Daughters of Ruin (13 page)

Endrit made room for Suki and said, “Hey, Susu. Quite the tribute fire you blazed with Helio.”

Suki laughed a bit too loudly. “You saw it! I thought you were in the conductor's pit.” Her whispering was just a bit too loud for a ballroom full of nobles and a king midspeech. Endrit leaned over her so she would bring her voice down. He whispered, “Wouldn't have missed it.”

“Wanna dance later?”

“Yes. Yes. Shh,” said Endrit.

Is she being rude on purpose?

People all around them shifted in discomfort. Rhea thought she saw her father's lips quiver in irritation. “Why are you shushing me? It's the final speech.”

“Susu, please,” said Endrit.

Does the selfish brat not realize what it took to secure an invitation for Endrit? Of course she doesn't. And she likely doesn't care anyway. Nor does she realize the jeopardy she is putting him in.

What made it worse was that her father was speaking of Suki at the moment, drawing even more attention to the fact that she was outwardly dismissing the king. “No one cares, Endrit. We already put on their precious show.”

Has she stolen into the wine cellar again?

Endrit was visibly agitated. Magister Hiram moved from behind the Findish envoy, toward them, with murder in his eyes behind the placid exterior.

Rhea grabbed Suki's elbow. “Stop it,” she hissed.

Suki wrenched away. “Don't touch me.”

The entire ballroom quieted as if a page had shattered a tray of goblets. Rhea was stunned by the scorn in Suki's expression. Hiram emerged behind them and intoned, in a deep whisper meant only for them, “This is not the place.”

“—and blessed be Anant.” The king finished his speech and the nobles clapped. From the dais, the royal musicians began directly with a song, and the crowd split off into pairs. Rhea had missed her father's account of her own accomplishments. Out of all the damage, this was the one Rhea felt most deeply.

As quickly as he'd appeared, Hiram disappeared into the crowd, perhaps to find the envoy again. Rhea could finally speak aloud. “What is your crisis?”

“Nothing,” said Suki. “Come on, Endrit. Let's dance.”

Both of the future queens rounded on Endrit, who suddenly found himself the ham bone stuck between the clutches of two shinhounds.

Rhea entreated him with a look, that such petulance should not be rewarded. And if she were honest, she hoped he would choose her anyway. Couples danced around them. Iren approached, eating a mushroom-filled tart. “We could hear your squawking from across the room,” she reported.

Cadis was still on the other side of the ballroom, with a half-moon of lords around her imagining the magnificent highborn children she could give them, even if she was a Dain with a swollen eye and a cut lip.

Endrit still hadn't made his choice.

Suki pulled at his hand. It was rare to see Endrit unsure of anything—especially in the field of love.
Is he worried for his position? For his mother's? Does he think so little of us, that we would punish him somehow?

His sandy brown hair had been parted and combed. Rhea noticed his shoes. He must have borrowed them from Hiram. He knew no one else who could afford such clothes.

The stable boy with obsidian eyes.

He said, “Save me a waltz, yeah?” and then he let himself be dragged away by Suki, who glanced back over her shoulder to turn the knife.

Iren stood beside her and watched them dance. “Should have never put him in that position,” said Iren as she chewed the last of her tart.

Rhea noticed Lazlo Sesquitaine walking toward her now that she was unattached in conversation. Before the young lord could say anything, she exhaled her frustration and marched out of the ballroom.

The air in the hallway was cool, not cycled a thousand times through the mouths of old drunk men. Rhea stepped on the hem of her dress in her haste to exit and tripped. She caught herself on a statue of King Kendrick and looked around to see if anyone noticed. Only the royal guardsmen stood in the long hall—at each of the doors to the ballroom and along windows—stiff suits of armor they were taught to ignore, much like the statues of the kings and queens of yore. They were part of the furniture of a castle keep. This night, her father had overdecorated.

Rhea straightened herself. Her necklace was beginning to press on her collarbone.

Should I go to my chamber? Will Endrit follow to have that dance he promised?

Maybe leaving is the power position—if by leaving, I can also take my prize with me.

But no, in the presence of the guards, he would never be allowed. And yet she couldn't go back in. Suki would love that. It would be as if she were pleading. Her father would scold with a look. Queens should not flit about like beetles.

She stood in the empty hall with mute guards all in a row, feeling silly. Maybe she could—

The door behind her opened, and the noise and the stale air of the ballroom lapped over her. Rhea spun around, hoping for Endrit but willing to settle for Marta, or even Iren. Perhaps Magister Hiram had come to draw her back, to introduce her to the Findish envoy, who were, after all, the ambassadors to her court.

It was not the magister.

“Hello, Father,” said Rhea, with a curtsy.

Behind the king, she could see a roomful of eyes, glancing and pretending not to glance as he exited. He strode into the hall, waving back his personal guard. They stood facing each other, mostly alone, until the door closed behind him.

She could see in his face one half of her own features—the sharp nose, the high cheeks. By substitution, she knew the rest of her must have been her mother—the black curls, the hazel eyes—and she wondered if that half of her was what made him cringe.

Rhea didn't know what to do, and so she hugged him.

Is it too much?

She heard the clang of a guard's shoulder plate as he jolted from her sudden movement. He caught himself and stayed in position.

Thank the gods the king slackened and returned the embrace.

“Why did you leave?”

Because we sisters quarrel. Because I would not dance with Lazlo Sesquitaine. Because I've lost a fight so petty—a dance with a boy who is my servant—that I am more embarrassed to have lowered myself to Suki's jealous nattering than the fact that he did not choose me when given the opportunity.

“I needed a moment,” said Rhea.

The king turned and walked down the hall. He opened the crook of his arm. Rhea took it and walked beside him.

“It's nice to be finished for a year,” he said.

It's a giant's boot off my neck.

“Yes.”

“Yours was the most praised,” he noted.

Really?

Rhea could have shrieked with such riotous rejoicing that all of Meridan Keep would tremble. “Oh?”

“Indeed. The Findish envoy called it ‘alarming,' ” he said. “You nearly impaled the boy several times.”

“We've been practicing.”

“The disarming of his sword—”

“That part in particular.”

Her father nodded. He was proud. She could tell. She felt such a rush in her blood that their strolling pace seemed suddenly excruciating.

“Hiram tells me a rematch next year would be unwise.”

Hang Hiram and let him rot for his meddling
.

“I could beat her this time. Didn't you see Iren outsmart her for most of the match? I didn't avoid it, if that's what you mean.”

“I didn't mean that,” said her father.

“Cadis and Iren requested to fight each other.”

“The envoy thought it was to be charitable, to spare you embarrassment.”

Hang them all. Even my victories are now charity from Cadis?

They walked in silence into the central chamber of the Protectorate, toward her room.

“Do they think I'm afraid of her?” whispered Rhea, so a guard wouldn't hear. Her father made an exhalation, a single laugh.

Is it so obvious to him?

He patted her on the arm. “Just . . . meet rumor with quiet, darling.”

But it was no comfort to be silenced from defending herself.

Rhea's rejoicing seemed so long ago. The work of a year cast as nothing but a coward's refuge. They reached the door to her chamber. A guard standing by opened it. Her father stopped, as if he had been ushering her there to keep her from further shaming the family. Rhea stepped into her room and commanded herself not to cry until he was gone.

He took her hand and put it to his lips. Then he looked at the poisoned mouth of the dragon ring, with its ruby eyes that matched the centerpiece of her necklace. “It's a beautiful ring,” he said. “Get some air. Have a rest.”

Rhea's vision blurred.

“But come back later. They want to see the queen in full dress.”

That was likely his way of comforting her. “There are three other queens for them to gawk at,” said Rhea. She turned and walked into her room so she could wipe at her eyes without him seeing.

“Yes,” he said, “but none of them are mine.”

Her chamber wasn't nearly as cluttered as the others'. Iren had her embroidery and glasswork on separate tables. Cadis had her shelves of Findish plays. Suki had a menagerie of Tasanese art—paintings, miniatures, musical instruments.

Rhea had just the writing desk, her bed, and some bureaus. It had two doors—one to the balcony and one to her real home, the training room downstairs. Rhea spent most of her time down there anyway. She didn't need baubles and dolls.

The door closed. She walked to the looking glass beside her balcony and gave herself three full sobs—wet and twisted and ugly.

She swallowed the rest.

The breeze on the balcony was as cool as well water. The night was full of stars. The city below was full of torches and revelers. The full moon presided over them. Cicadas sang to accompany the minstrels. Laughter all around.

That night, even the orphans of Walltown would sleep with full bellies. Rhea could barely distinguish the fires on the distant city wall from the light of fireflies much closer on. Beyond them both was all of Pelgard—all the people of three kingdoms not her own.

It would be an easy and lasting peace if all the nights could be likewise beautiful. Rhea felt the gnaw of hunger. She hadn't eaten.

Perhaps she would swing by the kitchens for a secret meal. She hated for people to watch her chew. She would give Cooky a kiss on the cheek for his year's labor. His cheek would be greasy, but it would be everything he talked about until the next year's Revels. Then she would return to the ball. Without so much as a nod to Lazlo, she would have that dance with Endrit. She might even kiss two men in one night.

As she planned her course, Rhea half consciously noted the figures prowling across the bridge below. Some moved under it, across the gulley. They stayed away from the firelight, noticeable only as darker shapes sliding in the shadows. Rhea thought,
Isn't it strange for revelers to sneak away from the festival grounds?

She pushed off the balcony to return to her room with little more thought.
Is it a hiding game?
she mused as she crossed the Protectorate hall, around the oaken table, to the door that led to the kitchens. Rhea turned the knob and pulled. It stayed fast.

The door was never locked.

Rhea wasn't even certain who owned a key. She walked over to the other door, which led back to the ballroom, and pulled it open. The guardswoman stood before her, sword at the ready.

Rhea stated the obvious, “You're in my way.”

With a hint of apology, the guard said, “Begging pardon, Majesty.”

“Then get out of my way,” said Rhea.

“The king said you might be crying in there and to ask you to—uh—”

It must have been awkward to deliver such patronizing commands. “—to clean yourself up, if necessary, so that others won't be—uh—”

“So others won't be what? Subjected to my emotions?”

“Satisfied by the sight of a weak queen, Your Majesty.”

Rhea opened her eyes wide. “Look, no tears. I'm fine. Now stand aside or I'll put you down, guardswoman.”

The guard seemed to like a queen willing to bloody her knuckles a bit. She bowed and stepped aside.

Rhea stepped through. They walked together, down the hall, back toward the ballroom.

“There is more to do tonight than babysit me, I hope,” said Rhea.

“It's my honor,” said the guard.

“Besides,” said Rhea over her shoulder, “there are revelers playing a sneak game. They could drown in the gulley.”

“What did you say?” said the guard. But before she could finish the question, Rhea opened the door to the banquet hall and an explosion shattered the west wall.

C
adis recognized the explosive ballista instantly, the signature cannonade of the Findain naval arsenal.

All around her were screams of nobles in utter chaos and guards shouting. Dust and smoke scratched at her eyes and burned her lungs. The smell of death—burnt hair, singed skin—already filled the giant hall.

Another explosion rocked the floor. The ballista must have arced downward and hit lower on the keep wall.

A moment ago she had been standing with a flock of suitors and the Findish envoy before her. They had contrived some political debate for her benefit, to impress, to cajole, to influence. She was used to the mixture—flirting, fawning, manipulation.

The marquis of an old Meridan outpost at the Tasan border clucked like a peacock about the need for the presence of troops in each of the three, ahem,
disorderly
kingdoms. Not only did the soldiers bring order, but also, they taught the locals all the latest techniques in farming.

A Findish merchant with long eyelashes and a habit of touching Cadis at the elbow replied, “Oh? Does the good marquis know much about—”