I CAN’T SIT STILL WHILE I wait for Søren. Elpis said that Cress and her father would eat dinner late—usually not until ten—and I instructed Elpis to poison their dessert wine. Heron will get her from the Theyn’s suite to Dragonsbane’s ship. It’s a tight schedule to keep, but unless something goes horribly wrong, there’s no reason I won’t be on the ship by the time the Theyn’s body is discovered. They’ll find Søren’s soon after.
Every part of me buzzes like I’m covered head to toe in Spiritgems. I can’t stop thinking about what I’m about to do. It’s easy to focus on the Søren that Erik painted earlier, the Prinz so eager to earn his father’s respect that he used my people as weapons, but I also remember the boy on the boat who resented his court, the boy desperate to turn his back on it all, the boy who stood up to his father in front of the entire court. The boy who needed me to assure him that he was nothing like his father. How can they both exist in one person?
The knock on the wardrobe comes just after the midnight bell tolls, followed by Søren stumbling out. Though he already seemed like a shadow of himself at the banquet, up close he’s even rougher around the edges. With his shaved head, his face is all sharp, haggard angles. His bright eyes are darker than I remember, sunken deep in his skull. When he looks at me, it feels like he isn’t seeing me at all.
He stands before me broken, and despite everything, I want to comfort him. Because I know what it is to be changed so irreparably and without consent.
“Søren?” I say, taking a tentative step closer.
He can’t know anything’s changed, but I can’t look at him the way I used to, no matter how hard I try. Now when I look at him, I see blood and death. I see the Kaiser. Luckily, he’s too lost in his own anguish to notice, and my voice seems to break whatever spell has come over him. His attention snaps to me, and in a few long strides, he has me in his arms. He buries his face against the side of my neck, the stubble on his jaw scratching my skin. I struggle between his warmth and the thought of the blood he’s drenched in.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” I tell him, bringing a hand up to run over his patchily shaved head.
He doesn’t reply at first, keeping his face buried in my neck.
“Let me see it,” he says, his voice muffled against my skin.
“See what?”
He tugs at the shoulder of my dress and I swallow, realizing what he means. My wounds. Erik must have told him. I turn my back to Søren and lower the shoulder of my chiton so he can see the tops of the fresh wounds. His breath hitches. He reaches out to touch my shoulder where the whip didn’t.
“I’m so sorry, Thora,” he says under his breath. “If I hadn’t failed…” He trails off and shakes his head.
I turn back to face him fully and take his hand in mine. I don’t have the patience to make him feel better about my pain, and I certainly don’t have the time. I think of the Theyn and Crescentia sitting down for dessert and wine before bed and how they will not get up again.
“Take me away from here, please,” I say. “Let’s go for a sail, just for a few hours.”
Søren nods, but the haunted look hasn’t left his eyes. “I’ll bring her back by sunrise,” he says to my Shadows.
There’s no response. They’re long gone.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, pulling him toward the wardrobe. The time is now and the urgency of what I need to do is suddenly pushing me forward. My edges are fraying like a worn blanket, but I will hold it together for just a little while longer. And then I’ll be free.
He doesn’t protest, instead following me into the wardrobe and through the tunnel entrance as he did before. I don’t stop, but continue down the tunnel path, this time pressing forward in tense silence.
When the tunnel becomes tall enough to walk upright, I get to my feet and brush my dirty hands over the skirt of my dress. I hear him behind me, but as soon as I turn to face him, his mouth falls on mine and I’m caught between him and the tunnel wall. He kisses me with a desperation I’ve never felt, like a man dying of thirst. I struggle between pulling him closer and shoving him away.
He must feel my hesitation, because he pulls back after a few seconds, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I just needed to do that one more time.”
Panic shoots down my spine. “One more time?” I ask, resting my hand on the back of his neck and tugging him an inch closer. “But we have until sunrise, Søren.”
I start to pull him into another kiss but he stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“I can’t, Thora,” he says quietly. “There are things you don’t know, and once you do, you aren’t going to want to see me again. I won’t even blame you.”
“The whipping wasn’t your fault,” I tell him. “There was nothing you could have done.”
He drops his eyes. “It isn’t that,” he admits.
My hands fall away from him. “Then what is it?” I press.
He tries to rake a hand through his hair, forgetting it’s all but gone. He paces a few steps away from me before turning back.
“I love you,” he says after a deep breath. “I just want you to know that first. I love you and I would never want to do anything to hurt you.”
“I love you, too,” I say, careful to keep my voice even. My mother once told me it was a sin to lie to a dying man, but I don’t know if that’s true. Søren will be dead soon enough and my lies will die with him.
“At the mines,” he starts, forcing the words out. “The slaves working in them, we had physicians observing them. Running tests. Experimenting.”
No. I want to cover his mouth, stop him from talking, suffocate him with his own words. He doesn’t get to do this; he doesn’t get to confess to a crime I’ve already hanged him for. I have no use for his guilt and I am not here to make him feel better. But there are so many things I want to say to him, and it’s almost a relief to get the chance, to stop acting for a moment and let my rage loose.
“What are you saying?” I force my voice into shock. “You’ve been experimenting on my people?”
“They aren’t your people,” he replies. “And you know better than to say that out loud.”
“To anyone else, yes,” I say, my anger finally able to rise to the surface. “But I didn’t think I had to lie to you.”
In the dark, I can barely make out his expression falling. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s…it’s just…this is hard to talk about.”
“Not nearly as hard as I would imagine it is to endure,” I reply, struggling not to raise my voice.
He has the good sense to look chastened, and I can feel a fraction of my steeled heart soften ever so slightly. I ball my hands into fists at my sides, to keep from reaching out. He does not get to be the wronged hero.
“What were they looking for?” I press.
He hesitates another second before continuing. “Prolonged exposure in the mines…it does something to a person, it imbues them with qualities of the gems they mine, somehow. Some people can stand it, most can’t. We knew this. You knew this. What we didn’t know was why. But my father thought it was something that could be useful if it could be understood. And it turned out it was. The physicians have been running tests and comparisons for years. Months ago they finally concluded the cause. The magic in the mines is so thick that it’s in the air itself. It gives the gems their power, but it also seeps into a person’s body—into their blood, specifically. A rare few people can survive with it, but most aren’t so lucky. The magic drives them mad.
“At first, we killed off anyone who showed signs of it, because we feared they were lethal. But my father decided that was wasteful. Maybe they were a danger to us, he said, but wouldn’t that also make them a danger to others? He thought he could weaponize them, send them into battle on the front lines to do as much damage as possible and limit loss of life.”
“But that doesn’t limit loss of life at all,” I say, struggling not to yell.
He flinches anyway. “I know. I know.”
“And you used them in Vecturia,” I continue. I’m no longer playing a part. My anger has bubbled to the surface, and it makes me dangerous. With so much at risk, I know I need to keep my temper, but it feels impossible. I realize that I don’t know Søren any better than he knows me. “How many?”
He doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “Hundreds, I think. My father gave the order.”
“Your father was here, Søren. You gave the order.”
His face blanches. “I didn’t want to. It was always the plan, even before we set sail. He wanted to test them out in a battle he knew we could win so he could then begin selling them to other countries. My father always gets what he wants, you know that better than anyone,” he says. His voice turns pleading as he reaches for my hand, but I pull away as if his touch burns.
He wants my forgiveness again, he wants me to cleanse him of his father’s sins, but the blood is on his own hands this time.
“I do,” I say, looking down at the ground between us. Anger is one thing, but disappointment will wound him worse. “I’ve withstood his wrath time and time again for things I didn’t even do. But I know who I am because of it; I know what matters to me and what I’m willing to fight for. Can you say the same?”
He swallows. “I know that I’m willing to fight for you,” he says quietly.
I don’t doubt that he means it, especially after the banquet. Søren wants so badly to be different from his father. And I wanted this to be easy, one way or another, but I feel like I’m being torn in two.
My dagger presses against the skin of my forearm from where it’s hidden in the sleeve of my cloak, but the weight isn’t uncomfortable as it was earlier. It’s almost welcome, an anchor in a stormy sea and the only thing keeping me from getting lost in the waves. I can’t be taken over by anger, not when there is still so much to do and time is running out.
“Thora,” Søren says, stepping closer to me. This time, I don’t move away. I don’t flinch when he reaches his hand up to touch my cheek. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, how I wish I could go back and undo it. I would, in a heartbeat.”
“There’s no going back,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. I force myself to look up and meet his eyes and let Thora take over, one last time, before I bury my dagger in his back. “It’ll be all right, Søren. We’ll get past it. I know you’re nothing like your father,” I say, because I know that’s what he needs to hear.
Unbidden, the Kaiserin comes to mind, telling me about how she fell in love with the Kaiser, how she never imagined he was capable of everything he’s done. What is Søren capable of? I wonder. What evil will fester in his soul and grow if I don’t kill him now? In a dozen years, he could be worse than the Kaiser himself.
I twine my fingers through the short hair at the base of his skull, pulling him down into a slow and bruising kiss. After a second, he returns it, cradling my face in his hands like he’s afraid he’ll break me. There’s wetness on my cheeks, but I’m not sure if the tears are mine or his. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. For a breath, we’re one person and I feel his sadness as acutely as I feel my own.
As I deepen the kiss, I slide the dagger down my free arm until its handle is clutched tightly in my hand. It takes some maneuvering to unsheathe it, but he’s lost in my arms and his own pain so deeply he doesn’t notice anything. Not until the sharp point of my blade is pressed to his back.
His lips break away from mine and his blue eyes fly open, searching for answers that he discovers quickly. Shock registers on his face, but it’s all too soon replaced by resignation. The lump in his throat bobs as he swallows and gives an infinitesimal nod.
“An inch lower,” he whispers against my lips. When I comply, a smile ghosts across his face, though it doesn’t make it to his eyes. “There it is. Now strike hard and true, Thora.”
I don’t want to see his face when I kill him, but I can’t look away. “My name is…” I break off, taking a steadying breath. “My name is Theodosia,” I say quietly.
Confusion flickers across his expression before clearing. “Theodosia.” It’s the first time my real name has crossed his lips, and it sounds almost reverent. He rests his forehead against mine so that his eyes are all I see. “You know what to do.”
He’s right, I know exactly what to do. It’s the same thing, more or less, that I did to Ampelio—my father. Killing the Prinz shouldn’t be more difficult than that, surely, but in this moment he’s just Søren, the sad-eyed lost boy who once let cats follow him everywhere, who befriended his bastard brother no matter the threat it posed, who kissed me like maybe we had the power to save one another.
And I can’t watch him die any more than I could have watched Crescentia.
The dagger slips from my hand and clatters to the stone floor, echoing around us, and I shove him away. He looks as shocked as I am. He truly thought I would do it, and I’m not sure if I should be proud of that or not.
He crouches down to pick the dagger up and I expect him to press it to my own skin, but he only stares at it for a moment before tucking it into the waist of his breeches. A moment passes in silence before he speaks, his voice quiet but strong.
“You don’t have to forgive me, I don’t expect you to, but I know I need to get you away from here—away from him. We can run away tonight, just like we talked about. I made that promise to you, so please let me keep it.”
My throat tightens so much that I can’t speak, only nod. He thinks he’s safe and I can’t blame him for that. He doesn’t know that Blaise is out there, waiting. I might not have been able to do it, but Blaise will.
A storm whips through the air as soon as we step out of the tunnel. I can’t imagine how Søren is planning on sailing through it, but he seems strangely calm, his face carved white marble in the moonlight. If it weren’t for how tightly he’s clutching my hand in his, I wouldn’t know he was nervous at all. I try not to look at him; I try not to even think about him walking next to me.
It’s too dark to see Blaise’s boat from the shore, but I know it’s out there somewhere in the inky waves.
“My father will send men,” Søren says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “But he doesn’t have many friends among his warriors. I do. I’m hoping that will count for something if we’re caught. But my ship is fast and light. Anything my father sends out for me will be weighed down with a heavier crew and artillery. We’ll outpace them by miles.”
I nod, trying to look placated, but my mind is still churning. I’ll get him on the boat, just far enough away from shore that Blaise will be the only one around to hear me when I scream. He’ll come quickly, and in the meantime I can tell Søren I saw a rat or some similar lie to keep him unaware until Blaise comes on board and slits his throat.
And then…
And then I’ll be free. The thought sends a delicious shiver down my spine. Free is something I haven’t been in ten years. And as soon as I can, I’ll free my people as well.
When we’re mere feet from the shore, Søren’s grip on my hand tightens painfully and he pushes me behind him, trapping me between his body and the cresting waves. Sea spray mists my ankles. I hear them before I see them, boots marching in tandem on the beach, a shout turned to gibberish in the wind, the clatter of swords being drawn from their scabbards. A dozen of the Kaiser’s men approach over the sand dunes from all sides, surrounding us and effectively trapping us between them and the water.
“Go,” Søren whispers, nudging me into the water, toward the ship. I turn and take half a step before stopping short. The waters that were clear only a moment ago are already filling with ships. Even with Blaise lying in wait nearby, I don’t stand half a chance of escaping. And even if I manage to get to Blaise before they catch me, even if we manage to escape them for a time, we’ll lead them straight to where the others are waiting.
I won’t do that. Artemisia was right: I am expendable.
So I stand with Søren and squeeze his hand as the soldiers close in around us, and I let him believe I’m doing it because I can’t leave him behind. Maybe it will earn me a measure of mercy, though I doubt the Kaiser will be moved by the display.
In front of me, Søren forces himself to seem casual as they approach.
“Your Highness,” the head guard says, his voice wary. He’s the guard with the scar, the one Heron decided to frame.
“Johan,” Søren replies, a smile in his voice. “What brings you lot out here tonight?”
But Johan isn’t swayed. “I should ask you the same,” he says. He tries to get a look at me, but Søren blocks him, hiding me from view.
“I had hoped for a midnight rendezvous, but I’m afraid you’ve quite ruined that plan.” He sounds like the petulant prinz I once believed him to be.
“And that wouldn’t happen to be the Ash Princess you’re off to rendezvous with, would it?” Johan asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.
Søren’s grip on my hand tightens, but he keeps his voice easy.
“I don’t see what business it is of yours, Johan, considering that your job is to protect my father. Who is guarding his life right now while you’re out here, interrupting my romantic plans?”
“Your father is protected enough,” Johan says, bristling. “But Lady Thora orchestrated the murder of the Theyn tonight, and we believe she means the same fate for you.”
My heart is pounding in my ears, but Søren doesn’t lose his calm. He must be piecing together the puzzle, though. He must realize my attack on him was part of a larger plan. He must be wondering how far back that plan goes.
But when he speaks, his voice is untroubled. “I can’t imagine that’s true. How could she possibly murder the Theyn when she’s here with me? And the man had no shortage of enemies, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Lady Thora has been under my father’s care for ten years without incident.”
“There are witnesses,” Johan says. “The Kaiser has ordered that she be brought in to answer for it. If she’s truly innocent, let him decree it.”
Witnesses. What kind of witnesses? The idea should terrify me, but I can’t feel anything anymore. Every part of me is numb.
“Because we all know that my father is a reasonable man,” Søren says, growling the words out.
Johan has the good sense to look a touch frightened. Søren’s skills in battle are legendary, and though he might not stand a chance against twenty men, he’ll certainly take out a few on his way down if it comes to it.
I like to think even Blaise isn’t fool enough to try to save me from this, but I can’t say for sure. I hope he’s far enough out that the other ships haven’t spotted him, far enough that he can’t see me like this. But then I realize that he must be. If he could see me, the ground would be trembling.
“Step aside, Your Highness,” the guard says, straightening up. “Or we’ll be forced to arrest you as well.”
Søren doesn’t so much as flinch. He stands firm, planted in front of me like an oak tree. He won’t move because he knows that there isn’t a chance the Kaiser will find me innocent, even if I didn’t do it. He won’t move because he knows that doing so will damn me.
He doesn’t realize that I’m already damned, no matter what he does. He can’t save me from this.
I pull my hand from his viselike grasp and step around him.
“It’s all right, Søren,” I say, and though my voice shakes, I try to sound as composed as he did. “I have nothing to answer for, and I’m sure the Kaiser will see that.”
Søren reaches out to grab me, but one of the guards gets there first, aided by the Air Gems studding his shirt.
“Lady Thora, you are arrested for the murder of the Theyn, and the attempted murder of Lady Crescentia.”
Even as he binds my hands behind my back with stone manacles, relief floods me. Attempted murder.
Crescentia is still alive.