Daughters of Ruin by K. D. Castner Read Free Book Online

found out, the magister would put the entire kennel to the sword.
    Iren reached into her sleeve, drew out a strip of salted beef, and held it out. The shinhound snapped it up.
    â€œNow you’re showing off,” said Cadis.
    â€œWouldn’t you?” said Iren.
    â€œOh, of course,” said Cadis. “I’d teach the dog your tea ceremony and present him at the Revels wearing laces and a petticoat.”
    Endrit laughed.
    Marta sucked her teeth. For such an embarrassment, the magister would kill the dogs and burn the stadium with all the revelers still in it.
    â€œI think it’s hilarious,” said Suki, eyeing Endrit to make sure he agreed.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have done this,” said Marta as she approached the hound and pulled the rolled parchment from the holster around its neck.
    The beast, even while sitting, was nearly as tall as she was and twice as thick. Rhea imagined her teacher during the Battle of Epiphany Rising, fending off war dogs with a long-handled bident, which the soldiers called “shin guards.”
    Marta never talked about the bite marks on her forearms, just as she never discussed the war.
    She unrolled the parchment and read, “By the word of good King Declan, Protector and Preserver of the Pax Regina.”
    Rhea let go of the lock of hair she had been nervously twirling around her finger. She tried not to tense in front of the others, but rarely did her father speak to them through the magister’s hands.
    Marta continued. “Regarding the Revels, tenth of their kind. In light of the ever-present threat of attacks and subterfuge by Findish radicals—”
    Rhea knew what would happen next. Marta paused, as if to give Cadis time to act righteously indignant. Cadis stood erect and jutted her chin to take the insult with public dignity. To Rhea, the show was overwrought. Her father had expressly written “radicals.” No one was saying the perfect princess had anything to do with it. But that didn’t matter to Cadis. She wore her victimhood proudly.
    â€œGo on,” said Rhea.
    â€œâ€”to protect against such treason against the four crowns, the midnight ball will be reserved to the noble families of Meridan, royal guests, and guardian hands of the high court.”
    â€œThat’s not fair,” said Suki.
    â€œNone others shall be permitted into Meridan Keep,” said Marta, finishing the message. “So spake the king.”
    Rhea held her breathing. Of course her father would be cautious. He was the only one with the burden of protecting the Keep from attack. Hiram’s spies must have uncovered a plot of some kind. But none of the girls were interested in spycraft. They just knew Endrit and the other performers couldn’t come to the celebratory dance. After all his work.
    Rhea was heartbroken too. But she knew the others would blame her for the whole thing.
    And she had the least to complain about. She’d be dancing with Endrit anyway, at the exhibitions. Even so, she had hoped to dance with him later, when fewer eyes would be upon them and they weren’t trying to kill each other, when—maybe—she could close her eyes, feel warm hands about her, and calm her anxious thoughts for just a short while. Rhea bemoaned the loss quietly, to herself.
    â€œIt’ll be just us and a bunch of inbred nobles?” said Suki with a pout.
    â€œThey don’t inbreed in Meridan,” said Iren.
    â€œThen why are they so scrawny and weird?” said Suki.
    â€œBecause they’re pampered and boring,” said Iren.
    â€œWell, I’m not touching any of them,” said Suki. Sometimes she still sounded like the five-year-old brat who had been spoiled rotten back in the court of Tasan. The high emperor had five children. The sycophant Tasanese nobles treated all of them like a pantheon of insolent gods.
    As soon as Rhea rolled her eyes, she regretted it. Suki—of course—had been