Daughters of Ruin by K. D. Castner

girl’s trifling diary about the Revels.
    Dull and predictable.
    Iren’s cloak-and-dagger.
    That others thought her shy and gormless.
    The snow-singer bird had a similar reputation.
    Always wide-eyed and preoccupied.
    A hare might not even notice as the bird bounced along the snow, distracted by every trick of light.
    But the hare would be mistaken.
    Even if the snow-singer had her back turned.
    The poison’s in the tail, after all.
    And hares are tasty food.
    Don Sprolio made a panicky defense of his innocence.
    General Hecuba silenced him with a firm grip on his elbow.
    â€œDon’t clamor. We’ve known. Tell me something useful. Where. When.”
    Iren scribbled notes in the parchment.
    â€œI don’t know where. I don’t. I swear. But tonight. The attack is tonight. Please don’t tell my mother.”
    Hecuba pushed him toward the nearest exit with a disgusted grunt. Mother Sprolio’s head lolled back, deep in slumber. The sweethearts in the corner continued their tickling.
    Iren jotted one last word onto her parchment.
    War.

    Back in the central chamber, the girls were fighting.
    Again.
    The nobles streamed into Meridan Keep for the ball.
    The lesser gentry loitered on the lawn.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have done that,” said Rhea.
    She sat at the round table in front of a looking glass.
    Her tired maid sat behind her, pinning the crown jewels back into her frizzy hair.
    â€œAre you even talking to me?” said Suki.
    Maids scurried around the hall—
    Dressing Suki.
    Dabbing gauze and jaro ointment on Cadis’s black eye and busted lip.
    Iren entered and set her crocheting on the table.
    Cadis smiled at her. Iren raised a hand and waved.
    A maid approached Iren.
    Iren palmed the coded parchment and slipped it into her sleeve.
    â€œMy queen,” said another maid, approaching with a corseted blue dress.
    â€œNo need,” said Iren.
    â€œBut the ball,” said the maid, confused.
    â€œI won’t be dancing,” said Iren.
    The maid only blinked.
    â€œI don’t need a corset,” said Iren.
    â€œA summer dress, then? It is a ball,” stammered the maid.
    Iren sighed. “Then make it two pieces, please. The one with the skirt that doesn’t swish.”
    â€œWho else could I be talking to?” said Rhea, across the room.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Suki. “You scold everyone. You scold constantly. If I were keeping track of your scolding, I’d be a magister by now.”
    Her maids tittered.
    Suki shouldn’t have allowed her maids such impudence. Rhea turned her head. “You practically accused the king of murder!”
    Her maid gently coaxed her back toward the glass.
    â€œAnd what is he going to do about it? Murder me, too?”
    Rhea was stupefied.
    It was obvious what Declan could do to them.
    Suki should have known.
    She was thrashing about in her own mind.
    Cadis leaned around her maid and said, “Let’s everyone settle down.”
    She was dressed already in a long beaded dress that hugged her hips and exposed her shoulders.
    The ballroom would hold its breath when she entered.
    Then gasp to see her battered face.
    â€œIt was a good day today,” Cadis continued.
    â€œHey, bootlicker,” said Suki. “Your face looks like smashed fruit. Are you so desperate for their approval? They hate you and you’re still begging pardon.”
    The maids all hushed. The conversation had become dangerous. Their presence was necessary, and yet unwelcome.
    â€œEasy,” said Cadis, through gritted teeth.
    She glanced at Iren.
    Iren folded her needlework into a drawstring bag and handed it to a maid.
    She whispered a command, and the maids scattered from the hall.
    â€œWhy should I go easy? Will the whole country of Meridan give me a pat on the head and a pastry? Will they suddenly realize that a thousand-year-old empire in Tasan—that has created the dresses we’re wearing and