sent her?”
Iren nodded.
“Do you think he’s conspiring with the old houses?”
“What?” said Iren, turning to look at Cadis.
“Who else would have the money to outfit a group and make them look like Findish rebels?”
“Why would they?”
“I don’t know—to kill Declan. Hiram’s from an old house, and he’s obsessed with the idea of Kendrick’s heir.”
“No, he’s not.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know that,” said Cadis. She knew if she insulted Iren’s intelligence, she would get her to talk.
The rider had sped up, perhaps feeling uncomfortable for having lost them for so long.
“They could all be in on it. Once they’ve assassinated Declan, they could put a puppet on the throne as the rightful heir and start a war with Findain at the same time.”
Iren scoffed at the idea. “You’re writing bad theater.”
“How would you know?” said Cadis.
Iren could never suffer faulty logic. “The rider is a dragoon.”
Before Cadis could ask, Iren said, “I know because she rides heavy in the saddle. She’s used to cavalry armor. And she’s terrible at this kind of pursuit. Hiram’s spies aren’t idiots and would never follow so close.”
The rider was within arrow shot. She slowed and fumbled with something in her lap.
“So Declan sent her?”
Iren nodded. Cadis wasn’t as naive as they all believed her to be. But she refused to blame Declan for every hangnail in their lives. Maybe Iren had been listening too much to Suki. “You think he’d try to kill us—?”
Before Cadis could answer, Iren cut her off and rose from her crouch.
“—the bird,” said Iren. “Take the bird.”
Cadis looked up just as the rider let fly a pigeon. It flapped up and up in their direction. Cadis took a knee and nocked her arrow. The bird scooped over the copse of trees and banked into a tight circle. The angle was terrible.
Iren was already up. She sprinted out of their hiding place, at the rider, who made a yelp of surprise. She kicked her horse and yanked the bridle to turn it around.
“Take the shot!” shouted Iren over her shoulder.
Cadis cursed and released the bowstring. The arrow flew. The pigeon shrieked as the arrow nicked its feather, but continued on.
Iren bore down on the rider. The horse began a gallop. Iren flung a knife hidden inside her sleeve. It planted into the woman’s back.
The rider fell.
The horse galloped away.
The arrow landed twenty yards away.
The pigeon disappeared into the horizon. Cadis ran over to the body, which Iren had already begun looting.
“I missed,” said Cadis, when she arrived.
“You didn’t miss once yesterday,” said Iren. Matter-of-fact.
“Well, I missed. I don’t usually aim at birds or a woman’s back.”
“They’re big targets,” said Iren—her mouth tight at the corners.
Iren pocketed a coin purse and a ring bearing the dragoon coat of arms. “We have to change course,” said Iren. “They’ll have our location in a few hours.”
Cadis wanted to ask how Iren had been so quick to identify the carrier pigeon, how she knew the spy would report her intel at that particular juncture, or if that had been a coincidence.
After seeing the rucksacks hidden in the kitchens, Cadis had begun to suspect that very little was coincidence where Iren was concerned.
Cadis watched as her sister rummaged through the clothes of the dead woman, checking the lining of her vest and the heel of her boots with the practiced efficiency of an undertaker.
Who is she? thought Cadis.
Little Iren who liked to embroider.
Quiet Iren who never fussed.
Cadis thought of a faraway evening, so many years ago, when they had just arrived in Meridan. Cadis lay in her chamber bed, ten times the size of her bed back at home, in a dark stone room, staring at the flickering light beneath her door and wondering if strange guards would steal inside to throttle her.
When the door finally opened, she clenched tight the dagger under her blanket. But no looming shadow filled the doorframe. Nothing did. It was as if the door had opened and closed. A mouse had stolen into her room. Cadis noticed only when her blanket rustled and Iren climbed in next to her.
For a long time, they lay without speaking, almost nose to nose. Cadis didn’t know what to do with the knife. Or what to say. It had all been so new. They were strangers yet. Iren had been scolded already for acting sullen. Cadis was already the one Rhea hated most.
Iren stared at her for what seemed like half the night. When she spoke, Cadis almost mistook it for a sigh.
“Are you