AN HOUR BEFORE THE MASKENTANZ, there’s a knock at my door. It isn’t a knock I recognize, but when I open the door I find one of Crescentia’s family’s attendants on the other side—an older Astrean man with weathered skin and clouded eyes. He passes me the large box he holds without a word before dipping his head in acknowledgment. He’s gone before I can thank him.
I bring it inside and set it on my small dining table. When I open the lid, my heart clutches painfully in my chest, though I hope my Shadows don’t notice.
Inside is a gown of layered turquoise chiffon, and when I lift it out and hold it up, the material is as light as a breath against my skin. It would be completely weightless if the outer layer of the skirt weren’t covered in thin gold disks shaped like fish scales. Or, more accurately, siren scales.
Cress and I have always loved sirens. As children, we read every book on them we could find in her father’s library, doodled pictures of them instead of taking notes during lessons—Cress even agreed to a few nausea-inducing boat rides in the hope of finding one. It didn’t matter that they were dangerous, or that sailors never managed to survive seeing them. We didn’t want to see them, anyway; we wanted to be them.
Give me fins instead of legs and I could swim to depths where the Kaiser’s men would never be able to find me. I could sing a song to drown anyone who tried to hurt me. I could be safe. For Crescentia, who had been raised to be soft and quiet and sweet, sirens were something ferocious and loud and still irresistibly lovable. That’s the difference between us, I suppose: Crescentia yearns for love, and I prefer destruction.
On chilly winter days, when Cress’s nanny would take us down to the heated pools below the palace, we spent the bulk of our time splashing in the water, pretending our legs were turning into fins. In years stained with blood and pain, those were the moments that made the rest bearable. Crescentia reminding me of them now feels like an apology for her behavior over Søren. She must think that’s why I’ve been avoiding her. If only it were that simple.
Moments after the dress arrives, Hoa enters to help me into it, her nimble fingers dancing over the minuscule hook-and-eye closures that line the back, starting below my shoulder blades and working their way down my spine. The tops of my scars will be visible above the bodice, but for the first time I refuse to be ashamed of them. They are ugly, yes, but they mean I’ve survived.
You’re a lamb in the lion’s den, child, the Kaiserin said to me. You’re surviving.
But surviving isn’t enough. Not anymore.
Hoa wraps my neck and wrists with strands of pearls, weaving a few more into my hair. The gold half-mask Crescentia sent with the dress is studded with them as well, in ornate curlicues that wrap around the eyes.
Hoa gives a hum of approval as she looks me over before turning me to face the mirror.
The ensemble is perfect, so lovely I almost feel like I’m just another courtier going to a party instead of the way I feel when the Kaiser dresses me—like a trophy on display.
Of course, I’ll still have to wear the ash crown, which will ruin the dress in a matter of moments, but just now I feel beautiful.
Another knock at the door sounds, but this time I know who it is. Hoa does as well and she bustles over to answer it. One of the Kaiser’s attendants is standing there with another box. The ash crown.
Hoa gingerly takes the box, sets it down on my vanity, and starts to open it. While her back is turned, I scramble for the dagger hidden in the secret pocket of my cloak. As Hoa takes great pains to carefully lift the crown from the box, I wedge the dagger into the bodice of my dress. I can’t imagine needing it, but keeping it close gives me the illusion of safety, at least.
“Careful,” Blaise whispers, so quietly I barely hear him.
“I know what I’m doing,” I hiss back, which might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
As my Shadows follow me down the hall, I’m more aware than ever of the ash crown shedding flakes with each step I take. I can’t count the number of times the Kaiser has made me wear one of these awful things, but this time is worse because I know they’re watching. I know it’s an insult to them as much as me. More than ever, I want to rip it from my head and crumble it to dust in my hands, but that won’t help anyone.
Footsteps fall in next to me. When I turn, only two Shadows are behind me.
“Heron,” I warn. I’m careful to move my mouth as little as possible. The hall is deserted, but the Kaiser is always watching, waiting for me to slip.
“I’ll be careful,” he replies, voice soft as ever. “I’m sorry about Art earlier, really. She has friends in the mines.”
“You must as well,” I point out.
For a moment, he’s quiet. If it weren’t for the rustle of his cloak, I would think he’d fallen back in line with the others.
“No,” he says finally. “They’ve already taken everyone I loved. My parents, my sister, my friends. My love. His name was Leonidas. You would have liked him, he had a sharp mind.” He pauses again and I know this must be difficult for him to talk about. I’m suddenly struck by the fact that I don’t know much about Heron at all. He rarely speaks up, and usually only about practical things. I thought he kept to himself because he didn’t care as much as Blaise and me, and even Art, but that isn’t true, I realize now. It’s because he’s cared too much in the past and paid for it. I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, to promise vengeance the same way I promised it to Blaise when he told me about his parents, but nothing comes out.
After a moment, he continues and I do the only thing I can. I listen.
“I watched while the guards killed them or took them away when they went mad. I saw it all, and I can only imagine how it could get worse now. But you’ve seen horrors, too.”
I can’t think of anything to say at first. “I’ve been thinking more and more that Artemisia has a point,” I say finally. “The gods from my mother’s stories wouldn’t let these things keep happening. They wouldn’t let the Kalovaxians win.”
Heron makes a sound in the back of his throat. “I wanted to be a priest before, you know. It was the only thing I ever wanted, even as a child, and there have been times over the last decade when I’ve wondered that as well, when I’ve been angry with the gods.”
I glance sideways at him, forgetting for an instant that he’s invisible. I look forward again. “Are you still?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment. “I believe that if the gods could interfere they would, but maybe that’s beyond their reach. Maybe, instead, they can give us what we need to succeed on our own.”
“Like your gift,” I say. “And Blaise’s and Art’s.”
I can’t see Heron, but I get the feeling he’s nodding. “And you,” he says.
I almost laugh but manage to hold it back. “I don’t have a gift,” I say. No one is in this hall, but I’m still careful to speak under my breath and move my mouth as little as possible.
“Maybe you are the gift,” he says. “Descended from Houzzah, the rightful queen.”
There’s that word again, queen. It doesn’t feel like a title that belongs to me, and hearing Heron describe me as a gift to my country also adds more weight to my shoulders. I know he means the words as a comfort, but they feel more like a condemnation. It hurts worse than Artemisia’s carefully thrown barbs or Blaise’s doubtful looks. He believes in me, and I’m sure I’m going to let him down somehow.
He squeezes my arm one last time before slowing his steps to fall back with the others. I turn down the corridor to the banquet hall alone.
For a ball thrown on a day’s notice, Crescentia accomplished an awful lot—not the least of which is the crowd itself. The crush of bodies glitters in the light of the grand chandelier as if the lot of them were dipped in a vat of tar and rolled through Spiritgems. They have all gathered because they admire the Theyn—or because they fear him. It’s hard to say for certain, and it matters little in the end. The result is the same: awed devotion.
They are all masked, like me, but I can tell most of them apart easily after years of paying attention to details.
The woman dressed as a peacock is the Baroness Frandhold, who carries herself like a woman ten years younger and twice as beautiful, chatting with her most recent paramour, Lord Jakob, who is only a scant few years older than me and who made an unsuccessful play for Cress’s hand shortly after she turned sixteen. The baron is nearby, but seems as unconcerned with his wife’s behavior as ever. He’s too busy flirting with a soldier.
Even though I’m not looking for her, my eyes find Lady Dagmær—but now that she’s married she’s Lady Dalgaard, as only maidens and royals use their given names. The wedding was a hasty affair, the quicker for her father to get his payment and Lord Dalgaard to get his new plaything. Only a few days wed and there are already bruises mottling her exposed arms that everyone pretends not to see. She stands alone, the crowd giving her a wide berth as if her misery is contagious. The Dagmær I remember was the brightest spot at any gathering, always laughing the loudest, dancing the most, flirting outrageously enough to keep everyone talking for weeks. But now her eyes have gone dull behind her mask, and she flinches from the light and noise like a frightened rabbit.
I shouldn’t feel guilty. My people have endured so much worse. I have endured so much worse. I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I did that to her, and the knowledge weighs heavy on my shoulders.
I force my eyes away from her and search the crowd for Crescentia. She isn’t difficult to spot—all I have to do is look for the Kaiser at the center of it all, the gold crown standing as tall and proud on his head as ever. He doesn’t bother trying to disguise himself in the spirit of the maskentanz, and why would he? He’s far too in love with his own power to pretend to be anyone else for even a night.
I keep my distance, not wanting to draw his attention. Deep in conversation with him, Crescentia looks beautiful. Her own costume matches mine, except that it’s a soft lavender on top, and the scales on the bottom are silver. Instead of pearls, she wears coral, the better to bring out the roses in her cheeks. She might be a girl, and worth little to the Kalovaxians beyond marriage and motherhood, but no one can watch her work the Kaiser and not admire her head for strategy. She wraps him around her finger without ever letting him realize, giving him a dimpled smile here, a shy look there, holding herself tall and proud—every part the prinzessin she wants so badly to be. All she really needs is the Prinz.
The Kaiser’s attention lingers on her longer than I’m comfortable with, but at least it isn’t the way he looks at me. There’s no leer in his gaze, just cold calculation. It’s a shame that Søren isn’t here to see his future paved out in front of him, but he doesn’t need to be. I feel only a trickle of pity before I remind myself that Søren will never marry Crescentia. If my Shadows have any say, they’ll both be dead long before that day ever comes.
The thought sours my stomach.
“I’m half sure Crescentia went to all this trouble more to draw you out than to celebrate me,” a stiff voice says from just behind my left shoulder. “She’s been very put out these last few days without you.”
My worst nightmares swim before my eyes, and I have to stop myself from shuddering. I’m grateful to have my dagger so close, even if I can’t imagine actually using it. Being in the Theyn’s presence always feels like suffocating. It sends me into a panic of rapid heartbeats, blurred thoughts, and cold sweat, though I try not to show it. I am suddenly six years old again and watching him slaughter my mother. I am seven and he’s holding the whip while the Kaiser pries my name from my mind. I am eight, nine, ten, and he’s standing over me with a bucket of ice water, a fire poker—whatever the Kaiser instructs him to use to drive Theodosia out of me so that Thora is all that’s left.
He wouldn’t hurt me here. I know that. Still, I can’t help but run through all my secrets, all my plots, sure that he can read them as clearly as words on a page.
“She’s very kind,” I force myself to say. “I’m lucky to have her as a friend.”
“You are,” he agrees, but there’s a threat in his tone that I don’t miss. Of course, everything the Theyn says to me sounds like a threat. The Theyn is a threat, whether he speaks or not.
“I’m very sorry for all the trouble in the mines,” I continue, as if I had anything to do with that. I wish I did. I wish I had been able to accomplish something so large. “I know Crescentia missed you terribly.” I’m not sure that’s true, since Cress never really talks with me about her feelings about her father. Still, it seems like the right thing to say.
“And I missed her,” he replies after a beat.
“She’ll make a wonderful prinzessin, I think.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice light and conversational, to keep my hands from shaking, but I manage. The Theyn thrives on fear; he can smell it like a hunting dog.
For a moment, we both watch Crescentia as she gives the Kaiser a dimpled smile, wrapping him tighter around her finger.
“She was born to be,” the Theyn says finally.
I sneak a glance at him and immediately wish I hadn’t. The way he’s watching Crescentia makes my chest ache, because how dare he? How dare he love his daughter when he took my mother away? Because of him, I will never see my mother look at me like that. He is a stone, incapable of feeling anything, and I don’t like being reminded that he’s also human. I don’t like being reminded that we both love the same person.
Crescentia turns our way and her blinding smile grows wider. She excuses herself from the Kaiser with a softly spoken word and a brief touch of her hand to his arm. The Kaiser follows her gaze and the look in his eyes presses in around my chest until I can scarcely breathe.
“Excuse me, please,” I say to the Theyn, ducking away. Even as I retreat, I feel the Kaiser watching me, always watching me. His gaze spreads decay on my skin and I yearn for a bath to scrub it off.
I am a lamb in the lion’s den. How can I be any kind of queen when I am so easily frightened? Artemisia wouldn’t cower from the Kaiser; she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge the dagger into his chest here and now, no matter what it cost her.
“Thora!” Crescentia calls after me. I slow my steps but I don’t turn back, too frightened of meeting the Kaiser’s gaze again. Too frightened of what I’ll find there.
Cress falls into step next to me and loops her arm through mine. “I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.”
Her quick gray eyes dart up to take in the crumbling crown, the ash I can feel covering my face, neck, and shoulders. It itches terribly, but I don’t dare scratch. Better to pretend it isn’t there at all.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a forced smile I hope seems natural. “It was so kind of you to send the dress. We could be sisters tonight.” I squeeze her arm and try to ignore the guilt seeping into my gut.
“We are,” she replies with a smile that feels like a blow to my heart.
There is nothing to say to that. All I can give her are lies, and I can’t do that tonight, not to her.
All I am is a lie, I remind myself. Thora is a lie. But that isn’t the whole truth.
My mouth opens and I’m not entirely sure what will come out, but before I can say a word, a boy with a golden-horned ram half-mask approaches. Even with his scar gone and his features blurred to give him a more northern look, I’d recognize Blaise anywhere. I glance around the room warily, knowing that Artemisia must be nearby as well, to hold this illusion, but if she is, I can’t see her. There are too many people, too many masks.
“A dance, Lady Thora?” Even beneath the mask, I can see his mouth twist unpleasantly around my false name like it’s a curse. He’s never had to call me that before, and I can tell he hates himself a bit for it, even if it is unavoidable.
Crescentia’s blond eyebrows arch so high they nearly disappear into her hair, but her mouth is smiling as she nudges me toward him. Though he is the last person I want to talk to, I have no choice but to take his hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, sticking to Kalovaxian and moving my lips as little as possible. “If you’re caught—”
“It’s a maskentanz,” he says, overemphasizing the hard edges of the Kalovaxian word so that it sounds more like a hacking cough. “There’s little chance of that.”
“Little, but not none,” I point out, fighting to keep my tone level. “Besides, you don’t even know how to dance.”
“I watched a few of them,” he says with a shrug, resting his hand on the small of my back and taking my free hand in his. It’s the proper placement for the glissadant that the orchestra is playing, but his steps are clumsy. The warmth of his touch seeps through the metal and silk of my dress.
“Not enough,” I say, wincing as his foot comes down hard on mine. “Follow my lead.”
He sighs, but does as I say, letting me guide him into something resembling the complex steps of the dance. We almost blend into the twirl of the other dancers around us, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that people aren’t watching me, wondering who the newcomer is who chose to dance with the Ash Princess, of all people.
I wonder if he’s thinking about how this ballroom felt before the siege, though we were far too young to ever attend balls when they were held here. Our parents must have, though. They would have danced together and laughed in this room, sipping wine from the same gilded goblets the Kalovaxians use now, raising toasts to my mother and the gods and goddesses, to Astrea.
I try to remember that I’m supposed to be angry with him for what Artemisia said, but having him this close is disconcerting. The last time we were this close, he was kissing me. He was holding my wrists tightly in his grasp, refusing to meet my eyes. He won’t look at me now either, but I think that’s less to do with rejection this time and more because he can feel the anger rolling off me.
He doesn’t know what to do with it, and I’m worried that if I open my mouth, I’ll snap at him and everyone will stare, so we fall into an uncomfortable silence that feels like a different version of the pinching game. Which of us will break first?
This time, I win. He starts rambling, eyes darting around the room like he’s afraid to look at me.
“This seemed too good an opportunity to pass up, and we couldn’t hear anything from the Shadow spots. Artemisia conjured the illusions: I’m a visiting duke’s son from Elcourt, Artemisia is a reclusive country lady, and Heron decided it was best for him to stay invisible and mill around the open sun—or rather, moon—pavilions—”
“Do you trust me?” I interrupt, because the more he talks around the argument we’re pointedly not having, the bigger it feels.
His brow furrows and he twirls me under his arm, giving me a chance to survey the room.
I’m relieved to realize that most people aren’t watching us; they’re too busy with their own private dramas to care about mine. But some people still are, including the Kaiser. When my eyes meet his mid-twirl, my stomach turns to lead.
“I…Why would you ask that?” Blaise says when the twirl ends and he steadies me again with his hand on my back.
It’s not an answer, but it might as well be. I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m not risking everything to play games, Blaise. I’m not a monkey trained to do tricks for your amusement—”
“I never said—” His voice rises before he catches himself, glancing around to see if anyone noticed, but the other dancers all seem engrossed in their own conversations. Still, he lowers his voice. “Where is this coming from?”
“Art said it was your idea to have me poison Crescentia. There’s enough Encatrio for two people and there are plenty of others in this castle who prove much more of a threat than one spoiled girl. So tell me it’s not just another fire you want me to walk through to prove my loyalty.”
His shoulder muscle tightens under my hand and his skin almost feels warmer.
“It’s not your loyalty I’m worried about,” he says after a moment. “It’s your mind. The Kalovaxians have had you for ten years, Theo. That isn’t something that’s easy to leave behind.”
He’s only giving voice to my own fears, but the words still sting. “I told you, I’m fine. And you’re in no position to be judging someone’s sanity. Don’t tell me five years in the mines didn’t leave their mark on you.”
I can feel his temper roiling, but I don’t flinch from it.
“Every move we make is dangerous, Blaise,” I continue. “And I need people who I can trust. Who trust me.”
He laughs, but it’s a joyless sound. “And yet you clearly don’t trust me, Theo.”
I want to deny it, but he’s right. I believe we want the same things; I believe he would lay down his life to protect me. But I also believe it’s a secondhand loyalty, filtered through his promise to Ampelio. It’s diluted, bound by duty, not necessarily by choice. I thought maybe he cared about me when we kissed, as a person instead of a symbol, but I can still feel his hands around my wrists holding me away, the awkward way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I’m a duty to him, and that is all.
He’s right: I can’t put my trust in him any more than he can put his trust in me.
“Give me a reason,” I say. “One real reason to poison Cress.”
He licks his lips, eyes darting around, searching for an answer. “They say she’ll be a prinzessin soon enough.”
“We both know she’ll never be a prinzessin. Søren will be dead long before she has a chance to marry him,” I point out. “Give me a real reason and I’ll do it.”
His mouth tightens. “She’s a Kalovaxian. She’s the Theyn’s daughter. Those should be reasons enough,” he snaps. “Why don’t you give me a reason not to kill her?”
“She has no blood on her hands,” I tell him. “She likes to read books and flirt with boys. She isn’t a threat.”
A battle rages behind his eyes and he tightens one hand on my waist. “Captive animals grow to love their captors all the time, even when they beat them. It’s not surprising that you love one of yours.”
The words light a fire in me, though I know in his own way, he means them as a comfort. “I’m not an animal, Blaise. I’m a queen, and I know who my enemies are. Being born to the wrong man doesn’t make her one of them.”
I pull back from him as the song comes to its end and I walk away, half expecting him to follow me. But I suppose he knows me well enough not to.
I’m not halfway across the ballroom when the Kaiser’s broad form cuts into my path, effectively blocking me. I drop to a curtsy, but when I rise he’s still there, still watching me the way he has been all night. My stomach sours.
“Your Highness,” I say.
I keep my eyes averted. I am Thora, docile and broken, I tell myself. I will not anger the Kaiser and he will keep me alive.
“Ash Princess,” he replies, an ugly curve to his mouth. “I hope you thanked the Theyn for his services in the mines these past weeks, subduing the riffraff.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” I reply, though the thought of it makes me sick. How many more of my people did the Theyn kill in his inspections?
He moves aside to let me pass, but when I do, he brushes against me and runs a hand along the curve of my waist and over my hip. Shock floods through me, followed by repulsion. I force myself not to shudder or jerk away, because I know that’s what he wants and it would only make things that much worse. The dagger in my bodice is within reach, and for a moment I let myself imagine pulling it out and drawing it across his throat before he could even realize what was happening. I want to do it so badly it’s painful to hold back. My hands shake, and I struggle to keep them still and at my sides. Guards would be on me in a moment if I tried, and our rising rebellion would be cut short.
It isn’t worth it. Not yet.
He bends his face to mine, close enough that I can smell wine, sour on his breath. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
“You’ve grown awfully pretty, for a heathen,” he says, low in my ear.
I keep my expression neutral even while his words feel like grime coating my skin. Soon, I promise myself. Soon I will kill him, but not tonight. Tonight I have to play a different part.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The words aren’t mine, they’re Thora’s, but they still burn my throat.
My heart is hammering so loudly it feels like the whole room can hear it, even over the orchestra. He lingers a moment longer, his grip on my hip tightening, before he is gone. I let out a long, shaky breath and hurry in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
Blaise stares after the Kaiser, fury clearly etched in his expression. He doesn’t know how to hide it like I do, so it shows in the hard line of his mouth, the crease in his forehead above the mask. When his eyes meet mine, they soften. We remember who our real enemy is.
He makes a move toward me, but I give a minute shake of my head. He already drew attention to himself by dancing with me, and his lies about his identity will hold only until someone asks him the wrong question.
There’s too much at stake to risk a moment of comfort, and I’m not sure I want it from him anyway.
The crowd parts for me, not out of any kind of deference but because no one wants to get ash on their pretty clothes. I cling to the edge of the room, as far from the crowd as I can get. The ghost of the Kaiser’s hand is still on me, his sour breath lingering in my nose. The memory will haunt my nightmares tonight, and probably for a long time to come.
“Still playing games, my little lamb?” a soft voice says from the shadowed alcove behind me.
The Kaiserin waits there, her skeletal frame nearly disappearing in a gray dress that swamps her. Her mask is a strip of black organza that wraps around her temples, with holes cut for her eyes. She is more ghost than woman.
“I’ve never enjoyed games,” I tell her, surprised that my voice comes out level.
She laughs. “Everyone has their games, little lamb. The Kaiser plays them in the palace, the Theyn plays them on the battlefield, Søren plays them on his ships. Even your friend plays them—quite well, too.”
For a heart-stopping second, I think she means Blaise, but it’s Crescentia she’s talking about.
“She’ll make a beautiful prinzessin,” I say.
“That’s all a prinzessin has to be,” the Kaiserin says with a scoff. “No one expects more from them than beauty and grace. You know all about that, though. You’ve been playing that part since you were a child. The pretty little Ash Princess with her sad eyes and broken spirit. Or maybe not so broken.”
The Kaiserin’s words send a jolt through me that I try to ignore. I pretend to misunderstand them. “The Kaiser was kind to let me keep my title,” I say.
She laughs. “The Kaiser is many things, but we both know kind is not one of them.” When she takes my hand, her touch is ice cold. There is little more to her than bones and thin skin. “He always wins his games. That is why he is the Kaiser.”
Because he cheats, I want to say, but that isn’t the right response. There isn’t one, but she seems to know that.
“Surviving is enough, little lamb.”
She presses a chilled kiss to my forehead before walking back into the crush of courtiers, her lips black with ash.