Daughters of Ruin (9 page)

He detailed all the drama between the captains' guild and the caravaneers, but made no mention of a rebellion or the secret rebel group that had taken over all of Meridan's society gossip. They called themselves the Munnur Myrath. To the imagination of Meridan nobles, they were demons and fiends—which led to the artless insult leveled at her people, the “Fiendish.” But he would have surely told her if anything so climactic was afoot.

His letters avoided such politics. He wrote less and less of Cousin Denarius, Cadis's caretaker and mentor. The kind old man had raised her when her parents were lost to the sea. He sat in her stead as archon now. She missed Denarius most of all. But Jesper would only bring more suspicion if he spoke of the archon.

Cadis's eyes were not yet used to the undervault of the coliseum when a gauntlet swung out of the darkness and hit her in the stomach—knocking the air out of her lungs and the daydreams out of her mind.

“
Ooph
,” she said, doubling over and catching the iron glove.

A calm, quiet voice spoke from the shadow behind a pillar. “You don't seem prepared.”

Iren.

Cadis took a deep breath and fit the gauntlet over her left hand. Above them, the attendants were clearing the arrows and the crowd distracted itself with the intermission carnival. Hawkers sold skewers of dried beef and crackled rice.

“A cheaty move,” said Cadis.

“I could hear you jangling all the way from the stairs,” said Iren, stepping into the uneven light from the braziers, dressed in Corentine-blue light armor, with short rapiers sheeted in an X on her back.

“We can wait till you're ready,” she added.

Cadis had to smile. She was easily twice Iren's size. One solid swing of her cutlass would break any of Iren's blocks, and yet there her diminutive sister stood, as bold as a mountain flower.

Iren tossed Cadis her cutlass.

“Oh, sister mine,” said Cadis, playing coy, “has this summer heat melted your resolve? Are you melancholic to be down among the poorly cultured and ill read?”

“We all suffer,” said Iren. “Your dreadful braids must itch with parasites, for instance.”

“Ha!” said Cadis. “There are easier ways to kill yourself, sister.”

They each stood on a wooden platform facing each other. Attendants in the corner began turning giant cranks to open the trapdoors in the coliseum floor.

As light poured into the vault, Cadis winked at Iren. “That was it?” she said. “That's all you've got to goad me?”

“I suppose you smell funny,” said Iren with a shrug. “Besides, who needs head games when I've got such perfect odds?”

“No gambler in their right mind would bet on you against me. I'm the champion.”

“Only because Rhea can't keep her feet under her.”

The reference to the previous year raised Cadis's hackles even though she knew it was coming.

It had been a close match until Rhea had become distracted and stumbled. Cadis pounced as any fighter would. But to the people of Meridan, it was a disgrace. A dishonorable victory. Another treachery from the Findish.

“All I have to do is fight you to a draw,” said Iren, “and they'll love me. They don't care if I lose. They just don't want you to win.”

It was true. Even if Cadis
was
wearing Meridan colors, even if she bowed and pledged a thousand times, she would never win them over. Iren was right. And she was smart enough to let Cadis come to the realization herself. They made a perfect pair in that regard. Cadis, eager to win back the Meridan people, their affection, their esteem for the Findish. Iren, always present, helping her remember the prizes that were simply too lofty. At best Meridan would give her begrudging respect. For Cadis—who wished desperately for everyone to love her as she loved them—this was a painfully difficult fact to remember.

Cadis reached up and unclasped her crimson and gold breastplate and let it fall to the ground beside her platform. Underneath was a light leather jerkin, unarmored, but at least unmarked by the sigil of Meridan. She would present herself—herself. She felt a wave of gratitude for Iren.

Their platforms began to rise. The dull roar of the crowd and a light rain of sand from the arena floor wafted down the open shafts.

“All right. You win,” said Cadis. “I won't go easy.”

She could see Iren's lips quiver, holding back a smirk. “You never have before.”

“Have too,” said Cadis, playful and petulant. “You don't even know how much.”

Iren finally let the smile escape, like a bird from its cage. “Have not,” she said.

The proxy sisters shared a moment of connection, beaming at each other with true affection, until the arena floor severed their eyeline and the platforms brought them out once again, onto the sunbright stage, where they would battle as hardened foes. “Did you see my arrows before?” said Cadis.

They bowed to each other.

“Of course,” said Iren. “They were spectacular. But you look better now. Red and gold don't suit you.”

A shinhound, seated somewhere near the king's balcony, saw Iren and barked. Iren drew her double rapiers and set position. Cadis waved her cutlass in a figure eight to loosen her wrist.

Without warning, she sprang forward and in one charging motion swung the heavy blade down toward Iren's head.

One came carried from Tasan's Imperium

A sister dead, in a black dress clad

Spoiled and twisted by a rank delirium

Slowly and surely she . . . went . . . mad.

—Children's nursery rhyme

S
uki stood in the saddle of her horse (Helio (which was hers, even though Declan had named it)) to see Cadis and Iren sparring on the other side of a giant hedge (on the closer side to the king's box) while she warmed up for her ride (which was next) when she caught sight of Rhea (goodiegoodie queen witch) and Endrit (gods, he was beautiful) watching from the conductor's trench, standing extra close to each other (though that might have just been the angle of her view (because Endrit would have to be a wild pig idiot to want that mangy nag (and he wasn't (because he had a dozen options (like Cadis for one (and he could maybe even choose Suki (hopefully))))))).

“Stay straight,” she (Suki) said to herself, as Marta had taught her.
Stay straight.
A kind of double meaning (old soldiers loved that sort of thing (training advice that doubled as life advice)). Suki kept the reins of Helio straight as he trotted along the wall of the arena. Some spectators said something (Suki ignored them). And she tried to keep her thoughts straight (not twisted in a thousand directions at once (but seeing Rhea (after what she said the night before) made it impossible)).

The night before.

The night before, when Endrit had whispered to her in the corner, “What would I do without you, Susu?” (after she'd patched up the sloppy cut from Rhea). He'd leaned forward to whisper it. Suki had craned her neck up. Almost a kiss. And she'd said, “I dunno, bleed I guess,” (which was very clever for its double meaning (his cut, and his broken heart)).

They were almost alone in the corner together. Endrit had even said, “Yeah, you're probably right.” He was comfortable around her (Suki could tell (more comfortable than around the others)), which meant they had something special.

Even when he danced with Rhea, Suki could tell he was uncomfortable with her clumsiness (they danced to Tasanese music (the best kind) and it was too subtle and elegant for Rhea).

In all the twisted scheming and court intrigue that swirled around Suki's head, Endrit was calm and honest and simple (which might have sounded like an insult, but it was love, love so deep (like a well) that it stayed still in all the turmoil of their lives).

Cadis would have described it in words, that it was like a water well in a brush fire. But Suki felt it as an unspoken musical sensation (like the ethereal connection she had with Helio when they rode). The word for it in Tasanese translated in the common tongue as “co-spirits” (meaning they shared a soul and could look at each other and know what the other was thinking (and be comfortable around each other even if one of you is a servant and the other a hostage queen)).

Tola had told her about being a “co-spirit” (she had it with a prince from an outer province (who got killed at the Battle of Crimson Fog (or maybe committed suicide when he heard about Tola (or maybe when your co-spirit dies, you just fall over dead too)))). Tola (dead).

Suki remembered a glorious sunny morning (years ago) in the Summer Palace, when Tola taught her trampoline somersaults (servants threw her into the air with a silk sheet). Nearby, another dozen servants threw Tola (who was trained by the Tasanese Royal Acrobats and had long legs that made her seem like a bird in flight). Tola would shout instructions (up and down (her memory was of bouncing up and down (seeing her sister's smile on every up (and feeling an invisible string connecting her to it (the smile), like her whole heart was tethered to Tola (and thinking that must have been how co-spirits felt all the time))))).

But Tola was dead and the string in Suki had been dragging on the ground (until she found Endrit).

And even if the emperor (her father) of Tasan would never allow his heir to marry a servant, Suki didn't care, because she would wear the key to the walled palace one day, and she would bring Endrit, and she would demand to see every guard who was there on the eve of Crimson Fog, and she would summon them before her, and they would be so afraid, they would tell her exactly what happened (Did Tola really betray the peace? (why?))(And if she did, how did the Meridan dragoons ever stop her?) (And (maybe she didn't want to know this part) what did they do to her?) (Why did they only return her sword (broken) and a lock of hair?) (Could she be . . . (no) alive? Could she be somewhere nearby (in Meridan Keep?)?) No. That was madness. Whatever happened, Suki would hear it from those guards when she was finally empress.

And then she would drag them behind horses through the badlands, until there was nothing left tugging on their ropes but a few red stains.

Suki circled back around and hopped up onto Helio's saddle, standing on her tiptoes to see above the hedge. They were still fighting (Cadis and Iren), and still in the trench (Endrit and Rhea) touching arms.

Rhea (smiling like a court fool) seemed to feel the heat of Suki's glare. Out of nowhere, she glanced at the hedge. Suki dropped down into the saddle (she probably didn't see (who cared if she did? (Suki cared, obviously, because spying made her seem childish))).

Rhea's opinion of her didn't matter (unless she told Endrit about it (which she probably would)).

Suki spurred Helio into a canter and then a gallop. The people on her side of the arena took notice and sat (they were standing before, to watch Cadis and Iren on the far side). There was a general murmur of confusion. Was the next exhibition starting before the other ended? (Who cared if it did?) Suki wasn't a puppet. She was a queen. She would ride whenever she wanted (and Rhea could deliver a dozen threats from her daddy—hang them all).

Suki slipped into the stirrups and raised her back for a full-tilted gallop, once, twice around the equestrian yard. The center was filled with hedged gates. Scattered across the course were bundles of bamboo stalks—a dozen tied together and pounded into the dirt to be as tall and as thick as a soldier in battle.

The arena erupted into applause. The sparring must have finished.

(
Hup, hup!
C'mon, Helio!)

Helio tore across the arena. Suki hopped out of the stirrups, into a tight crouch on the saddle. Before the audience could completely settle, Suki hit the starting gate—a massive three-tier jump. Helio launched into the air. Suki sprang off the saddle into a backflip. Together they careened over the gate. Suki vaulted through the backflip, extending her legs to point directly at the sky, and then swung around, spread, and hit the saddle just as Helio hit the ground. The crowd roared and turned fully toward the equestrian course.

(Declan didn't even get his bow, poor old man.)

Suki and Helio clipped around a flag at full speed. Suki leaned all the way to the left, to snatch a Tasanese long sword out of the ground. She came up and leaned to the right to grab another. Both swords had the long, thin, straight blade, double sharp, with pointed ends. The ornamented handles resembled the knotted branches of a bituin tree and were laced with tightly woven ribbons (bloodred (Tasan)) that fluttered behind her like tail feathers of a firebird.

From a seated position, Suki could point the blades down and carve into the dirt. She wondered if Rhea and Endrit had gone down into the undervault together, or if they were watching from some corner. She couldn't spare a glance (one false step, a loose stirrup, a missed swing, and she'd break every bone in her body (and embarrass herself)).

Helio threaded between a formation of bamboo stalks. Suki cut them down at angles that would have been ear to shoulder—through the neck. The severed heads of the bamboo bundles slid, then fell from their bodies.

She had embarrassed herself the previous night (after everyone had gone to bed). She had waited by the night kitchen (for Endrit) even though she had no reason to believe he would come. They hadn't said anything (but just in case, a fateful meeting, a chance connection). That was all she imagined. Maybe he would pass by and see her by the torchlight, and (it didn't matter) Rhea walked by instead, coming from the magister's tower (startled both of them).

“What're you doing here?”

“What're
you
doing here?”

“Don't be impertinent, Susu.”

“Don't ever call me Susu.”

(She sighed like it was such a strain on her patience.)

“I was just speaking to my—the king” (her daddy), “and Endrit can come to the ball.”