Daughters of Ruin

by K. D. Castner

  Genio Kallis remained silent, as he had famously done when Meridan border patrols cut the ring finger from both his hands. Arcadie—whose eyes were nearly as black as Endrit’s—stared ahead and said finally, “No.”

  “We cannot agree that the slaughter of innocents at a festival is wrong?” said Cadis.

  “No,” said Arcadie. “We cannot agree that they were innocents.”

  The meeting was over—effectively scuttled by the rarest of ordnances, the agreement of House Terzi with House Kallis. The common hall was empty, save for Iren, who sat beside Cousin Denarius, both silent as the dead; Cadis, who stood stupefied upon the stage; and Jesper, who remained in his seat, even as all the guildmasters filed out of the theater.

  For Cadis it had been a disaster. Her return was about as welcome to her country as a ballista in a ballroom. When the last of the masters left, Cadis finally turned on her so-called friend.

  “You can speak now, little pup.”

  Jesper diverted the blow. “It didn’t have to go like this.”

  “You didn’t help.”

  “How could I? You were lashing in all directions.”

  “They wanted war.”

  “You wanted them to bow.”

  “I’m the archana,” said Cadis.

  “Not to you,” said Jesper. “They might have bowed to you. To him.”

  “He’s won!” shouted Cadis, her voice booming across the amphidrome. “By all the gods, are all you people blind? He won ten years ago, and we bow, whether we like it or not. We all bow.”

  Jesper rose from his seat. “Cadis, you don’t know—”

  “I know plenty. I know all of Findain wants another sea of blood to bathe in, even though the blood will be their own. And I know you are a wet loaf of bread before your aunt and cousin.”

  Jesper’s skin was too dark to blush red. The heel of his jaw ground like a millstone. She could see him struggling to control his anger and realized he had become adept at bearing unjust words. A life with Lieke and Hypatia must have annealed his temper like Tasanese steel.

  “You don’t know the troubles here. You don’t know the heart of the people.” His hands gripped the back of the seat before him. His voice was a shuttle moving steadily through a loom.

  “The market is suffering. Go out and see for yourself. Go. Where are the builders? They have dissolved their guild for want of employ. The potters, the glassers, both gone. We cannot trade directly with Corent or Tasan. Meridan twists us for our last penny. The country chokes, but you ask the drowned to sing.”

  Cadis wished she could interrupt him. Halfway through she knew she had been wrong to enter with demands instead of questions. It was obvious that over the last ten years what she had gained in craft of combat and courage of command she had lost in the confidence of her people and the knowledge of her country.

  She had a lot of ground to gain before the Odeon would truly hear her. And here she had attacked the one person who had stayed with her for all those years.

  “Don’t go,” she said, but Jesper was already walking up the aisle.

  Cadis couldn’t understand why she had felt so betrayed by Jesper’s silence when it made perfect sense in the moment. Perhaps she simply wanted her friend to back her position. Or, if she was willing to admit, perhaps she wanted even more than that from Jesper.

  “Have you got a house or something?” said Iren as she wiped Cousin Denarius’s chin with his own sleeve.

  “We’re in it,” said Cadis. “The rest of the castle is the Archon Basilica.”

  “Isn’t he still the archon?” said Iren. She used his sleeve to wave hello to Cadis with his limp hand. Cadis laughed at the image of the man as marionette and felt worse for laughing.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” said Cadis.

  “He’s collapsed,” said Iren. For her the diagnosis was enough.

  “No, I mean Jesper. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

  “What could he say? You couldn’t come back. You would eat yourself alive out of a sense of duty to your people.”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  Iren didn’t say anything. Of course she thought devotion to a sense of duty was nonsense. Cadis knew that already. “What would you do,” asked Cadis, “if you were me?”

  Iren sat back and thought about the question as she removed a ring from Cousin Denarius’s finger and looked at it in the light. “I’d declare your cousin dead of mind and push the masters to instate you as the rightful archana immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “For them to bow in ceremony before the people.”

  “How would that help?”

  “It would enrage the Terzis. They would seek to consolidate power, and so they would need to reach out to their closest allies. A few days of watching would tell you everyone who is in their pocket.”

  Spying again. It seemed Iren had learned as much from Hiram the spymaster as from Hiram the magister. “If I continue to make enemies of the Terzis, won’t they continue to oppose everything?”

  “Certainly,” said Iren. She put Cousin Denarius’s ring in her pocket and looked for another. “Hypatia will hate you forever. But Jesper, you could have him if you wanted.”

  “Really?”

  Cadis knew she had jumped too quickly. Iren grinned. “He has already bedded Arcadie Kallis. That much is clear. If you turn his head, he might turn hers, and you would have both guilds in line.”

  Cadis’s vision swirled with Iren’s too-cynical love triangle of eros and intrigue. She couldn’t tell how much was even true and how much was the fancy of a bookish plotter. Had she really seen some feelings in the eyes of Jesper, or did she move him like a pawn? Was it all so easy and heartless as that?

  “You’re wondering why you would seduce Jesper if he’s placed so low in the caravaneers.”

  That was not what Cadis was thinking, but she nodded anyway.

  “Because the last thing I would do,” said Iren, palming the last ring from the old man’s hand, “is kill Hypatia Terzi.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Suki

  Suki woke up cold and dry-mouthed, with a stiff ache in her shoulder and the image of a crosshatched roof above her. She had never been here before (wherever here was) never slept under a hay (reed?) roof (not even at her father’s hunting lodge—which had been built out of carved bituin trees—when she was a toddler). She had no idea how long she had slept under the thatched roof (when it rained, did the water just drip through?).

  Everything felt oddly distant (the roof, the pain, the taste of water ever having touched her mouth). She had been shifted out of time and space (and she knew the return would be sudden (she could feel it like a wave looming over her (it was panic (it would hit her soon (as soon as she blinked (it would smash into her (panic that she was too stiff to move (and afraid (and maybe she didn’t even want to (because an entire room of soldiers (or Declan could be hovering an inch away from her cheek like a spider with his mandibles extending out to feed on the flesh of her face))))))))))).

  Suki darted up and back until she hit a wall and set fresh fiery pain through her shoulder (and screamed (but no one responded (so she must have been alone))). She sat for a while, panting. She was in a hovel of some kind (the bed was a cot (as hard as limestone)) and the floor was packed dirt. Helio’s stable was bigger than the entire room (which had only a ragged old chair (wicker!), a clay basin (which she wouldn’t use even if she popped), and a chest of drawers (ugly)).

  It was all so impoverished and ordinary-looking that it reminded Suki of their tour of Declan’s dungeons (which was supposed to prove he was a good king), which reminded her of Tola (which made her feel cold (and alone))—and that was when she realized she was naked (or nearly naked (in just her smallclothes (and her shoulder bandage))), and whoever had brought her there had probably seen her birthmark (shaped like dog splatter (that’s how her mother had once described it (when she didn’t think Suki was listening (on her inner thigh)))).
r />   She couldn’t see her clothes anywhere.

  She had been wearing a dress at the ball (that was her last memory (Rhea acting surprised (though she was probably happy to see it (the sword, sticking out of Suki’s shoulder (and then nothing))))).

  It must have been somewhere around here (inside the ratty chest?). Outside her window was a bunch of bland countryside. Suki jumped out of the bed (steady movements, steady pain) and flipped open the chest (no dress). No one had the right to touch her dress. It should have been there, cleaned and waiting for her (instead, a stack of farm clothes). Suki grabbed a brown shift and shoes (equally brown).

  The rough-spun material was as prickly as a cat’s tongue (which was a horrible surprise to Suki (as she had always assumed the servants’ clothes were worse than her silks because of all the hideous brown colors (because color dyes were expensive) and not because of texture (which was like wearing a briar patch))).

  It was a farmhouse with more rooms and an open hearth (she saw after she dressed and left the room). Inside another room was another chest with a satchel (inside that was the precious jewelry Rhea was always boasting about (so she must have been nearby (even though her bed hadn’t been used (the bedding was still folded up next to the satchel in the chest)))).

  Suki rushed out of the house as soon as she saw the third bedroom (another chest, unused (Endrit’s clothes scattered all over the floor (one large bed, tousled (two indentations in the cheap wool sacking)))) and kicked all the tomatoes off a tomato plant in the front yard.

  She could have vomited (but had nothing in her belly).

  She heaved a little anyway (but had the feeling of watching herself heave (calmer on the inside than the out)) and wondered if anyone else could see her.

  Marta would be furious about the tomato plants (not really) and she’d disown Suki (she knew that wasn’t true, but it felt befitting her disconsolate mood to think so (really, Marta would say, “Stay straight, Suki. Control your thinking.” But no one can control their thinking. They are their thinking.)).

  At the moment Suki was overcome by her own thoughts (with images of Endrit gently slipping the dress off of Rhea’s shoulders (then the smallclothes (Suki could even see the gooseflesh on Rhea’s arms as she stood before him in a moonlit farmhouse))) (but he doesn’t yet snatch her into his arms, he takes her in with his eyes (his shirt is on—no, off—he is shirtless too (as he is always shirtless), and invites examination), he wants instead to reach into her hair and remove the bladed pins (one at a time) and then her necklace unclasps and lowers and there is nothing that either of them have not given to each other.), visions, and vituperations (voices that told her she was disgusting, that she was a fool to think she could have what Rhea had) until Suki had thrashed every plant in the front garden, ripped them out by the roots, and pushed over the white fence.

  Suki found them in the hayloft (Rhea sifting and tying bundles, Endrit stacking (was she trying to impress, acting like stable help?)).

  Suki snuck up the ladder and waited behind several bales (to hear how they spoke to each other (because if they had slept together, they would talk differently)).

  “How did you let so much of this go to rot?” said Rhea (which was, again, either some kind of ploy to sound industrious, or a real question about an idiot subject).

  She kept sifting through the hay, pulling out the dry, usable straw from the moldy piles. “Oh, I dunno. I guess I couldn’t sneak out to keep a bunch of hay dry when I was busy playing manservant to four feckless queens,” said Endrit (extremely playful and familiar (but that was Endrit all the time)).

  “Manservant?” said Rhea.

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Endrit, grinning. “Of the very best quality.”

  Rhea laughed aloud and threw a handful of moldy straw at him (but Suki couldn’t tell if it was a reference to his manhood (which Suki knew (or had heard) also meant something salacious (based on a jest she had heard between the guards))). It was impossible to decipher their flirtation as the flitting of horsefly (Rhea) to candle flame (Endrit) or the purring of alley cats after a tussle (meaning it could have been sweet talk in anticipation before, or boasting after, mutual pleasure).

  “Fair enough, boyservant,” said Rhea (smug and disgusting), “I suppose you’re excused. We’ll finish your chores.”

  “Very kind of you, my queen,” said Endrit, bowing.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  (A long pause, while he shifted a large hay bale and cut the ties with a knife.)

  “You okay?” he asked (real quiet (Suki had to lean out a little)) as if anyone would be okay in this situation (hiding out in a hovel after a vicious attack (and waking up with a gash in your shoulder)).

  “Yeah,” said Rhea (acting strong (but obviously also acting vulnerable (so that he would stay interested))). “Just don’t call me that.”

  “What happened? A few days ago you were telling me the opposite.”

  Rhea smirked (and did that thing that makes people irresistible (looking up suddenly, as if through the veil of their own eyelashes (any courtesan from Walltown knew the trick (so obvious it was practically begging)))). And he fell for it! (Or if he didn’t, he at least played along (smiled, squatted down beside her, and put his hand under her chin to lift it).)

  She looked away. “Yes, I suppose.” (Smile, smile, flutter, flutter.) “I just, I dunno. You don’t have to call me that.”

  Suki wished she could call out Rhea’s clumsy manipulations. She seduced like a mole rat scrubbing at an anthill.

  “All right, then. I’ll call you Captain Rheanon, the foolkiller.” (Historic Meridan hero.)

  “No! Not that either.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re not very much alike anyway,” said Endrit, sweeping the last of the moldy hay off the edge of the loft. They gathered the sifted bundles (Suki dove back down the ladder and hid behind a row of barrels).

  “Rhys used to call me that,” she said as they descended the ladder and carried the bundles to the horse stalls. A couple bent-backed mares slouched in the stables (the kind that Suki once saw when she was five and visiting the royal stable yard of Tasan (the horrible stupor in their aged eyes had made her weep for two days (but that was before she’d lost Tola (when pain had been so new)))).

  “I’m sorry,” said Endrit. (He spread some hay down on the stall floor. Rhea took the brush and dragged it across the horse with a limp wrist.)

  “He would have made a great king,” said Rhea.

  Suki would have said, “Was he a maniac like his father?” but Endrit said, “I heard he was a good soldier.”

  “Not good enough,” said Rhea, laughing, then wincing at her own carelessness. She was full tilt into her sob story now (and she had his attention).

  “He was my father’s obsession after I was born and he was widowed. Everything rested on Rhys, all of my father’s ambitions. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love me. It wasn’t that way. I was just so young—five years old when Rhys was twenty. Rhys doted on me like a pet. I bounced on his knee. I loved him with all my heart. Everyone did. He would say, ‘Rheanon,’ and I would shout, ‘foolkiller!’ and poke him in the chest like I had slain a fool. He would laugh, and I realize now the entire court must have been watching. He was all I ever noticed.”

  Rhea paused (to wipe her eye secretly (but not so secretly that Endrit wouldn’t see it)).

  “When the Fins murdered the king and queen, all the house was astir—mourning, of course—but my father’s banner lords all agreed on the course of action. We would crush the Fins, Rhys would marry Emilia Sesquitaine, connecting the eastern- and westernmost houses of Meridan. They would rule, and all would be well again.”

  Suki scoffed to herself at the simplicity of it (that wasn’t how it had gone).

  “Well,” said Rhea, “Corent failed to uphold the alliance and refused to enter battle. Tasan jumped on the opportunity to grab land in the Corentine foothills. And suddenly war was everywhere. Emilia Sesquitaine was a frail thing and died of glasser
s’ lung. Rhys led the dragoons for two years, always as the future king. He wouldn’t allow his men to pillage. Even in the Tasanese campaigns, the villages were spared. And suddenly, he was winning hearts in all the midland countryside. People started to wonder if he would marry Tola and unify both Meridan and Tasan—half of Pelgard.”

  Suki almost lunged from behind the barrels (to slap the name of her sister off of Rhea’s lips). Rhea didn’t have to finish the rest of the story (Endrit knew what happened. (Rhys took an arrow to the hand (tipped with chipatri mold (which spread rot through his whole body for five days and dried out his heart)) then Declan went mad, and pushed the dragoons deep into Tasan (then he caught Tola and killed Dato when he tried to rescue her, and then killed Tola too (Suki knew this was true (against every law of gods and honor and men, he’d slayed a royal prisoner (slaughtered the Tasanese army the next day at Crimson Fog (and took the daughters of the three kingdoms back to Meridan to “protect the peace” (hostages)))))))).

  “By the time my father negotiated the Treaty of Sister Queens and created the Protectorate, Rhys was some months’ dead. Father was a different person by then—closed, cold, rotted out—but nonetheless king of all Meridan. It wasn’t as if he loved me less. It was simply that he, too, died in a way. I can’t blame him, but there I was, his new heir. All that work that had made Rhys was undone in me. I suppose he was just tired.”

  Endrit had his back to Suki, but it was obvious that he was concerned (he’d finished spreading the hay and now stood beside Rhea with a hand on her shoulder (which she must have relished)).

  “You can’t blame him,” said Rhea (when obviously, yes, you could blame a cruel, despotic man for having no love left for his daughter (who had become no more than a lapdog begging for his approval)).