Ash Princess (Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(73)
We turn down an empty hallway that leads to the east wing of the palace. Talking is still too much of a risk, but as soon as she’s sure we’re alone, Elpis grabs my hand. Her fingers are all bone and another wave of guilt slams through me. I ate a five-course meal last night, but when was the last time she ate more than a bowl of broth?
She presses something into my palm before dropping her hand. When I look, there is a small, crumpled flower made of scraps of pink silk I recognize from one of Cress’s gowns. Each petal has been painstakingly cut and arranged around a single pearl no bigger than a freckle. The memory is there, but it slips through my fingers like smoke.
“Happy Belsiméra, Your Highness,” she murmurs, her smile rare and wide.
I close my palm over the flower and tuck it into my pocket and out of sight. My mother and I used to make dozens of silk flowers together for Belsiméra for those closest to us, though my tiny fingers were clumsy and most of my flowers turned out shapeless and unusable. She enlisted seamstresses to make hundreds more, enough for all the Guardians and the palace staff.
Belsiméra—the birthday of Belsimia, goddess of love and beauty. In the story my mother used to tell me, the earth goddess, Glaidi, always loathed the fall, when her flowers would die and her trees would grow skeletal. She mourned the loss of color in the world, the loss of beauty.
One year, when the season turned and Glaidi grew melancholy and distant, the water goddess, Suta, cheered her up by crafting a hundred flowers from silk and presenting them to her friend. When Glaidi saw them, she was so moved by the display of love and beauty that she began to weep tears of joy. One of the tears landed on one of the silk flowers, and from that bloom, Belsimia was born.
To celebrate Belsimia and the deep friendship that created her, we used to craft silk flowers and give them to friends and loved ones throughout the day. At night, there was a celebration in the capital, with dancing and sweets and silk flowers everywhere.
I remember making the flowers with my mother and passing them out to everyone who worked and lived in the palace. I remember the festival, when Ampelio scooped me up in his arms and swung me around in a dance until I was delirious with giggles. I remember it was my favorite night of the year, even more so than the ones with gifts.
“Thank you, Elpis,” I say, looking at the younger girl, whose cheeks flush pink. “I’m sorry, I don’t…” I trail off, biting my lip, embarrassed. “I’d forgotten.”
She nods, her eyes solemn. “We celebrate in the slave quarter still, but we have to do it very quietly. If anyone knew…” She shakes her head. “I wanted to give one to you. You’ll keep it hidden, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I say, smiling. “Thank you.”
I turn to start down the hall again, but Elpis touches my arm, stopping me.
“I need to do something,” she whispers.
“Elpis—” I start, but she interrupts.
“Anything, please,” she says. “I can help, if you’ll let me.”
Her dark eyes are so earnest that it’s easy to forget she’s only thirteen. In the old Astrea, she would still be considered a child.
“I need you to stay safe,” I tell her gently.
“But—”
“The time is coming,” I murmur in Astrean, casting a glance down the hall for anyone who might be listening. “I need your patience.”
She bites her lip and releases my arm. “I just want to help,” she says, sounding even younger than she is.
The desperation in her voice clutches at my heart. “You are helping,” I assure her. “You’ve already done so much.”
Her eyes dart up to mine, searching for any sign that I’m patronizing her. Finally she bows her head slightly.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she says.
She doesn’t say the title the way the others do; there are no strings attached. I hold her full trust in my hands and it is a terribly fragile thing. I will not break it.
COFFEE HAS BEEN SET UP at one of the wrought-iron tables on the public sun pavilion. Striped violet and white silk awnings hang over the large veranda, flapping in the wind, while gold candles lend warmth to each table, aided by the Fire Gems studding the holders. Though winter is fast approaching and the sun is becoming a rarer and rarer sight, the space is still alive with court activity. If anything, the Kaiserin’s death has reanimated the courtiers. They are bursting with fresh gossip now about who the Kaiser will marry next, and each great family has a daughter they are eager to sacrifice for an extra helping of favor.
I count twelve of them now, some younger than me, and each in a dress far too revealing for the weather. Everyone but me, it seems, has already moved on from mourning gray though there are three weeks left of the traditional Kalovaxian mourning period. They all shiver in their silks and sip coffee with shaking hands, surrounded by circles of fussing family members as they wait, just in case the Kaiser decides to make an appearance.
Across from me, Cress studies a book of poems, rarely looking up even though she invited me today. We still haven’t spoken of our conversation in the garden, but I can feel it wedging between us and casting a shadow over every word we speak. I want to bring it up again now, to push her the way I didn’t have the chance to then, but every time I try, the words die in my throat.