend.”

“It was a symbol of the gods’ favor,” Heron adds, more force in his voice than I’ve heard from him. “If there was ever any doubt about the Kalovaxians being denied an Afterlife…” He trails off, the gems of the earring clinking lightly as he turns it over in his hands.

Artemisia snorts. “If the gods cared about any of this—or exist at all, for that matter—surely they would have stepped in by now.”

The casual disdain in her words takes me by surprise, and from the stunned silence that follows her words, I know I’m not alone in that.

“You’re a Guardian,” I point out finally. “Surely you believe in the gods.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “I believe in surviving,” she says, but there is a sharpness in her voice that keeps me from asking more. “That’s been hard enough.”

“But you were blessed,” Blaise says. “We all were. We were given power.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt blessed,” she admits. “I was given power, I can’t deny that, but I have a hard time imagining it was given by gods. I figured it was something more chemical. Something in my blood—and yours—made us better receptors for the magic in the mines than other people.”

“You believe it was just chance?” Heron asks, bewildered. “We were chosen more or less at random and others weren’t?”

I hear her shift behind her wall. “It’s better than the alternative, in my view,” she says brusquely. “Why would the gods choose to bless me over everyone else in that mine? There were children there who went mine-mad. I can’t believe there are gods who would spare me and kill them, and if they do exist, I want nothing to do with them.” Her voice is all hard edges, but there’s an undercurrent of pain there.

I might not know Artemisia well, but I know if I asked her about it, she’d stab me with that hairpin before I could finish the question.

Through the wall, I can almost feel Blaise’s thoughts running the same path as mine. Throughout the past decade, the idea of the After has been all that’s kept me going, and I don’t have to ask Blaise to know that a part of him yearns for it as well. I’ve imagined my mother there, waiting for me. I’ve dreamt about her arms wrapping around me once again, the smell of flowers and earth still clinging to her, the way it did when she was alive.

It’s one of the things I think of to stave off the temptation to use a Fire Gem. Tempting as that power may be, using a gem without the proper training—without being chosen by the gods—is sacrilege, and sacrilegious souls aren’t allowed into the After. They’re doomed to wander the earth as shades for the rest of eternity.

But I can’t deny that Artemisia’s words have lodged deep in my gut. There’s a measure of truth in them that I can’t deny—why would the gods allow us to suffer like we have for the last decade? Why wouldn’t they have struck the Kalovaxians down as soon as they set foot on Astrean soil? Why didn’t they protect us?

I don’t like that I’m asking these questions. I don’t like that I have no answers. Blaise and Heron must be similarly at a loss, because we lapse into silence.

When it gets to be too much, I clear my throat. “Well, I’m sure you’re glad to know your labor in the mines was for such a pretty cause,” I say, changing the subject. It must be close to teatime now, which means Hoa will be in soon with a tray of tea and snacks for me, since I don’t have any other plans for the afternoon. “All of you turn away, I need to get out of this hideous thing.”

I tug at the dress. It’ll be difficult to get off without assistance, but the neck and sleeves are so tight it’s difficult to breathe, and the heavy velvet itches. Hoa might only be a few more minutes, but I’m not sure I want to wait even that long.

“I wouldn’t change into anything too comfortable,” Blaise says, his voice muffled, hopefully because his face is turned away from me. “I have a feeling the Prinz will be paying you a visit later tonight.”