DAYS PASS FILLED WITH FEAR that any moment now my Shadows will tell the Kaiser I spoke with Elpis. It won’t matter that they didn’t hear what was said, I’ll pay for it all the same. It was worth it—I know it was worth it—but that doesn’t make it any easier to wait for the ax to fall. I sleep little, and when I do manage to dream, all I see is Ampelio dying over and over again. Sometimes Blaise takes his place. Sometimes Elpis. Sometimes it’s Crescentia lying at my feet, begging for her life while I hold a blade to her throat.
No matter who it is, the dream always ends the same and I always wake screaming. My Shadows don’t react. They’re used to it by now.
It’s been four days since seeing the ships. Five days since I met with Blaise. All I have been able to do is wait for him to make contact like he said he would. It’s almost easy to slip into life as Thora again, attending luncheons and dances and spending afternoons with Cress in her father’s library. But I force myself to remember who I am.
I keep my mind busy and think about the Vecturia Islands. What could be happening there that requires a fleet of warships and the Prinz himself as a commandant? It could be that the Prinz was telling the truth and Erik was only confused—that Dragonsbane is troubling the trade route. But the more I think about it, the less sense that makes. They wouldn’t need that many ships with that much ammunition if they were squaring off against just Dragonsbane’s small fleet. Dragonsbane might be a thorn in the Kaiser’s side, but removing it would require a knife, not a cannonball.
Yet Vecturia isn’t Astrea, I remind myself. Their problems aren’t mine, and I have my own people to think about.
And it might turn out to be nothing. Prinz Søren and Erik were secretive, yes, but it’s possible it’s to hide something else. I’ve heard tales of Prinz Søren’s skills in battle, but they’ve always been secondhand and they could be greatly exaggerated in order to make the Prinz appear godlike.
If I could just speak to Blaise again, I could tell him what I know and see what he thought about it. He might even have another piece of the puzzle to help make sense of it. But there has been no word from him since our meeting in the cellar. He said he had an idea about how we could speak more, but I’m starting to lose hope. There have even been some darker moments when I wonder if I made him up.
There’s a knock at the door—stiff and formal, not Cress’s light, melodic tap. Hoa is heating up a pair of hair tongs in the fireplace, so I go to answer it. My feet are made of stone. The only people who knock like that are guards, and I don’t have to guess at what they want. My welts from the mine riot haven’t fully healed yet. The idea of a whip reopening them sends shudders through me that won’t be quelled.
I shouldn’t have spoken to Elpis. I shouldn’t have met with Blaise.
I take one last shaky breath before opening the door. A stern guard stands on the other side dressed in a crimson jacket, and my heart all but ceases to beat. He isn’t one of the Kaiser’s men, though. Great as their numbers are, I would know their faces anywhere by now. They’re burned into my memory so deeply they even haunt my nightmares. This man isn’t one of them but I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
He produces a square envelope from the pocket of his jacket and passes it to me, his expression frozen in a thin, straight line.
“From His Royal Highness, Prinz Søren,” he says, as if the royal crest emblazoned on the front weren’t enough of a clue. “He asked that I wait here for a reply.”
Numb with relief and shock, I tear the envelope open with the corner of my pinky nail and skim the Prinz’s hastily scrawled words.
Thora—
I’m sorry for abandoning you the other day, but I hope you enjoyed the tour. Allow me to make it up to you with lunch before I leave?
—Søren
I read the words twice, looking for hidden meanings, but only see exactly what is written. It’s the sort of letter Cress receives from boys who are trying to court her. Could it be that Blaise was right about the way the Prinz looked at me? The letter lacks the usual poetry and flattery of a love missive, but that’s not surprising, considering Søren’s demeanor. I doubt he would know a poem if one was written on the sails of his precious ships. But I cannot ignore the last line—the invitation to spend time alone together.
I know this opportunity to gather more information is one I can’t pass up, yet I still feel guilty. I imagine Cress pacing her own rooms over the last few days, anxiously awaiting a letter like this from the Prinz. The few times I’ve seen her since the harbor, she’s been giddy and bright-eyed, going over every moment of their time together in such fine detail I could swear I was there myself. But what I didn’t tell her is that while Søren was courteous with her and did all the chivalrous things—held doors open, handed her into the carriage, escorted her back to her rooms and said goodbye politely at the door—it sounded like he was doing his duty and no more.
Not like this. Having lunch with me is certainly not a duty, and his father will be furious when he finds out. Søren must have known that when he wrote the letter, but he did so anyway.
For a long moment, I can only stare at the paper in my hands, thinking over what I should say back, what I should wear, what I should talk to him about, all the while aware of the guard’s eyes on me. It’s only after a moment that I realize the best path to take, the one that will most assuredly keep the reins in my hand. Blaise did say that Søren would want me all the more because he can’t have me.
I look up at the guard and give him my sweetest smile, though it doesn’t seem to do much good. His face remains frozen.
“I have no reply,” I tell him. “Good day.”
With a bob of a curtsy, I close the door firmly before he can protest.
The autumn air is thick and heavy on my skin as I walk through what was once my mother’s garden. My memory of her is still hazy, but I feel her presence stronger here than anywhere else. I remember color and a smell so heady it would wrap around me like a blanket—the scent of flowers and grass and dirt. It clung to my mother even when she spent all day in the throne room or walking through the city.
She was never happier than she was here, with dirt staining her skirts and life in her hands.
“The smallest seeds can grow the greatest trees, with enough care and time,” she would tell me, placing her hands over mine to guide them as we planted seeds and patted damp earth over them.
Ampelio used to say that if she weren’t a queen, she would have made a formidable Earth Guardian, but Astrean laws said she couldn’t be both. Of course, favor from the gods wasn’t hereditary. Though she gave me a small patch of the garden to work alongside her, I couldn’t even get weeds to grow there.
Nothing grows anywhere in the garden anymore. Without my mother’s diligent care, it grew wild, and if there is one thing the Kaiser cannot stand, it is wildness. He set fire to it all when I was seven. I saw the flames and smelled the smoke from my bedroom window, and I couldn’t stop crying, no matter how Hoa tried to quiet me. It felt like I was losing my mother all over again.
Nine years later, and the air here still tastes of ashes to me, though the charred remains have long been cleared, the dirt paved over with square gray stones. My mother wouldn’t recognize it now, with its hard floor and the few trees that break through the cracks to provide skeletal fingers of shade. There isn’t any color—even the trees have better sense than to sprout leaves.
The garden was always a busy place, before. I remember playing with Blaise and the other palace children when the weather was nice. There would be dozens of courtiers milling through the trees and bushes in chitons dyed a myriad of vivid colors. Artists with their paints or instruments or notebooks sitting alone as they worked. Couples sneaking off together for not-so-secret rendezvous.
Now it’s deserted. The Kalovaxians prefer the sun pavilions set up on public balconies to better take advantage of the light and the sea breeze. I’ve been a few times with Crescentia, and though the Kalovaxians play and work and gossip and flirt there as well, it never feels the same. Burnt and broken as this place is, it is the only part of the palace that still feels like home.
Comfort isn’t what drives me here today, though. I’ve been struggling to find places to meet with Blaise—once he gets in touch—but I can’t get to the cellar again without raising the suspicions of my Shadows. There are precious few places in the palace where I actually feel alone. Even here—the garden is overlooked by thirty palace windows, and every now and then I catch a glimpse of my Shadows on their watch from inside, the black hoods of their cloaks up so I can’t see their faces.
The garden is exposed, but that might not be a bad thing for a possible meeting place. There would be people who would see us together, but if he’s working to prune the trees or scrub the stones it won’t seem strange, and Kalovaxians have a bad habit of ignoring slaves. There is nowhere we could be overheard from, and that is what truly matters.
It’s a flawed plan, of course. We wouldn’t be able to say more than a few words to one another without raising suspicions. Flawed as it is, though, it’s the best option I’ve found so far.
“Lady Thora.”
The male voice makes me jump. Unlike Crescentia, I’m not accompanied by maids to keep my reputation pristine. My Shadows watch from a distance, of course, but their job is less to keep me safe than to keep me watched.
Still, I know that voice, and since his letter this morning, I’ve been waiting for him to find me.
Prinz Søren crosses the stone garden toward me, flanked by two guards whose orders are surely much different than my guards’. Though they are Søren’s and not the Kaiser’s—not the ones who have dragged me through the halls to answer for crimes I didn’t commit, not the ones who have taken turns with the whip—their eyes are just as hard, and I have to suppress a shudder.
They are not here for me, not today.
I drop to a curtsy. “Your Highness,” I say when I rise. “What brings you out here?”
He gives me a reproachful look. “Your Highness. I thought we talked about this.”
“You did call me Lady first,” I point out.
Søren grimaces, but his eyes are smiling. It seems to be as close as he gets to any actual signs of mirth. “Old habits, I suppose. Let’s start again. Hello, Thora,” he says, bowing his head slightly.
The name bristles against my skin, though it’s more familiar to me than my real one.
“Hello, Søren. What brings you out here?” I repeat, tilting my head to one side.
He glances around the stone garden with disinterest. Through his eyes, I imagine, this place is nothing but a ruin.
“I was looking for you, actually,” he says, holding an arm out to me. I have no choice but to take it.
“Me?” I say. Though I’ve been waiting for him to seek me out, I can’t help but remember that the last time Søren came looking for me had been to bring me to Ampelio’s execution. Could it be Blaise’s now? Or Elpis’s?
I must not hide my worry well, because he rests his free hand on my arm with a squeeze. I think he means to be reassuring, but it ends up feeling awkward and unsure. I suppose neither of us is used to compassion. Still, I appreciate the attempt.
“Nothing like that,” he says, and my pounding heart immediately slows. “You look…” He clears his throat. “That dress is very pretty.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say, glancing away as if I’m flustered. As if I hadn’t again intended it to show just an inch more skin than is common. This time, the top is conservative enough, with saffron yellow silk draping over both shoulders in wide swaths and a neckline high enough to cover my clavicle. I asked Hoa to pin the bodice tighter around my torso than I usually wear it so that it highlights the curve of my waist. She secured it with a ruby pin at my left hip as I instructed—higher than usual, so that the slit starts higher as well. Now each step I take reveals a glimpse of half of my leg. I practiced walking in it for almost an hour this morning in front of a mirror, trying to find the right balance between tantalizing and vulgar. If the way he’s looking at me is any indication, I’ve succeeded.
“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” I ask, deciding to test him. “To secure the trade route from Dragonsbane?”
“In four days, yes,” he says. And there it is—his eyes dart from me, giving away the lie.
So my gut was right—they aren’t going to secure the trade route. I can’t do anything with that information until I know for sure where they are going, but I still feel a rush of pride at being correct.
“I’m a bit nervous about it, to be honest,” he admits.
“I don’t see why you should be,” I tell him. “From what I’ve heard, you’re excellent in battle, and Dragonsbane only has a small fleet. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
He shrugs, but he averts his eyes again. “It’s the first mission I’ve been put in charge of, without the Theyn’s guidance. There are a lot of expectations resting on it, and I’m not…”
He trails off and clears his throat, looking flustered at his admission of weakness. Before I can think of a way to respond, he changes the subject.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t continue your tour of the ship myself.”
“Oh, don’t be,” I say lightly. “It was very kind of you to look after Crescentia, and Erik was a wonderful replacement. It’s a beautiful ship. Does it have a name yet?”
“It does, actually. Or rather, she does. The crew…” His eyes dart away. “After you left, they—we—decided to name it for Lady Crescentia.”
I couldn’t care less about what he chooses to name his boat, but he’s watching me for my reaction, and who am I to disappoint him? Let him believe I’m concerned with something so silly. I tighten my smile so that it looks vaguely forced. “That’s a fine name. She was, after all, the first lady to step on board, wasn’t she?”
“You both were,” he says. “But…” He trails off again, unable to finish.
“But I’m not a lady,” I fill in. “Not really. That’s what they said, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t deny it. “They thought it would be bad luck. I disagreed, Thora, and so did Erik, for that matter. But…”
“I understand,” I say, making it sound like I don’t.
The trick with Søren, I’ve realized, is to let him believe he’s seeing through me, past the act I put on for everyone else. But he can’t, not really. There always has to be at least one more layer so that he’ll keep looking.
I lower my voice for effect. “I heard what they said about me,” I continue, pretending to lay out my cards. “They think I’m your paramour. Only they used a fouler word that I won’t repeat.”
He believes the lie easily. His arm goes stiff beneath my fingers and his brow furrows. “Who said that?” he asks, angry and a touch afraid. I’d imagine the last thing he wants is that rumor getting back to his father.
“Does it matter?” I reply. “Of course they think that. Your guards likely think it, too.” I glance their way, though they keep their eyes politely averted. “The one who delivered your letter certainly did,” I add, knowing that the guard from earlier isn’t present. “Even I would believe it if I didn’t know better. Why else would you be seeking me out like this? Inviting me to lunch?”
I wait on edge for his response. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds and I worry that I’ve pulled the rod before he could fully swallow the bait. He turns toward his guards and waves his hand. Without a word, they turn and go back inside, though I’m sure they’re still watching.
“That isn’t going to help things,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t have a chaperone, and—”
His ears redden and he turns back to me. “You did get my letter, then,” he interrupts. “But you didn’t reply.”
I bite my lip. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to accept your invitation, but I wasn’t sure I was allowed to refuse. No answer seemed the best answer.”
“Of course you could refuse, if you wanted to,” he says, looking surprised. “Did you want to?”
I let out a forlorn sigh and glance away. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” I tell him. Not answering will drive him all the more mad. “You should have asked Crescentia. She likes you, and she’s a more appropriate companion.”
I expect him to deny it, but he doesn’t. “I enjoy spending time with you, Thora,” he says instead. “And it was only a lunch.”
It’s easy to act like a damsel in need of rescuing. All it takes are wide eyes, tentative smiles, and a wolf at my heels. “I don’t think your father would approve,” I say.
He frowns and drops his gaze. “I wasn’t planning on telling him,” he admits.
I can’t help but laugh. “Someone would have,” I say. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Søren, but ask anyone—your father sees everything that happens in this palace. Especially where I’m concerned.”
Søren’s frown deepens. “You’ve been with us for ten years,” he says. “You’re more Kalovaxian than not at this point.”
I think he means the words as a comfort, but they strike me like daggers.
“You might be right,” I say instead of arguing. It’s time to play the card Cress left me, the one that will make me more a damsel in distress to him than ever. “He’s planning to marry me to a Kalovaxian man soon.”
“Where did you hear that?” he asks, alarmed. I suppress a smile and try to look troubled, biting my lip and wringing my hands.
“Crescentia overheard her father and yours talking about it. I suppose it makes sense. I’m of age, and as you said, I’ve been a Kalovaxian now longer than I was an Astrean.”
“Marry you to who?”
I shrug but let my expression cloud over. “She mentioned that Lord Dalgaard offered the most to own the last Princess of Astrea,” I say, letting just a touch of acid into my voice.
It’s treason to even use that title to describe myself, but Søren seems to like flashes of honesty. It’s a gamble, yes, but all of this is a gamble. One wrong move will leave me buried.
Søren swallows and drops his gaze. He’s likely been in more battles than I can name, but the threat of Lord Dalgaard leaves him speechless. He glances past my shoulder to where his guards are waiting, just out of earshot.
I reach out to touch his arm lightly and lower my voice.
“I’ve done everything your father’s asked of me, Søren, given him everything he’s asked of me without complaint, trying to show that I can be a loyal citizen here. But please, please, don’t let him do this,” I plead. “You know about Lord Dalgaard and his poor wives. I have no dowry, no family, no standing. No one would care what happens to me. I’m sure that’s part of the appeal for him.”
His expression hardens into granite. “I can’t go against my father, Thora.”
I drop my hand and shake my head. I take a breath as if to steady myself and stand up a little straighter. When I look at Søren again, I let another layer of my mask fall into place, this one cold as ice.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I say stiffly. “I overstepped and I shouldn’t have. I just thought you were…I wanted…” I shake my head and let my eyes linger on his, full of disappointment, before tearing them away and blinking hard, like I might cry at any second. “I should go.”
I turn to leave, but just as I hope, he reaches out to take hold of my arm. From there, it’s only a small twitch of a muscle, an infinitesimal drop of my shoulder that causes the already loose sleeve of my dress to fall, giving him a glimpse of the scars covering my back. He knew they were there; he was present when some of the older ones were given. Still, I hear his sharp intake of breath at the sight. I pull my arm from his grasp and hastily yank the sleeve back up to cover them, keeping my eyes lowered as if the scars shame me.
“I’m sorry,” he says as I hurry away from him.
I’m not sure what exactly he’s apologizing for, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to look at him to know that I have him where I need him: ready to leap to my rescue, even if it digs a chasm between him and his father in the process. All I have to do now is wait for the results and hope they don’t cost me too dearly.