by Kate Elliott
Beyond the curtains the city slowly wakes up to the dawn. Folk trundle past with carts and wagons. Files of donkeys clump along but I do not peek out to see what goods they are hauling as I usually would. A woman laughs, and another woman laughs in answer, happiness shared. Probably I will never laugh again.
Out of my fog of wretchedness and desolation one clear thought surfaces:
The only person who will believe me is Father.
23
I am dropped off at the stable and Denya is taken away to the palace. Smoke streams from the kitchen as adversaries eat porridge and fish for breakfast. I walk over to where Gira, Shorty, and Mis sit. At the far end of the table Talon sips a mug of broth. She looks up as I approach but says nothing.
Gira gives me a big-eyed goggle. “Where did you go so early?”
“Out for a walk.”
Father would have stood me in his office and demanded answers with question after question until I satisfied him that I had by no means besmirched the family honor, but they just go back to their food.
Tana bangs a brass cup on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Come up here, Spider.”
She hands me the cup. Its shine glints in my eye. A spider is carved into the brass. Its long legs wrap the cup like fate, and its mouth bears a set of pincers. Horribly, its long abdomen bears the jagged lozenge markings of the dreaded tomb spider.
Is Lord Gargaron mocking me?
“Lord Thynos brought this by at dawn, Jes. He himself had it engraved.” Tana lowers her voice. “I can see you are troubled by it, maybe think it a bad omen. But I could not refuse it, nor can you. So make the best of it. Make it work for you.”
Does Lord Thynos know? Is he in partnership with Lord Gargaron?
Fortunately it is a serious occasion so my grim look goes unnoticed as I walk to the water basin, dip my cup, and drain the water in one gulp. It has a metallic taste, spiced with the flavor of a metalworker’s furnace. When I hang the cup from one of the hooking branches of the brass tree and sit beside Gira, no one says a word. We just eat.
Eventually Gira and Mis begin arguing over whether to see The Hide of the Ox or The General’s Valiant Daughter. Their words wind like a maze through my dark thoughts. Today is Sixthday, and most of the adversaries will go out on the town.
“You better go change,” adds Gira. She and the others are already in their Fives gear.
I run into our barracks, change, and make it back in time for the lineup. The slow pace of the opening menagerie with its stretch and reach for warm-up soothes the tightness of my limbs and allows my mind to pace through Lord Gargaron’s game. He fears Mother because he respects her. Talking to her made him understand why Father remained loyal to her all these years.
A baton slaps my buttocks.
“Pay attention,” says Darios. “When you are on the training ground I want your mind and heart on the court as well as your body. Do you understand, Spider?”
The other adversaries reach through the movements so I pretend I am their shadow instead of me, the girl whose living heart has been buried. When we sweep a turn, I see Kalliarkos in line where two animals before he was not. He has the privilege of showing up late, at whim, on the court that was built for him. When your grandmother is a princess of the royal line, it must be difficult for anyone not of royal blood to tell you what you can and can’t do.
Darios whacks my rear again, harder this time. I nod, but as we complete the menageries, my mind is already running Rings and devising a plan. When we assemble at Rings I make my move.
Meant to be paired with Dusty for a race through Rings, I let Gira go ahead so I can move back beside Kalliarkos.
He taps me on the elbow. “Are you all right, Jes? You look tense and tired.”
“I thought you wanted some tips for Rings.”
His expression lightens. “Of course!”
I start tapping my foot against the earth in a steady rhythm. “Because there are mechanisms in the undercourt to turn the rings, the rate of turn remains constant. It’s different for each individual game. It might be a quick one-two-three one-two-three one day, and another day it might be a slower one-two-three-four. Find a way to identify that rhythm in your head. That’s how I judge the pace of the turns. That’s how I time the leap from ring to ring.” With a hand I indicate Dusty and Gira as I tap my foot loudly to emphasize the pattern.
They’re a little off, trying to judge by eye rather than beats.
“But the rings aren’t all turning at the same time,” he protests.
“Each ring starts up at a different moment. That’s how you get that unfolding movement. But they all turn at the same speed once they’ve started. The first ring starts turning and then a beat later the second one starts, and a beat later the third starts.… Does that make sense?”
He tugs at his hair, mouthing numbers as he counts, “One-two-three-four… but that one—no wait, I see what you’re saying. This is a six-count turn.” Because he’s staring with such concentration and I’m watching him, I don’t notice Darios come up behind us until the baton slaps my butt. I’m so startled I jump and stumble and have to catch myself on Kalliarkos’s arm.
“I told you to run with Dusty, Spider!”
“Her shoelace came undone,” Kalliarkos says while I’m still biting my lip because Darios really whacked me and my rump stings. He doesn’t let go of me and I lean into his strength like it’s the only thing stopping me from falling into the abyss of terror for my family.
“Yes, sorry. My shoe. I told Gira to go ahead of me.”
“Don’t take it upon yourself to change my training!” The old man looks genuinely irritated as he glares directly at where Kalliarkos’s warm fingers are curled reassuringly around my elbow. Kal releases me and steps back like a chastened child. “You two are up. Move!”
The beat of these rings already runs through my bones from the foot-tapping I used to show Kalliarkos. But he hesitates, blinking, and as he starts counting all over again like he didn’t already do it before, I fling myself into the first turning hoop. I beat him easily, and Darios sends me off with Dusty to train on Rivers while holding Kalliarkos back to run Rings again.
When the break comes I walk to the dining shelter with Dusty and Mis. She is teasing him about the way he planted his face in the water on Rivers. His nose is bleeding but not cracked. I pretend to laugh. In another life, the one in which my mother and sisters haven’t just been buried alive, I would be laughing with my heart and not just my mouth.
Darios calls Dusty away for tending. Mis and I grab a mug of broth and sit.
“You seem tired,” she says. “You were a little slow. You all right?”
I want to break everything on the table, smash it to pieces. My hands clench.
Mis glances toward the counter where Kalliarkos is bantering with the serving girl as she hands him a bowl of broth. “He flirts with everyone, Jes. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He likes people to like him.”
He scans the dining shelter, spots me, and with a smile starts our way.
Mis coughs. “I mean this in a friendly way, Jes. Don’t play with that fire. Nothing good will come of it.”
She stands up and makes way for him to sit down. He nods at her in the same friendly manner he uses with everyone, but he doesn’t think of asking her to stay seated with us, nor does it seem to occur to him to ask why she is leaving.
“I worked on counting. I was just starting to get the pattern of it and then Darios told me to stop talking to myself. Like he doesn’t want me to figure out a way to improve. So I counted in my head. Is this something Anise taught you?”
“I just always did it, from the first time I tried Rings.” I see the opening and take it. “You said we can help each other. I need your help.”
The rim of the bowl has just touched his lips but he lowers it without drinking. Steam curls into the air like hope stirring. “With what?” he asks.
“Help me get to my father. I need to see him
.”
The rough movement he makes with his hand, like pushing my words away, tips the bowl, but I grab it before it spills.
His eyes go wide. “You can’t see him. Uncle Gar told me General Esladas is never to see any of his old household again, on pain of death. He was only allowed to retain his military people.”
Around us, adversaries are getting up to return to training.
As I stand, I angle so close to him that I could kiss his cheek if I wanted. My lips brush his ear, and I feel the way his body shivers.
“This is why you’re stuck at Novice,” I say in a low voice, and I mean every word. “You won’t take risks.”
I walk away. Although I know he is staring after me, I do not look back.
“Hey, wait up,” I call to Mis.
Shaking her head, she slows down. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But maybe I should warn him. You’ll eat him alive.”
Eating means a feast. Suddenly I see a possible route to my father.
“Maybe I will.” I try to smile boldly but all I can manage is a grimace.
“He is good-looking. But his grandmother will find out and put a stop to it. You’ll be lucky to keep your place in the stable. I don’t see how you dare risk it.”
The family of General Esladas can be thrown away as easily as the shards of a broken cup. My life means nothing if I do nothing. I would rather die in the mines. But I can’t say that to her. I have to distract everyone so they think I’m involved in something that has nothing to do with my father.
I say, “Kal and I knew each other before I came here.”
She whistles. “You call Lord Kalliarkos Kal? Don’t tell me you’ve already—”
The practice bell interrupts her and we hurry to take our places in line. It takes every measure of will I have to pace through a short set of menageries: cat, jackal, and crane. I slog through the training with the other fledglings. If wool stuffed my head I would think more clearly. Everything ebbs and swells in a fog around me. I can’t keep my balance on Traps, and I miss my timing on Rivers. Tana blames my lapses on a lack of fitness so she assigns me to run laps around the court while the others train. Running I can manage: all I have to do is set one foot in front of the other in time to the pulsing agony in my heart.
When the meal bell rings I veer into Trees because that’s where the Novices are climbing under the supervision of Lord Thynos and Inarsis. Everyone else is taking off except Kalliarkos and Dusty, who are coming down the center pole. Dusty hits the ground first. The moment Kalliarkos drops he turns to stare at me in a way that causes Dusty, Inarsis, and his uncle to measure me as if expecting me to sprout monstrous pincers and four more limbs.
Thynos raises a hand. “Your grandmother is waiting, Kal.”
Kalliarkos doesn’t even look at him. He only looks at me. “I’ll be there when I get there, Uncle Thynos. Don’t wait.”
“Kal!” Thynos takes a step toward him.
But Inarsis snags Thynos’s arm and drags him away. Dusty coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat and follows them. The chatter of adversaries leaving the court and heading to wash up stirs over us like a gust of wind.
When we are fully alone Kalliarkos’s lips press to a thin line and his eyes cut with annoyance. For an uncomfortable moment he looks a little like Gargaron. “I’m sure it is understandable that you wish to see your father. But. You. Can’t.”
“I can if you’ll take me. You said the wedding feast would be at the villa on Sixthday night. That’s this evening. Surely you are going. Take me with you.”
“It’s forbidden. It’s dangerous. I can’t.”
“I can’t is what you tell yourself every time you face Rings.”
His eyes have a bright intensity, a window into his burning need. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing. It’s why you won’t ever become a Challenger, because the first thing you see is what you can’t do instead of what you can do.” His face flushes, thick with hot blood as I goad him. “Maybe the army can make a man of you, Lord Kalliarkos. But I doubt it.”
There it is: the slack rope pulled taut, the gleam of defiance that wasn’t there before.
“How do you propose we manage it?” he demands, but even as he speaks I see his gaze shift past me toward an idea that has just occurred to him. He mutters, “No… yes… I could… it might work.…”
When he looks up, I know I have won.
“All right, then. But you have to meet me where I say, and do as I ask.” He sticks out a hand, palm up and open in the gesture of merchants everywhere.
I lay my palm flat atop his. My skin is cool, and his is hot.
Thus the deal is made.
After the meal everyone lies down in the heat of the day but I am too restless to sleep. If I close my eyes all I see is bricks sealing my family away.
Because it is Sixthday there is no afternoon training. I wash with the others but plead a headache and retreat to my cubicle instead of soaking in the hot pool because I cannot bear their chatter. I dress in my underthings and my leggings, tie my Fives slippers just below my knees like I used to do when I sneaked out of the house, and wrap my Fives court tunic around one thigh. Kalliarkos wants me to be ready in case I have to climb the villa wall. The everyday loose linen sheath gown they issued me covers me from shoulders to ankles, hiding the other clothes. The ordinary garb of Commoner women makes me inconspicuous.
When I hear Gira, Shorty, and Mis leaving at dusk I hurry after so everyone else sees me leave with them. “I’m feeling better! Which play did you choose? Can I come?”
“The General’s Valiant Daughter,” says Mis with a laugh. “Come on, then.”
It does not take us long to reach the West Gate of the Lantern District.
Beneath the flowing ribbons I halt. “Listen. Will you meet me here later?”
Mis presses a hand over her eyes as if to hide whatever folly I’m planning from her sight.
“Lord Gargaron is a hard man, Jes.” Gira waggles a finger in front of my face. “Don’t cross him by trying to romance his nephew, no matter what his nephew says.”
“How could I be meeting him? The palace has some kind of wedding feast tonight, doesn’t it?”
Gira frowns. “That’s right. They do. Where are you going, then?”
Amaya has a look we sisters call her sad kitten eyes. I try it out now. “I can’t say. Please.”
They look at one another. After a moment Shorty shakes her head, foreseeing no good end to the night’s business, but points to the big brass water clock with its ticking gears, elaborate catchments, and column of trumpets that stands to the west of the gate. “We will be here when the fourth night-trumpet blows. If you’re not here, then you’re on your own.”
“Thank you! If you have to go back without me, say I vanished into the crowd and you lost track of me. It is Sevensday tomorrow anyway. It is our free day, isn’t it?”
“It is our free day, and you don’t have to be in until dawn on Firstday,” says Gira curtly, but I can see she is revising her opinion of me, wondering what kind of troublemaker I will turn out to be. “I don’t like to be the kind of person who gives advice, Jes, but whatever it is, I think you shouldn’t do it.”
“Who ever listened to good advice? I never did!” Mis’s laugh is drowned out by a blast of singing that washes over us from a determined group of revelers who swarm past, already drunk.
Gira seems ready to scold me again but Shorty pulls her away. I wait as they walk under the ribbon wheels. When I am sure they are out of sight I stride down through the lively streets, past the night market just opening for the evening with its tempting foods, and along the Avenue of Triumphs where my father was cheered. That day seems like it happened years ago.
Halfway down the Avenue of Triumphs stand monumental twin pillars carved with the victorious deeds of the much-loved and justice-seeking King Kliatemnos the Fourth and his wise and benevolent mother, Serenissima the Third, wh
o acted as regent for him when he was a child. The side streets of this district are awash with taverns that cater to Patron military men and foreign mercenaries. Tonight the place is swarming with soldiers. I did not realize there were so many in the city. In a nearby tavern a man is singing a dreary account of the battle of Reef Cliffs, where as an adult Kliatemnos the Fourth died with a knife in his back just as his army achieved a decisive victory over the king of East Saro.
Kalliarkos wanted to meet here instead of outside the Lantern District because we’re less likely to be recognized and because it will not look strange for a young woman like me to get into a carriage belonging to a young man like him. In fact, while I’m waiting, four different foreign men crudely proposition me, and an unknown man in the crowd pats my buttocks in passing. A drunk Soldian actually tries to touch my breasts before I elbow him hard enough to wind him.
“Try that again and I’ll brew a magic to make your testicles wither,” I snap in my most highborn Patron manner. “Am I wearing white ribbons, that you feel you can accost me?”
His comrades drag him away, muttering about arrogant mules.
I move away up the street, scanning the traffic, and admire a small carriage that is being deftly woven through the wagons, carts, foot traffic, and fine carriages. Rigged for speed, it is just large enough to seat a driver and two passengers, although the passenger bench is empty. The driver wears a sand scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, the sort of gear worn by a traveler in the desert. He pulls down the scarf, looking for me. In his court clothes, whip in hand, he looks so striking that I stare and stare as he almost drives past. Then I remember to push out of the crowd.
Seeing me, he deftly reins the carriage to a halt.
He grins down from the high seat. “As I promised, Doma,” he says with a laugh that makes his whole face light up.
