When Ion removes his hand, the wounds still hurt, but it isn’t enough to incapacitate me. With a shuddering breath, I struggle to my feet, wincing as I do. It’ll be another few days and a few doses of the salve Ion gives Hoa before the pain goes away completely.
The pain is less when I’m hunched over, but I force my shoulders back and stand up tall. Ion still doesn’t look at me, but the hate simmering in my stomach refuses to be ignored. It’s only my Shadows who can see us, so I do what I’ve wanted to for ten years.
I touch his shoulder so that he has to look at me, dark eyes empty and numb.
“Your ancestors are watching you from the After with shame,” I bite out in Astrean, relishing his shocked expression. “When your days are over, they will not let you in.”
I turn away from him before he can respond. I doubt he’ll tell the Kaiser—he’ll assume my Shadows will.
I hasten to close the back of my nightgown as I walk, wincing when the cotton brushes against the tender wounds and sticks to the blood that paints my back. The nightgown was white when I put it on, but now most of it has been stained red.
My Shadows fall in behind me as I leave the throne room. They don’t touch me and I don’t want them to. I’ll break if they do, crumble to pieces like my ersatz crown. I am a princess made of ashes, after all. I can’t help but fall apart.
Walking back to my room takes almost three times as long as it should, because each step makes my whole body ache and every few seconds I stumble. Once, Heron catches me by my elbow before remembering the role he’s playing. I have to stop myself from leaning on him.
Hoa is waiting in my room with a bowl of hot water, rags, and bandages ready. She won’t look at me, but she always has trouble after my punishments—sometimes I could swear they hurt her even more than they hurt me, though I’m not sure how that’s possible.
The silence is almost a comfort as she washes the new wounds and dresses them with the ointment Ion gave her. It’s nearly as painful as the whip itself, but when it’s over the pain has dulled to a constant thrum. With guarded tenderness, she washes the blood from the rest of my skin and my hair before dressing me in a fresh nightgown. She knows by now that I won’t be wearing anything else today. Or tomorrow, more than likely. I wince as the fabric brushes my back, and her hand lingers for a brief second on my shoulder. She turns to go.
“Thank you.” The words come out a choked whisper, but she hears them and turns to look at me for a moment before nodding and slipping out the door.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard my Shadows this silent. There is always something—breathing, whispers, movement—but now there is nothing.
“I’m fine,” I say when I can’t stand it anymore. It’s a lie, we all know it, but if I say it enough times maybe it’ll turn true.
They don’t reply, though I hear one of them shift in their seat. I hear another one—Heron, I think—let out a loud exhale. There is nothing for them to say. Nothing will take away my pain; nothing will change what happened. Silence is easiest for all of us.
I slip into bed, careful to stay on my side, curled up in a ball like an infant. I bury my face in one of my pillows and let myself cry as quietly as I can, but I know they can still hear me.
Artemisia’s voice comes first, softer than I’ve ever heard it. It wraps around me like a silk shawl, light and cool.
“Walk through the fog with me,
My beautiful child.
We’re off to dreamland, my dear,
Where the world turns wild.”
Her voice breaks as she sings the old Astrean lullaby, and I know she’s crying, too. The thought of Artemisia crying is ludicrous. She’s always so strong, so sure of everything. Is she thinking of her mother singing the song to her, as I am? I can almost feel my mother’s fingers stroke through my hair, almost smell the garden scents that clung to her.
Heron’s deep baritone joins in like a gentle hand on my shoulder, calm and reassuring.
“Today is done, the time has come
For little birds to fly.
Tomorrow is near, the time is here
For old crows to die.”
The words wrench a sob from me that I can’t control. My Shadows don’t mean anything by it, I know. They don’t—can’t—know that they were some of the last words Ampelio whispered to me before I killed him. Did he ever sing the lullaby to me before? Did he hold me in his arms once and rock me to sleep? I want to believe he did.
Blaise adds his voice next, and it’s so terrible that I almost laugh, despite everything. It warbles at the edges and is horribly off-pitch, but he sings anyway because he knows I need to hear it.
“Dream a dream of a world unknown,
Where anything can be.
Tomorrow you’ll make your dreams come true,
But tonight, child, dream with me.”
Theodosia Eirene Houzzara. The name sings through my body, softening me. I repeat it over and over, clutching it the way a child holds on to her favorite blanket.
My tears stop, though my shaking doesn’t. It won’t anytime soon.
“Søren can’t be far behind the letter. A day or two at most,” I say after a moment. My voice sounds stronger than I feel. “As soon as he’s back, the plan is in motion. After what I told him about his mother in that letter, he won’t want to wait before confronting his father. Even if he doesn’t do so publicly, the whole palace will know about it within the hour. You’ll need to pick a guard to frame for the murder, one of the Kaiser’s closest. Heron, you’ll tear a piece of his shirt, take his blade, his hair tie, any clue that could lead back to him and the Kaiser.”
“I think I liked the look of the one who led the men dragging you out of bed today,” Heron says, and though his voice is quiet and gentle, there’s a hard edge beneath it.
“I heartily agree with that choice,” I tell him before turning to Artemisia’s wall. “Artemisia, go down to the cypress grove and see if your mother has returned from Vecturia yet.”
Silence follows my words for a few breaths, leading me to expect a retort or a scoff.
“Yes, My Queen,” she says instead.
It’s the first time she’s called me that without a hint of sarcasm.
I take a steadying breath. “Then, as soon as Søren moves against his father, I’ll kill him.” My voice doesn’t waver when I say the words, though they still twist my stomach. With the pain from the Kaiser’s punishment fresh, my feelings for Søren feel less important. I can do it, I tell myself, and I almost believe it.