Daughters of Ruin by K. D. Castner Page A

the music out there and the majority of the food and—and—and—will they suddenly realize they’re a bunch of trumped-up barbarians and leave the governing to civilized nations? Is that your idea, Cadis? You fondle them while they call you traitor. With their boots so firmly on your neck, how do you stretch to kiss them so? Or are you playacting? Waiting for your rebel friends?”
    â€œEnough,” said Cadis.
    She stood. Even from across the hall, she loomed over Suki.
    â€œI’m the empress of Tasan and I’m not commanded by a shipyard wench.”
    â€œSuki,” said Rhea.
    â€œNor a usurper’s secondborn.”
    A sudden hush.
    Suki knew where to cut.
    No one ever referred to Rhys.
    Declan’s firstborn, who died during the War of Unification.
    And for whom Rhea was a hollow replacement.
    Rhea’s eyes watered.
    She stared at Suki.
    â€œWhy are you doing this? Did I do something to you?”
    â€œAre you jesting?” said Suki.
    â€œJust tell me.”
    â€œAre you truly jesting?”
    â€œNo. I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou—if you—” Suki sputtered. Her eyes stabbed in too many directions. Iren observed as Suki became tangled in her own thoughts.
    Her hatred for Declan.
    Her sorrow for Tola.
    Her pride.
    The desire to win the current engagement and the possibility that Rhea was honestly confused.
    The competing thoughts panicked across Suki’s face.
    She looked at Cadis.
    Then Rhea.
    â€œI’m not doing this,” said Suki. She turned and ran to the door to her private chamber.
    When she pushed it open, she hit a maid in the ear and screamed, “Get out!” The young maid stumbled into the central hall, looked about at everyone.
    A mouse, fallen from a gunnysack.
    She scurried toward the door to the kitchens, holding her ear.
    Rhea had been crying.
    She wiped tears from her cheek.
    She said, “I didn’t do anything to her.”
    Cadis sucked her teeth.
    Rhea sighed. “Gods, what? What else have I done?”
    â€œDon’t playact, Rhea. You’re no victim here. You’re the only one, in fact.”
    â€œAre you all against me?”
    â€œAgainst you ? It has nothing to do with you.”
    â€œYes, it does,” said Rhea. “We’re sisters.”
    They spoke at cross-purposes.
    Cadis paused. “Are you blind? We’re prisoners.”
    Cadis left.
    The room was empty but for two.
    Rhea turned to Iren. “Is that true?”
    A stupid question.
    Really, a beg for assurance.
    Iren turned and walked out.
    â€œNot all of us,” she said, as she closed her door.

CHAPTER FIVE
Rhea
    I n the grand ballroom of Meridan Keep, lit by a thousand torches in sconces on the high columns of the vaulted ceiling, the high nobles and Endrit stood in a wide circle around the four queens as they spoke the pledge that closed the Revel ceremonies. And Rhea wondered, not for the first time, if her sisters conspired to kill her.
    â€œUnto the throne of Meridan, the chair of Declan the Giver—” they said.
    Suki struck a surly pose and mouthed the oath.
    Is she even speaking?
    â€œâ€”on the occasion of the Treaty of Sister Queens—”
    Did Suki scoff?
    No one else seemed to notice but Rhea.
    Iren murmured the words in her half-present monotone.
    â€œâ€”at the close of the War of Epiphany Rising and the unification of the four kingdoms of Pelgard—”
    Of the three, only Cadis stood and declared as a queen and general ought to have done.
    But is she playacting? Wouldn’t anyone half as clever as Cadis insist on her loyalty if she intended to stab in the dark?
    â€œâ€”we queens pledge allegiance—”
    And they stepped forward, one at a time, dressed in their colors, both hands on their hearts.
    Suki, in a yellow summer gown embroidered with the roots of the bituin tree at the hem, up into branches that curled and twisted like flames. She had fought their