Daughters of Ruin (28 page)

Tomorrow they would execute the only mother any of them had ever had. It was nearly sundown when Endrit finally smacked his shovel into the dirt and cursed. “It's not here!” he said.

Rhea looked at Suki.

Did she know what he was doing
?
By the look of her, she didn't.

“What isn't?” said Rhea.

Endrit sighed. “When we left. Escaped. She told me to look in the garden.”

“For what?” said Rhea.

“I don't know.”

So that's why he was digging.

“What did she say exactly?”

Rhea had never seen him so worried. He who laughed at all the cares of the world. He who had giggled two nights ago when she'd snuck into his bed, afraid of the visions she had seen in her dreams. She had curled in to him for warmth and comfort. He had been both. A lighthearted rake. Nightmare, frustrations, fears—they were all moods too rich for the likes of Endrit. Now he kneeled before a broken fence as if all those blithe and bonny years had turned—in the span of a few hours—into the weight of the Great Ocean.

“She said, ‘Don't worry and look in the garden.' That's all.”

It didn't sound like Marta to be so careless in her instruction.

“Did she say it exactly like that?” said Rhea. “Don't worry? Look in the garden?”

“I think. Don't worry. Be careful. Be calm. I don't remember.”

“Wait. She said ‘be calm'?”

“Maybe. Yes. Why?”

Rhea held up the leaf to the March mint. “Maybe it was a clue.”

Endrit grabbed the shovel and rushed to her. Rhea stood aside to let him dig up the plant. On further reckoning, it was the only foreign plant in the entire garden. Suki ran around the fence gate and helped dig by scooping with her hands. She had never cleaned so much as a dish, and here she was dirtying herself.
Is it for Endrit? Has she fully snapped?

All other thoughts were cast away when Endrit stepped onto the shovelhead a sixth or seventh time and they all heard a muted but unmistakably metallic
clang.

Endrit stepped back and dug a wider perimeter. Rhea joined in.

It was a soldier's strongbox, about the size of a loaf of bread, made of ironwork, with inset hinges to be waterproof. On long campaigns, officers kept letters from their lovers, ducal fiats, maps, and personal items within. Often, it was the only part of them to return from war.

Endrit pulled out the box and didn't bother looking for a key. He set it on its side and set the tip of the shovel into the tiny lock. He stomped onto the shovelhead and cracked the box like an oyster.

The night had snuck upon them. It was too dark to read anything. Endrit carried the box inside the house with Rhea and Suki right behind him. Suki was clasped to his heel like a pup, leaving Rhea to strike the flint and light the oil lamps.

When she approached with two large lamps to light the table, Endrit had already emptied the box.

Parchments, mostly. They each grabbed a bundle and began to unravel them. “This is a bunch of commendations,” said Suki. “Medals from King Kendrick.”

“This is a personal letter from Queen Valda,” said Endrit.

Rhea knew Marta was a decorated general in Meridan's army, but she'd had no idea of such a close relationship with the king and queen.

Rhea unrolled a large sheaf—schematics written by a magister of the build. “What is it?” said Suki, pulling the front down flat on the table.

“It's a technical map,” said Rhea. She recognized the upper floors immediately. “It's Meridan Keep.”

All the dungeons and catacombs below it were nearly double the size of the aboveground chambers. Some they had never seen before.

“Why would she have this?” said Endrit.

And without waiting for an answer, he rose from the table and marched to a chest in the corner.

“We can get her,” he said, as he opened the chest and pulled out a hunter's bag and light leather armor. “We can get her tonight.”

“Yes!” said Suki. She ran over to pick out a blade from the weapons rack above the hearth.

Are they both mad?
A map wasn't enough to storm a castle. A map that could have been well out-of-date. And what of the guards? Would they subdue and kill more of her countrymen?

“Wait,” said Rhea. “Can we finish looking, at least? Do we know that
this
is what Marta wanted us to find?”

Suki sighed aloud. “It has to be,” said Endrit. “She knew she'd be arrested. If I'd gotten her clue, we would have had days to plan.”

He had a manic energy that Suki seemed to feed from. They crisscrossed the house, preparing for a stealth invasion.

But if Marta wanted him to have the map, she would have told him directly, “Dig under the March mint.”
Why give a vague clue? Did she think she would survive to meet them?
Her words were only meaningful if they were last words. If she had arrived at the house, they would be nothing but basic advice to stay calm.

Rhea untied the last bundle. It was another letter from Queen Valda, wrapped around a metal plate or talisman, which Rhea could not yet see, because it was itself wrapped in polishing cloth. Rhea began with the letter:

Marta, I hope you will remember me as we once were, in my father's house—two maidens, hardly come of age, on such separate paths. Do you recall how many hours you would train with the master of swords in the same yard as I would paint a bowl of olives? Do you remember eating an olive and setting the pit back in the bowl—with such elaborate care, as if not to disturb my work? How we laughed at the time. How much more we laughed when I unveiled the painting at Father's court with that pit rendered for all to see.

Oh, Marta, I know we have let our sisterhood fade. I had Kendrick to worry over. You—you were leading his campaigns. But love me, if you would, and pity a sister who comes to you now begging.

Taylin is all I have, and you well know he was hard-won. He has Kendrick's puckish smile already, and he is not a week old. I have never seen Kendrick frightened as he is now, even with all the banner houses of Meridan swearing allegiance. He hears whisper of horrible plots. This magister from House Ferimore calls himself Hiram Kinmegistus. Do you know him? He has returned from the academy as so many second sons do, with eyes as hungry as the shinhounds always slobbering at his heels.

I have not left the birthing chamber, Marta. I pleaded that Kendrick stay too, but you know him. I fear there are knives waiting for us in every shadow of Meridan Keep. And worse still, Taylin is their target. Marta, I shudder and weep and beg you. Take my son and hide him. Protect him from all the hideous scheming and betrayal.

Oh, Marta, take him for at least a while, until we can be sure of his safety.

Name him after that master of sword you liked so much.

Tell him the truth only when he is ready. Tell him his mother did not stop kissing him until the moment a cruel world pulled him from her grasp. And please, Marta, tell him to be a good king.

Love, love, love,

Valda

Rhea's hands could hardly unwrap the polishing cloth, they shook so hard.

Is it possible?

“Endrit,” she said. Her mouth was dry, and she was unsure the sound had made it across the room. “Endrit,” she said again.

He must have made some confirming noise. She wasn't sure.

“Endrit,” she said.

“Yes. Yes, what is it?” said Endrit.

“What did your father do? What was his profession?”

“Why?” said Endrit, then responded anyway. “He was the master of sword before he died. He trained my mother.”

Rhea unraveled the cloth. Inside was the sigil crest of Kendrick and Valda Ironclaw. It rolled out of her hand and clattered to the floor. The lost heir of House Ironclaw had been found.

Endrit was king of Meridan, son of Kendrick and Valda.

Her father had killed them both.

Rhea felt a crushing weight. She was not grieved, however. She was furious.

How could he have been so stupid?

How could he leave them so exposed?

Rhys would have never been so sloppy as to leave the heir alive, under their noses, already beloved throughout the city.

Rhys would have never been so disappointing.

C
adis lunged at Iren's face like a feral dog. The shock and viciousness of it made both forget their training for a moment, as Cadis smashed into Iren and they both hit the stone floor. The moment passed. Cadis pinned Iren on her back and struck twice with her elbow. Iren raised her forearms in front of her face and took the two blows.

Iren rocked her hips and turned her shoulders, escaping the hold.

Cadis bounced up and wheeled around with a kick at Iren's temple.

A thoughtless move, motivated by the desire to hurt her as much as possible.

Iren brought her left arm up to her ear and blocked the kick. Her brace, lined with lockpicks and throwing blades, took the blow. Cadis groaned.

In return Iren had an open strike at Cadis's other leg. Iren hammered her shin into the soft hinge of Cadis's knee, just as it strained to hold all of her weight. Cadis roared in pain.

Cadis had never felt so outmatched. It was as if Iren had been hiding her true gifts all those years, behind glasswork and needlepoint. Yet another secret.

Cadis could barely move fast enough to check Iren's attacks, and quickly her blocks would begin to break even if she did.

Her knee throbbed. Iren seemed to target it twice more, shifting the fight so that Cadis would have to present the swollen knee.

Iren fought angrily. Her strikes hit home. Cadis was as much taken aback by the skill as by the emotion behind it.

Cadis took another battering strike to the knee and nearly crumpled. Iren took the opening and jarred her chin with a right hook. Cadis blacked out for an instant and woke up on the floor. Iren was atop her.

It would be over soon, she thought.

An arm appeared around Iren's waist just as she was about to pummel Cadis, and she was lifted backward.

Jesper.

They were Jesper's arms.

Iren kicked twice, both heels striking his knees, but he held. Cadis wanted to shout, “Be careful. Pin her arms,” but her jaw was so numb she couldn't even feel it. Iren thrashed in Jesper's grip, but long enough only to drop down a little to free her left elbow. With a flick of her wrist, a throwing blade—no more than a flat shaft of weighted metal, fell into her palm. Iren stabbed it backward, into Jesper's left thigh.

His hold loosened.

She pulled the blade out, turned, and stabbed it again into his side, near his lowest rib. She moved too fast for him to react. By then he was overcome by the tidal wave of pain. Blood began to flow from the wounds along his left side.

Iren stepped away from him. “Don't touch me,” she said. “Never touch me.”

Jesper looked at her without understanding. He put his hands on the holes but hadn't the strength to apply any pressure.

Jesper wobbled, then crashed to the stone floor. Cadis found herself already on her feet. When Iren turned to face her, Cadis was too close. In all her life, Cadis had never put so much behind a punch. Iren turned just in time to meet it.

She flew, as if kicked by a stallion, and hit a potted planter. Cadis ran over to Jesper, who lay on his back, pale and motionless. No one else was around. Hypatia, Pentri, and the others must have slipped out earlier. No one else was around to help.

“Are you out of your mind?” screamed Cadis, but Iren was still clutching the side of her face and couldn't respond. Cadis set about stanching Jesper's wounds. She tore his loose muslin shirt as bandages. If the cut on the thigh was deep enough, it could hobble him. If he didn't lose too much blood, he would live. That was if Iren hadn't tipped her blades with any poison or rot mold.

Cadis worked on Jesper with her limited field-medic training. She couldn't even look at Iren, though she made sure to keep her in peripheral sight at all times. “Have you been spying on me this whole time?” asked Cadis.

“Only since we got here,” said Iren.

“Not before?”

“Not on you.”

“Then why wouldn't you tell me?” said Cadis.

“Because you believed, like a child, you believed the war was over and that we would be ‘sister queens.' You believed in the lie. And maybe that was necessary, for all of us to survive, but not anymore.”

“It wasn't a lie.”

“It was a lie, Cadis. Declan killed Kendrick and Valda. I've been trying to find evidence. The war was his doing. When he failed to take Pelgard, he took us as hostages. No one would accuse him of usurping the throne with us as his shields. He killed Tola because she was too old—she saw the maneuvering. Suki was only a toddler. She broke, of course, but at least she was controllable.”

Cadis knew that Iren was the more unwilling ward of the Protectorate, but she thought it was homesickness, or the persistent belief that she was above Declan's authority. But Cadis never knew the depth of Iren's antagonism. And if she were to judge, Cadis could find no blame in it.

If Declan had started the war, then he was the cause of Iren's father's death, and perhaps even worse, her separation from her mother, Queen Malin.

It was so much to fathom all at once. And yet Cadis couldn't help but feel that if Iren had only trusted her all those years ago, as they'd held each other in the dark of her chamber, then they both would have been better for it.

Perhaps they would have succeeded where Iren had obviously failed. And all these years later, Cadis wouldn't be saddled with the false memory of them together, forging what she thought was a lifelong friendship.