Daughters of Ruin - K. D. Castner Page 0,56

and completed three cycles of the Grand Tour, by the look of the symbols on her brawny arms. She had a darker coloring than even Jesper, and her hair was a tinted mirror of Cadis’s—black dreads with coral and shells woven throughout. She was the daughter of Genio Kallis, master of the captains’ guild, rival to Lieke and the caravaneers. It seemed the daughters Hypatia and Arcadie continued the tradition.

Cadis nodded to Arcadie. Already, she liked her best.

These were the heirs of the first families of Findain. Cadis had vague memories of them all. Since birth, they were destined to sit at the table together. “And this is Iren,” said Cadis, “of Corent.”

She thought it would be a dramatic departure to offer no titles or histories. And she was right.

Iren gave a wry smile. The others offered a customary bow.

“Yes, of course,” said Pentri from the back. “We gathered from the descriptions.”

“Really?” said Iren, raising an eyebrow. “Have the shipwrights of Findain written plays about us?”

“Why would shipwrights make plays? We build ships.”

“Oh, who can tell what all these guilders do?” said Iren.

She was goading him, of course. And he seemed arrogant and brash enough to take the bait.

“We will excuse the mountain queen for not knowing the definition of the word ‘shipwright.’ ”

Jesper looked at Cadis, half enjoying the volleys, half wondering if they should put an end to it. Cadis winked. She knew Iren was good in a fight of any sort.

“Thank you, sir, but I would no more assume that a shipwright makes ships than a boy named Pantry minds the kitchen.”

Pentri’s face turned the color of the flower in his collared jacket. “Pentri,” he spat. “My name is Pentri.”

“Beg your pardon,” said Iren. “I meant a boy who minds the pig pens.”

Arcadie Kallis laughed aloud, and the battle was won.

“I like her,” she said, speaking to Cadis.

“You should see her cross-stitch,” said Cadis.

They returned to the Odeon—seat of the guildmasters and the archonate castle—with rumors of the Archon Basileus spreading through the city, along with whispers of dead queens and a Meridan invasion.

Cadis found herself in the center of their party without meaning to, as if they too had been trained all their lives for their roles as guildmasters. They took archonate formation, Arcadie Kallis to her right—captain. Pentri Muto riding before her—shipwright. Hypatia Terzi on her left—caravaneer.

Cadis noticed that Jesper had no position, and walked at her horse’s flank along with Timor Botros of the textile guild. Iren brought up the rear, certainly by her own design.

By the time they reached the bridge to the island of the Odeon, it had been filled with Findish citizens. When they saw her, they shouted and began the chorus of “Rise Archana, Rise the Tide.” Every man, woman, and child of Findain seemed to have the performer’s gusto. Cadis turned in her saddle to smile at all of them. She wished she could embrace them. They all felt like family.

Jesper’s voice was as deep as a jug’s.

She could hear the smooth bass and turned to catch his eye. He bowed, and kept singing. Only Iren didn’t know the words.

It was at that moment that Cadis felt—for the first time since she could remember—like she was home.

Then she saw the masters at the far end of the bridge, on the stairs of the Odeon, standing also in formation, faces as grim and rigid as the gargoyles. And she knew she was not entirely welcome. She wished to see with Iren’s eyes—what insights she must have already gathered, what cynical appraisals had she made already of those they met?

After what they had been through, perhaps Iren’s pessimism was not so useless as Cadis once believed. Or, better put, perhaps it was a good arrow to have in a quiver, for just the right moments.

They approached the steps of the Odeon castle, and the guildmasters sang their own chorus. Cadis bowed, waved to the people, and dismounted. An attendant reached for her saddle pack, but she thanked him and took it herself.

The people erupted.

It was a sign that the archana was of the people. Cadis blanched. For her, it was simply instinct. She did not think of herself as the great triumphant queen of a nation. All her life, she was the backwater gold noble for a bunch of oathbreakers. The story was a sad one. And Cadis was used to telling it. She was accustomed to admiration given begrudgingly, but never love, never willingly.

They were all a blur anyway.

She took the