Page 3 of Ash and Roses

ABBY

Teagan’s hushed voice whispers excitedly as I claim the seat next to her. “Are you okay?” The blazing fire in front of us does little to warm me, but the scraps of meat on my plate surely will. Teagan has been my lady’s maid and closest friend since we were children, and there’s no one I trust more in this world. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

I nod as I politely cut into my venison. The pangs of hunger want to have me tearing into this paltry bit of meat like an animal, but a princess must be composed at all times. I flash a sideways glance to Arabella, who slices her meat with apparent boredom. She’s just as hungry as I am, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her. Her pale hair and skin is luminescent in the light of her small fire, and it’s times like this where it’s easy to see why people believe she’s an incarnation of Lunalissa herself. I, on the other hand, look nothing like her with my mousey brown hair and sky-blue eyes.

Arabella is my half sister, and her mother—the queen—was too far gone with her second child to travel to this hunt. She may even deliver before we arrive home. I don’t want to think about that now. If she were to have a son, the line of succession would shift again. It’s not that I want to rule—because I definitely do not—but it’s hard enough to gain my father’s approval as it is. Another child in the mix will only further the divide between myself and my family.

The memory of splattered blood flashes through my mind as juice explodes in my mouth. I count to ten, then swallow. One of the many foolish rules of royalty is that we must thoroughly chew our food. Arabella once told me that this was a precaution against an untimely death by choking, but I think it all has to do with appearances. Everything is about appearances in this family.

“You must be reeling,” Teagan whisper-yells to me again. “He’s a Guardian now!”

“A Guardian in training,” I correct, after swallowing another small bite. This is not nearly enough food. The hunt must not have been successful this month, which is fair given the wolf attack. Royal rations are doubled, so I can only imagine how many we’ll lose to starvation before the month ends. It feels wrong, given that the very people who will go hungry are the ones working tirelessly to clean, cook, and cure the meat. Under the watchful eyes of the Commander and his lackeys, of course.

“So what? He’s going to be living in the palace. What are you going to say to him when you talk to him?”

“IfI talk to him.”

She rolls her eyes. She wouldn’t dare do that in the presence of my father or Arabella, but she knows she can be herself with me. “I know you better than that. You’re probably already plotting your escape. Maybe you should go now.”

“Go where?” A chill runs down my spine and it has nothing to do with the icy wind blowing against the silver thread of my gown. The Commander always has this effect on me, and it doesn’t help that he moves as silently as a serpent.

“To bed,” I tell him, fully aware that he won’t believe me and not really caring if he doesn’t.

I can just make out the narrowing of his eyes under the silver half-mask he wears, but he doesn’t argue. Snakes in the garden aren’t so bad when you know how to deal with them. “There will be no ignoring your duties, Abilene. The King spared one Marked, but you have a duty to the others.”

Now I want to roll my eyes. I hate when he calls me by my full name, but that loathing doesn’t come close to how I feel about the Marching. Even his timely appearance is intentional. With as much grace as I can muster, I hand my plate to Teagan. She’s been getting too thin, so she could use the extra rations. I could use them too, but why should I have more while others suffer? I’ve lost my appetite anyway, though the pains in my stomach remain.

The Commander leads me away from the cluster of fires to a ragged tent. The fabric is weather-worn and speckled with rips that welcome the biting wind. This tent is the furthest from the warmth of the cooking fires, and even if this wasn’t routine, I would know who sleeps here. When the Commander pulls back the flap, the stench of sweat hits me as if I’ve smacked into an invisible wall. Even without the heat of the fires, there are enough bodies crammed into this space to warm it.

The tent, which would sleep eight comfortably, holds thirty-one people.

No, not thirty-one. Not anymore.

Thirty pairs of eyes stare back at me in the darkness, solemn and resigned. Marked aren’t permitted to look upon royalty—with one exception.

“Greetings, Lady of the Marked,” they say in unison. It takes everything I have in me not to shudder at the title. A title earned because I had the nerve to beg for their lives. To beg forhislife.

“Greetings, Marked,” I mumble back. None of us enjoy this, except perhaps the Commander. He may even look more forward to this than the promise of a warm meal. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Not so fast,” the Commander holds out an arm to stop me. “First, you must choose one.”

“For what?”In all the years I’ve been forced to do this, never have I had to choose a Marked before the Marching. Judging by the apprehensive glances they share with one another, this is the first they’re hearing of it as well.

This is different, and different is dangerous.

“Lunalissa sent that wolf tonight. She chose you for a sacrifice, and because you survived, the hunt was unsuccessful. Your life cost us all, Abilene, so now you must make it right. Choose one to go to the woods in your stead.”

I swallow hard against the sudden aridness of my throat. I knew it was possible some would blame me for the hunt’s failure, but if Lunalissa really meant for me to be a sacrifice, then sending a Marked to their death in my place will fix nothing. This is nothing but a punishment and has little to do with my life being spared.

This is about Jade.

“You can’t ask me to do that.” These people breathe because of me, and even though the life they live now is arguably worse than death, I can’t be the one to end it. I won’t take a life.

“They are your responsibility. You must choose, or perhaps you want to go yourself?” It’s obvious which option he would rather me take.

Before I can argue or call his bluff, one of the Marked moves. It’s subtle—only the slight gesture of placing a hand against his chest, but it’s enough for me to interpret the meaning. The man appears stronger than the other Marked, at least as strong as a Marked can be. The muscles that ripple down his arms and across his abdomen are thin, but they’re there. Memories of his lashing flood back to me, and the words he’d spoken then replay in my mind. I can almost hear him speak them now, though his lips remain still.

‘Let me die.’

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