Ash Princess (Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(62)

I read the letter twice, trying to smother the giddiness his words bring out in me. If I were alone, I might smile. I might press the letter to my heart, my lips. I might imagine him, in his cabin with only a candle for light, laboring over the words and chewing on the end of his quill as he tries to put his thoughts on the paper. I might wonder what, exactly, he dreamt about me.

But I’m never alone, and for once, I’m grateful for it. My Shadows’ eyes dissect every twitch in my expression, reminding me who I am and what’s at stake. Especially after our argument earlier, I’m sure they are looking for signs that I’m having doubts, and I can’t let them know that I am.

I can’t let them know that there is a part of me falling for the Prinz they want me to kill.

“He doesn’t say anything interesting, no mention of Vecturia,” I say, crumpling the paper in my hands and beginning to rip it into shreds. “It’s a love letter, nothing about what he’s doing. The seas are smooth, he expects the trip to be easy and quick. Of course, this was a few days ago. He said he’d be back before the new moon. That’s only two weeks away.”

“He should be getting to Vecturia today, if the seas are calm,” Artemisia says. Her voice is still sharp at the edges, our earlier argument unforgotten.

“It’s a shame none of you are Fire Guardians,” I say, looking down at the scraps of paper cradled in my hands and wishing I could burn them. The pieces are no bigger than my pinky nails, but I wouldn’t put it past the Kaiser to have someone rifle through my rubbish and reassemble them.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I could start a fire. If the legend is true and Houzzah’s blood truly runs through my veins, it should be simple, even without training or a gem. I’ve felt the draw of the Fire Gem more intensely than any of the others, the strong temptation to call on it and use whatever power I can summon. But I won’t test that theory. Not ever. Before the siege, I’d often heard stories of humans who thought themselves worthy of power they weren’t blessed with in the mines. I remember how the gods punished them for their pride or recklessness. I can’t risk their wrath, now more than ever, when one mistake could ruin me. Could ruin Astrea forever.

I hear Artemisia’s words again, her doubt in the gods and their power. It’s been nagging at me, this suspicion that maybe she has a point. Why haven’t the gods saved Astrea if they love us so much? If I’m truly descended from Houzzah, how could he have let the Kalovaxians treat me this way and done nothing? I don’t like to think about that or ask those questions, but I can’t help it.

But my mother is waiting for me in the After, I have to believe that. If she’s not—if there is no After—I don’t know what I’ll do. The idea of seeing her again one day is the only thing that’s gotten me out of bed some mornings. Legend says that using a gem without the gods’ blessing is sacrilege and sacrilegious souls aren’t allowed into the After. As much as I want to feel fire at my fingertips and bring the world around me to ash, I won’t jeopardize the After for it.

“Art,” Blaise prompts, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“I can help with that,” she says.

I hear the sliding of a door opening and closing before my own door opens and Artemisia slips in, drawing her hood back and showing me her face for the first time. I swallow my surprise—she doesn’t look at all how I expected her to.

She’s so slight she could almost pass for a child, though I would guess she’s close to my own age, maybe a little older. Much to my surprise, she isn’t Astrean, or at least not completely. She has the same tan skin and dark eyes, but hers are hooded. Her heart-shaped face is sharply angled with high, freckled cheekbones, and her mouth is small and round. Since I know Dragonsbane is Astrean, I would have to assume that Artemisia’s father is from somewhere in the East, though I haven’t met enough people from those lands to hazard a more specific guess.

The most extraordinary thing about her is her hair. It hangs down to her shoulder blades in a straight, thick sheet, white at the roots and a shocking cerulean blue at the ends. It shifts and changes in the light, like water, mirroring the Water Gem pin embedded in it.

Some Guardians show physical manifestations of their gifts. There was an old story of an Earth Guardian whose skin turned gray and hard, but most of the markings are subtle, like scars. Ampelio once showed me his: a bright red burn over his heart that looked fresh, but he said it had been with him since he finished his training.

She gives me an irritated look, and I realize I’ve been staring. She shakes her hair back over her shoulders and it fades to a dark auburn the same color as mine. Is she mimicking me intentionally? I want to ask her, but she’s already annoyed with me. I don’t want to anger her further.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Your hair—it just took me by surprise.”

“You should try waking up with it,” she says, her expression unwavering. I don’t know her well enough to be able to tell if she’s still angry or if this is simply how she is.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, hoping for a smile. She only shrugs.

“It’s a burden,” she replies. “When I escaped the mines, everyone was looking for a girl with blue hair, and I didn’t have enough power without a Water Gem to change it for more than a few minutes. Do you have a bowl to put the pieces in?”