Ash Princess(Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(9)

Because I cannot be trusted with an Astrean slave, the Kaiser gave me Hoa instead. With her light gold skin and straight black hair that falls to her waist, I assume she must be from one of the eastern lands the Kalovaxians invaded before Astrea, but she’s never told me which one. She couldn’t if she wanted to, because the Kaiser’s sewn her mouth shut. Thick black thread crosses over her lips in four X’s from corner to corner, taken out every few days to allow for a meal before being sewn again. Immediately after the siege, I had an Astrean maid named Felicie, who was fifteen. I thought of her as a sister, and when she told me she had a plan for our escape, I followed her without question, so sure that all my dreams of rescue were coming true. I even believed my mother was still alive somewhere, waiting for me.

I was a fool.

Instead of giving me freedom, Felicie delivered me straight to the Kaiser, just as he’d instructed her.

He personally gave me ten lashes, and then he slit Felicie’s throat, telling me he had no more use for her. He said it was to teach me a lesson that would last longer than my welts, and I suppose it did. I learned to trust no one. Not even Cress, really.

Hoa gathers my bloody dress in her arms and nods toward the washbasin, a silent instruction to get cleaned up, before she leaves again to launder the dress.

When she’s gone, I sit down at my vanity and rinse my mouth with water from the basin, getting rid of the taste of sickness. I dip my hands in next to clean the specks of blood from them. My father’s blood; my blood.

Again I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I force myself to take deep breaths until it passes. The eyes of my Shadows weigh heavy on me, waiting for me to fall apart so they can report it to the Kaiser.

In the vanity mirror, I look the same as I did this morning. Every hair curled and pinned in the Kalovaxian style, face powdered, eyes rimmed with kohl and lips stained red. Everything is the same, even though I am not.

I take the small white towel hanging over the edge of the bowl and dip it into the water before rubbing it over my face. I scrub until all the powders and paints come away, coloring the towel as they do. It took Hoa the better part of an hour to apply them this morning, but it takes me less than a minute to wash them all off.

My mother’s face looks back at me from the mirror. Her freckles dance over my nose and cheeks like unmapped constellations. Her olive skin glows like topaz in the candlelight. Her hair shines, the color of deep mahogany, though hers was always down and wild, never held back so severely from her face like mine. The eyes are not her eyes, though. Instead, Ampelio’s dark hazel eyes stare back at me, deep-set, with heavy lashes.

Though these are flaws that Kalovaxian beauty standards demand I hide, I remember how people spoke about my mother’s beauty, how they wrote poems and sang songs in her honor.

I blink and I see the Theyn’s knife pressing into my throat—into my mother’s throat. I feel the bite of the steel, see beads of blood well up. I blink again and it’s only me. Only a broken girl.

Theodosia Eirene Houzzara. The name whispers through me again, followed by my mother’s dying words.

Would she forgive me for killing Ampelio? Would she understand why I did it? Or does she turn her back on me from her place in the After?

He’s with her now, I have to believe that. He’s with her because he gave his life to spare me, though that isn’t fair. He risked everything for Astrea, while I have done nothing but try to appease the monster who destroyed us.

I can’t play the Kaiser’s game anymore. I can’t follow his rules and keep him amused while my people wear chains. I can’t laugh and talk about poetry with Crescentia. I can’t speak in their hard, ugly language. I can’t respond to a name that isn’t the one my mother gave me.

Ampelio was the last person I thought could rescue me, my last hope that this nightmare could end one day. I thought I’d killed that hope when I killed him, but I realize now that I didn’t. The hope inside me is not smothered yet. It is dying, yes, with only a few embers left. But I’ve seen fires rekindled with less.

Hoa still hasn’t returned, so I paint my face again, covering up every last trace of my mother. My true name feels heavy on my tongue after hearing Ampelio speak it earlier, and I want to hear it again. I want to say it, to banish Thora from my mind for good, but I don’t dare.

Theodosia, Theodosia, Theodosia.

Something in me is waking up. This is not my home. I am not their prize. I am not content with the life they have so kindly spared.

Ampelio can’t save me anymore, but I won’t let his sacrifice be in vain. I have to figure out how to save myself.





THE DRESS THE KAISER SENDS for me to wear is bright vermilion with no sleeves and very little back. It’s similar to the loose, simple chiton styles my people wore before the Conquering. Strangely, in recent years, Astrean styles have become popular among the younger courtiers, as opposed to the structured heavy velvets the Kalovaxians wore when they first arrived. But I don’t think the Kaiser picked it with style in mind. With my shoulders and back bare, my scars are exposed and his message can be read all the clearer.

Astrea is defeated. Astrea is broken. Astrea is no more.

I’ve always been ashamed of the red, gnarled skin of my back. The record of Astrea’s rebellions can be traced there. Each time Astrean pirates sank one of the Kaiser’s ships, each time one of the mines tried to revolt, each time a slave spit at their master, it was carved into my skin. The scars are ugly and monstrous and a constant reminder of what I am.