Daughters of Ruin (17 page)

“Looking for you.”

Is that really so?
“You weren't in your chamber,” he said.

“Why would I be there?”

“I saw you leave and took the long way around to catch you. After the blast, the fighting spilled out into the halls. I've been trying to—”

His eyes went to Suki, and he trailed off the subject. “What happened?”

He didn't wait for Rhea to respond to begin inspecting Suki's injuries.

“She attacked me. I think she panicked. A rebel got behind her and stabbed through her shoulder.”

Was that a cruel thing to have done?
She had presented Suki in the very worst light.

“You saved her,” said Endrit, as he lifted her hand and looked under the bloody fabric.

“I killed the rebel. Yes.”

Am I so disloyal as to claim all of Endrit's admiration for myself?
Rhea quickly added, “But Suki was probably just confused. She protected lots of innocent people . . . before she lunged at me.”

Endrit smiled at the unconscious Suki. “That's our Susu,” he said. “Nothing if not unpredictable.”

Rhea laughed a little. It was the right decision.

Endrit began to untie the silk laces at the front of his shirt. “When I tell you, remove the cloth and pull the strap of her dress out of the way.”

Rhea nodded. He was still calm. All around, soldiers ran and called to one another. Outside, the fighting continued.

“I was waiting for Hiram,” Rhea explained, so he wouldn't think her useless. He pulled a silk string all the way out. His shirt fell open. Bruises lined his right side. Two ribs were swollen.

“You broke two ribs.”

“Me?” said Endrit, grinning. “Why would I do such a silly thing to myself?”

Is he only so rakish when undressed?

“Now,” he said. Rhea lifted the cloth from Suki's shoulder. The blood flow was slowing.
A good or a bad sign?
Rhea didn't know.

Endrit strapped the shirt lace around Suki's shoulder above the wound and made a tight knot.

He must have fought his way back to the ballroom. A spear handle or a club could have made such injuries, or two strikes from a gauntlet—but none of the rebels had such heavy armor.

Endrit tied off the lace and began to remove his shirt.

“Tell me what happened to your mouth, then.”

Endrit tore off the clean sleeve of his shirt and began wrapping Suki's shoulder. With a free hand, he touched his mouth and looked at his fingers. The blood seemed to surprise him. “A beautiful Fin found me in the hall looking for you. One of those brutish women, probably a warlord from those islands on the North Coast. She grabbed me and tried to take me home to be her prize.”

Endrit focused on pulling strips from his shirt and wrapping the bandage. Rhea tried to excavate the truth with her searching looks.

“She grabbed you?”

“Like a love-struck knight, just scooped me up.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her my body was hers, but my heart would always be in Meridan.”

“Be serious.”

“Then I kissed her ear.”

“Stop jesting, Endrit.”

Endrit looked up. The playful tone drained completely. “If you want to stop jesting, then we need to talk about leaving here right now. Anything else doesn't matter,” he said.

Rhea was uncomfortable looking into his eyes.
Is he joking? Is he traumatized by battle? Why would we leave? My father and the magister will be coming for us.

Rhea didn't follow the sudden turn and resented the lack of warning. “No,” she said. “Tell me.”

“I bit her. I bit the raider on the ear until she let me go.”

Rhea had no response.
Why did he have to make me twist it out of him?
To punctuate the moment, Endrit looked at the body of the masked Fin nearby, reached over, and yanked the half-buried hairpin out of his head. It made a wet sound, like pulling a boot out of mud.

He tossed it back to Rhea. Then he rose. His own bandage was layered with three shades of crimson to brown.

He leaned over, gently lifted Suki's limp form off of Rhea's lap, and slung her over his good arm.

“Well?”

Rhea rose to her feet, but she shrugged with her hands. “What?”

“Time to go, Princess.”

Is he annoyed with me?
“Don't speak to me like that.”

Why is he mad?
She had done nothing. Rhea knew a fight would be childish. However she expressed it—that she wasn't weak for caring what had happened to him—it would seem like petulance, like a demand to be comforted. And this wasn't the time. She breathed, as her father had taught her, then spoke. “Hiram and the king will be here soon.”

“No, they won't,” said Endrit. “The rebels are pushing toward his chambers. We have no idea if a second wave is coming. Meridan troops are probably riding in from the garrison, leaving the outer gate shorthanded. What would you do if you had planned this?”

“You mean if I were Cadis?”

Endrit didn't give any hint of his opinion on Cadis. “What would you do?” he said.

Rhea sighed. “Obviously, I'd use this to divert attention from some larger goal. I'm not an idiot. And Marta taught me just as well as she taught you, so don't pretend you know everything.”

“That's my point. We don't know. But we can't stay here.”

He was right, and Rhea hated that he knew it.

“Fine.”

It suddenly occurred to Rhea that she had done nothing useful since the moment he'd arrived. He had seen her sitting, like some distressed maiden, waiting for others to help. He had bandaged Suki, found her a pin, and held her hand as he guided her thinking. And he was right.

Am I really so—

She didn't finish the thought.

Rhea flushed with shame. And she wished she could explain that he hadn't seen what she had seen. He hadn't been there when the slaughter started. And he hadn't fought or killed or seen someone he loved look at him as Suki had looked at her, with hate. And after all that, he had found her in a distracted moment. A lapse in judgment.

That didn't make her weak.

And he shouldn't have even thought so—not after knowing her for so long. He shouldn't have spoken to her like his fool.

As they ran out of the ballroom, Rhea didn't look back, but let the bloody hairpin fall from her hand. She didn't want to clean it. She was a queen, and she didn't have to.

“Get behind me,” said Rhea as they approached a pair of guards at the petitioner's arch. They had fled down a long set of stairs that ran parallel to the massive grand entryway used for nobles and ceremonial processions. The stone-wrought stairs were for utilitarian use. When locals from Walltown arrived at court to plea for the king's favor, or families of criminals came to beg clemency, they used the petitioner's arch. Rhea and Endrit used it now, as they knew the garrison soldiers would pour into the grand staircase.

The guards at the door were king's dragoons, not castle guard.

“What're they doing here?” said Endrit as they approached. The hall was undecorated stone wide enough only for three men abreast. It was intended to make one feel like a mouse, skittering into the veins of a giant stone colossus.

On closer inspection, Rhea recognized them.

“It's Joram and Lackwood. Just get behind me. They're not supposed to be here,” whispered Rhea. Endrit stopped. She shouldered her way past him, putting her hand on Suki's limp form as if she were a sack of potatoes.

The two soldiers must have been promoted to king's guard recently. Up until then, they'd barely ranked as castle guardsmen. Joram had lost his nose more than a decade ago—in the War of Unification. Lackwood had lost both ears.

The wounds were no longer fresh and pink, and their faces no longer seemed to miss them. They had hardened and wrinkled into somewhat grotesque, mildly comical appearances. Her father wouldn't have had them in the king's guard for their looks alone. They were grunts.

“Stop,” barked Joram when they drew within a spear's length. “Turn around and go back.”

Do they recognize me? If so, they made no bow to royal courtesy.

Rhea looked down. She was still wearing half a dozen royal seals—on her signet ring, in the embroidery of her dress, and on her house jewels. Even if she was tussled and splattered, they should have known.

“Turn around and go back,” said Joram, looking completely unfit in his crimson dragoon gear.

“Yes, we heard you,” said Rhea. The oddness of it still confused her. The dragoons were a small cadre of king's guard.
Is my father nearby? Is he hurt?

“If you heard him, then do what he says.” Lackwood stepped forward with his spear tilted. It was the wrong weapon for such tight quarters. Rhea corrected her thinking. A spear was only the wrong weapon if they were guarding against enemies coming from outside. It was the perfect weapon to hold extended in a narrow hallway, to keep people protected—or trapped—inside.

“We ain't saying it again. Turn back now, Princess, and go to your chambers,” said Joram. His noseless face puckered when he sneered.

“Then you know who I am?”

“'Course,” said Joram. “Been wiping after you since you was weaning.”

“What are you doing, Joram? Is this some kind of jest?”

Are they seizing this opportunity for some kind of petty revenge?

Rhea had never been challenged. Both dragoons would be dead by morning if she chose. The men leveled their spears at Rhea and stepped forward. Endrit whispered, “This is no dance, Rhea. They're not jesting.”

Is he saying we should turn back? Can he find another way out?
Rhea hesitated. The situation had torn apart so quickly—the guards' treasonous aggression, Endrit's uncharacteristic timidity.

“Return now.”

Their spear tips advanced toward Rhea's chest. She still couldn't believe it. She had given Joram a gold piece once, for Penance Day. She knew Lackwood was a lowlander—she had seen his kids in the Walltown Market.

“I order you to stand aside,” said Rhea, gathering the remains of her dignity.

“No.
We
order
you
to turn back.”

“Fight speed, Rhea,” said Endrit. “Make a move.”

Rhea looked back at Endrit, then at Suki. She had her plan. She whispered, “When I say the word, throw Suki.”

Endrit took a moment to understand.

Does he think me callous? It doesn't matter.

He nodded.

Rhea turned back. The spears glinted, like a shutting iron maiden.

“Go,” said Joram.

“No!” said Rhea. “You—”

“We'll hurt you if we need to,” said Lackwood, interrupting.

“Duck!” said Endrit.

She had no time to duck. Over her head, Rhea felt the brush of something pass. It was Suki, still unconscious. Endrit had thrown her like a sandbag onto the spear shafts. Suki's deadweight took the soldiers by surprise and pushed their spear tips down to the stone floor. Rhea was trained all her life for these moments, even for the possibility of treason.

But it never looked like this in her imagining, never so clumsy and closeted. She was shoved aside before she could react to Suki's landing. Endrit dashed past the lowered spears before the soldiers could pull them out from under Suki and smashed his fist directly at Lackwood's face. His nose made a sound like an acorn under a boot. He fell.

Rhea regained her composure when she saw Joram let his spear fall and drew a knife from his belt. He lunged at her. Rhea grabbed the hand holding the blade before it could stab her stomach.

The two wrestled for control of the hand. Rhea shouted, “Get Suki!”

Joram began to bend her arm backward, but Marta had taught them both: Determine the battlefield, determine the victory. It meant the one who controlled the terms of the fight would likely win it.

The hardened dragoon would happily play a simple brutish game of arm wrestle with the winner stabbing the other in the chest. Rhea was too smart for that.

She put a knee in the man's groin. The man groaned. Rhea twisted and kicked the side of the guard's knee. It bent under him. She let go of the knife-wielding hand in the moment her opponent lost balance and used both hands to grab the guard's head. She smashed it into the stone wall like a coconut. The guard dropped the knife as he collapsed to the ground. When she looked up, Endrit had lifted Suki and pulled the wooden door open.

“Come on. Come on.”

Rhea stepped over the fallen guards. Outside, signal fires burned bright, in high alert. Otherwise the night was starless and black. Had clouds rolled in so quickly since she had been on the balcony, admiring the moon?

“They'll be after us soon,” said Endrit as they ran down the ramp toward the courtyard.