“I am not going to risk our lives and act hastily just so you can test my loyalties.”
She laughs, but it’s a joyless sound. “You think this is just a test? Have you forgotten what the Theyn has done to our people? To your mother?”
Her words sting, but I won’t let her see me falter.
“I wasn’t talking about the Theyn,” I say. “You want to know if I’m loyal to Crescentia over you.”
She shrugs. “Oh, I’ve known better than to trust you from the start,” she says. “The girl was Blaise’s idea.”
“I have nothing to prove. Not to them, or to you,” I say, lifting my chin. “And I’m not about to destroy everything we’re working for, for a hastily thrown-together plan. When the moment is ready, I’ll strike.”
Her smile is cruel and mocking. “Of course, Your Highness.”
I turn away from her and back to my letter, struggling to ignore the feeling of her reading over my shoulder.
Dear S?ren,
I find it difficult to believe that your thoughts are as consumed by me as mine are by you, if only because I can’t imagine how you are managing to command a ship in such a condition. I envy you that you have Erik to speak to about this, because I have no one. Crescentia wouldn’t understand or forgive me, and I don’t understand it myself, but I can’t deny that my heart is yours—no matter how inconvenient or dangerous it is.
Over my shoulder, Artemisia gives a derisive snort that makes my cheeks warm. Yes, it’s over the top, but isn’t that the idea of a love letter? I ignore her and continue.
You have me distressingly curious: what exactly was this dream of yours about? I look forward to your return so that we can make it come to life.
Art makes another noise, but this time she sounds more approving, so I suppose I must be doing something right, even though I feel foolish writing these things down. I hesitate before continuing, knowing what I want to say to him now, but acutely aware of Artemisia behind me, silently—and not so silently—judging every word I write. In the end, though, I decide to write the truth. A part of me worries that someone might find it, but S?ren wrote plenty of dangerous things in his letter to me; if he wasn’t worried about it being found, I shouldn’t be either.
As to what I want from you, it’s nothing as extravagant as the sea, though it feels just as vast and impossible. I want you; I want to be able to walk in broad daylight with my hand in yours; I want to kiss you and not have to worry who sees it. And when I dream of you—which I do all too often—I dream of a world in which that is possible.
To that, Artemisia says nothing, which is almost worse. I press forward, writing something I know she’ll have to approve of.
Please, tell me about your days and what occupies them. Mine are as simple and dull as they usually are, often spent reading in my rooms or listening to idle gossip. The most interesting thing that happened was when the late Lord Gibraltr left his fortune to his bastard instead of his wife and daughters. Please tell me something more engrossing than that, I beg of you.
I count the days to the new moon eagerly and look forward to having you in my arms again.
Yours,
Thora
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 S?ren. 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.