Page 5 of Bride of Ash & Dust

“Did you know,” Blayne begins, in the same tone he always uses to open a lesson, “that Marion was once a small part of the great Vsenrog empire?”

I nod; of course, I know that. Unlike Elrick, Blayne has never once mentioned the summer of misery that sparked Marion’s rebellion against Vsenrog. Perhaps he doesn’t know. He comes from Vsenrog, after all, and I doubt Vsenrog students are taught much about the atrocities their kingdom committed.

“So, in a way,” Blayne continues, “your marriage to a prince of Vsenrog, even if he’s an adopted prince, will be like the Kingdom of Marion coming home.”

Our eyes meet. There’s something he’s not telling me, something shadowed and strange in his expression. My chest feels tight. I knot my fingers together at my waist to keep my hands from shaking.

“What’s he like?” I ask in a voice that’s hardly more than a whisper. “Prince Zarek, I mean. My⁠—”

But my throat closes around the word betrothed, and I fall silent. Blayne clears his throat.

“He is royalty,” he says. “He was the prince of the kingdom of Dungal, in the mountains north of Vsenrog.”

Blayne taps the map spread on the table, near a smudge of ink labeled Vederill Pass. Dungal isn’t there, so it was either part of Vsenrog back then, or the cartographer figured it wasn’t worth mentioning.

“He was sent to Vsenrog as a hostage,” Blayne continues, “to be raised as part of King Malrik’s royal family. A failed attempt to avert the war.”

Blayne looks down at the map, and his forehead creases. I know what he’s not saying. War broke out anyway. Now Vsenrog controls the northern mountains and Vederill Pass, and Dungal is ash and dust, as the song goes.

Elrick says Vsenrog started that war. Blayne taught me that Dungal provoked their larger and stronger neighbor. I’ve never known who to believe.

“Why did he stay?” I ask, frowning at the map.

“Zarek, you mean?” Blayne shakes his head. “Who knows? Maybe he preferred Vsenrog. It’s a much richer kingdom, you know. Much more comfortable than those primitive homes of the mountain lords.” He shrugs. “Maybe he liked the work King Malrik offered him. Or maybe he had nothing to go back to. Vsenrog put a swift end to Dungal’s aggression.”

I frown down at the map as a strange pang of sympathy moves through my chest.

I don’t want to go to Vsenrog. I’ve spent my entire life preparing to live by the ocean in Ethiria as the wife of their crown prince, Laurance. I know as much about Ethiria as I do about my own kingdom. More, perhaps. I’d even chosen the first sets of horses I wanted to breed in their royal stable.

But I suppose I have it easier than my betrothed, in some ways. His kingdom was destroyed. At least my home isn’t in danger.

“At any rate,” Blayne continues, “Zarek stayed, and he was raised as King Malrik’s foster son, becoming a prince of Vsenrog. He’s made quite a name for himself.”

“I’ve heard,” I murmur. “Don’t they call him the snake?”

Blayne looks up from the map. Our eyes meet, and his expression darkens.

“I wouldn’t say that to his face,” Blayne cautions. “But, yes. They call Zarek the snake of Vsenrog.”

Lovely. I press my lips together and frown at the old map. Vsenrog spreads across the parchment like blood seeping through cloth. I open my mouth to ask Blayne what exactly it is that my betrothed did to make a name for himself, but I stop myself.

Maybe Blayne doesn’t know. Maybe I don’t want to hear it.

“What is he like,” I ask again, “as a person?”

I hate the tremble in my voice. Prince Laurance, the man I was supposed to marry until yesterday, is an utter fool, according to most accounts. And I was prepared to marry him anyway. Why should I care what kind of man Zarek is?

Blayne shakes his head. “I’m not entirely certain,” he says. “I don’t know him, of course. He must do his job well. And I’ve heard he’s…loyal.”

I notice the hesitation and wonder about all the other words he chose not to say.

He’s an assassin, the snake of Vsenrog. That’s what Anura, my handmaiden, told me. Zarek is a merciless killer for King Malrik. The rumors say he murdered the only prince of Lisal during the Conference of the Seven Allied Kingdoms, and he killed a general from Aning during their brief skirmish with Vsenrog. Anura said he sleeps with daggers strapped to his legs.

That’s going to make our wedding night uncomfortable, I replied, and she laughed. But she looked at me with a strange expression, like she knew something even worse that she couldn’t bear to tell me.

My eyes sting. The room dances behind another wave of useless tears. I ball my hands into fists and press them against my eyes. What good will it do to cry about it? I’m going to be married off to some royal son no matter what. I’ve known that ‌my entire life.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now.