Ashes of Snow

Chapter 15

THE NEXT MORNING, when Violet and Daisy come again with pleas for me to attend etiquette class, I shock them and myself by agreeing.

Violet, holding a sky-blue gown and a navy ribbon, stops beside the wardrobe. Her eyes narrow, and after a pause she scurries over to stand between my bed and the balcony. "Is this a trick?" she asks, and I don't miss how she tries to hold her arms out, as if to block me from sprinting around her and leaping off the balcony.

I slide off the bed, on the side opposite the balcony doors, and calmly meet her eyes. "No. I'll go."

Violet puckers. "Wearing a proper outfit?"

I frown. "Yes."

"Without your weapon?"

A groan bubbles in my throat. "Going isn't compromise enough?"

Violet's pucker sharpens and she clucks her tongue.

"Weapons have no business inside the palace."

She takes a few quick steps across the room and lays the gown and ribbon on the bed. No sooner does the fabric relax against the mussed sheets than her hands move to my nightgown, undoing the buttons down the back like she's afraid I'll change my mind if she doesn't move fast enough. I start to flinch, start to fight her off on instinct, when my muscles still. I can do this. All of this—the marriage, whatever classes Theon ordered, and help my kingdom in ways that I never even dreamed of but that will still make me feel like I belong to Winter.

If Perrin can do it, I can too. I can weave threads of myself into a tapestry already designed by others. It's possible. And this could be good—I'm in a position of power, aren't I? Far more power than being an ordinary soldier. This will be good.

So as Violet tugs the gown over my head, and Daisy runs a brush through my hair, I pull my shoulders straight. I'm a future ruler of Avellia. How would a future ruler act? Lucien bursts into my mind, his steadiness, his calm demeanor in the face of ... everything. Act like Lucien. I can do this.

"I'm bringing my chakram," I say. When Violet whips her head up, I level my eyes in a stare. Calm, in control, steady. "I don't intend on using it, but I will have it with me."

Violet's lips twitch. Her eyes narrow, a tight sweep of a glare, before she drops back to work tying the dark-blue ribbon around my waist.

I can't hide my smile. One small victory.

The next week flies past in a whirl of Avelliaan history and curtsying properly and learning which fork to use while eating salad. I clearly surprise Violet and Daisy by paying attention, and every time an instructor compliments me on answering a question correctly, they twitter excitedly from the back of the room. But I've always been a good student in camp, it was only when I saw Lucien sparring without me that I started to get twitchy and disruptive, and Sir would throw his hands in the air and shout at me until I broke down in tears. Now, though, I really am trying to be good at this whole future-queen thing.

If only because, every morning, I find a way to be me.

In the earliest cracks of dawn, when the sun is still fighting a black–blue war with the night sky, I slip on my clothes—my real clothes, a shirt and pants and boots—and scurry through the still-sleeping palace to the library, where I stashed Magic of Malkier. This coupled with my chaotic schedule of classes and meals in my room means I haven't seen any of the other refugees since Lucien and Perrin's disastrous sparring session. Certainly not for lack of trying on their part—I dart down side halls when I see Selene coming, scale walls when I hear Bran's voice around the corner. I have no desire to face anyone until I can present a revelation. Until I can prove that I can still be useful in this position as me.