Ash Princess (Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(80)

I tie the last of the four rosettes and gather them in my hands.

“Happy Belsiméra,” I say into the silence.

Heron shifts behind his wall. “It isn’t—” he starts, but breaks off.

“Is it?” Blaise asks.

I shrug. “Elpis says it is, and I trust her to know.”

I thread a rosette through each wall in turn, squishing them a bit to fit through the holes. “I know it isn’t much,” I say when I have only one left—for Elpis the next time I see her. “But I want you all to know that even when we disagree on things, you are my friends—no, my family. I trust you, though I know I don’t always know how to show it. And I hope you all know that I would give my own life for yours without hesitation. I will never be able to properly express how grateful I am not only that you came here to help me, but that you’ve stayed when I haven’t made it easy. Thank you.”

For a long moment, none of them speak, and I worry I’ve gone too far, said too much. They’ll think me a sentimental fool who has no business being anyone’s queen.

Finally Heron clears his throat.

“You’re family,” he says, which is somehow so much better than him saying I’m his queen. “Family doesn’t walk away.”

“Besides,” Art adds, “I find it amusing when you try to argue. That’s when I like you best.”

My laugh takes me by surprise, but hers comes a second later. She is my friend, I realize. Not the same way Cress was, not the kind I enjoy light conversations with, not the kind I dance with or try on dresses with. I might not always like her, but she is here when I need her in a way Cress couldn’t be. The thought of it causes a lump to rise in my throat, but I try to ignore it. Belsiméra is a happy occasion.

“When we were children,” Blaise says, a smile in his voice, “you used to always try to give me a flower, do you remember?”

“No,” I admit, sitting down on my bed and looking at the flower in my hand. It’s not as pretty as the one Elpis gave me, but I hope she’ll like it. “It was so long ago, it’s a bit fuzzy. I remember making them with my mother, though, much prettier than these.”

“They were,” he agrees. “And in the two years before the siege, you would always try to give me the prettiest one you had and I would always run from you.”

“I don’t remember that,” I say, looking at his wall. “Why?”

“Because your flowers always came with strings attached,” he says. “You kissed everyone you gave one to.”

“I did not,” I say with a laugh.

“You did,” he insists. “Every Belsiméra, you would prance through the castle with your basket of flowers, passing them out to everyone you saw and demanding a kiss in return. Everyone thought you were the funniest thing, but they all obliged. No one could ever say no to you. Not because of her title,” he adds quickly, to the others. “Everyone loved her.”

“I grew up in this tiny village on the eastern coast,” Heron says. “Even we heard about you there, how everyone who met you cherished you.”

The words warm me and bring out a hazy memory, though I’m not sure how much of it is real. I remember the wicker basket hanging on my arm. I remember maids and cooks and Guardians crouching in front of me or lifting me up to kiss my cheek or my forehead and saying Thank you, Princess. I’ll treasure it always. Happy Belsiméra.

“Blaise clearly didn’t,” I say, teasing.

He hesitates for a minute. “I did,” he says. “But you were still a girl chasing me around and demanding a kiss. It wasn’t anything personal. At that age, I was refusing to kiss even my mother.”

“We never really celebrated on the ship,” Artemisia admits. “My mother is Astrean, but the crew comes from everywhere. If we celebrated every holiday, we never would have gotten anything done. This is my first.”

“Do you not know the story, then?” I ask her.

“I don’t think so. My mother taught me the names of the gods, but she isn’t one for stories,” she admits.

I stumble over the beginning, but by the time I reach the part where Suta makes the flowers for Glaidi, my mother’s voice has taken over and the story spills out without me thinking about it. I’m more audience than I am speaker, and when I tell her about Belsimia growing from the love and friendship between the two gods, tears are leaking from my own eyes.

“In the version I heard,” Heron says quietly, “it wasn’t Glaidi’s tear that caused Belsimia to grow from the flower, it was when she kissed Suta.”

“My parents used to argue about whether Belsimia grew from the flower or was transformed from the flower itself,” Blaise says.

“I can’t imagine your parents arguing about anything,” I tell him. “They were always so happy.”

Blaise is quiet for so long I worry I’ve upset him. “My father used to say they argued because they cared too much. He said I would understand when I was older.”

The words feel more like a confession than a memory, and even with the others present, I know it’s meant for me. Warmth rises to my cheeks and I turn my face away so he can’t see.

He clears his throat.

“While I was out…calming down after the accident with the Kaiser, I did some thinking,” he says. “About the Theyn’s daughter…” He hesitates. “It isn’t necessary. You were right.” It pains him to say the words, I can tell, but it doesn’t bring me any joy to hear them now that Cress showed me who she really is.