‘Good luck,’ Manelda called after her.
Roh couldn’t sleep that night, not with thoughts of her mother swirling around in her head like a whirlpool threatening to suck her in. Mother … The word almost didn’t apply. It certainly seemed foreign in reference to Cerys.
Over the years, Roh had come to experience the notion of motherhood from afar, from witnessing her friends with their parents and the love they so obviously shared. Roh didn’t know if she loved her mother. Could someone love the Elder Slayer of Talon’s Reach? If they could, did such a bond form over the course of prison visits, in stolen snatches of time, while staring at one another through bars of bone? For the most part, Roh didn’t feel anything when she saw Cerys, didn’t feel for her mother the way she knew Orson felt for hers, or Harlyn had felt for her parents at one point or another. Perhaps Roh had been born without that particular ability. All she knew was that she and Cerys were different. The word ‘mother’ was not so much a title as it was a question. What they shared more than anything was a peculiar curiosity about one another. A lingering sense of wonderment at the fact that amidst the complexities and long history of Saddoriel, they were somehow connected.
Roh turned onto her other side, adjusting the blankets around her and watching the embers of the fire glowing. She had never fully explained her prison visits to her friends, never told them about how her mother stared at her with unfocused eyes, or how she manically carved strange patterns into the stone walls, a mural of madness from her broken talons. Roh had never told Orson and Harlyn that each month when she visited Cerys, she spent more time playing cards with the guard, Bryah, than speaking with her mother. It was far easier to win at cards than it was to face that part of herself.
The others were all sleeping soundly. Harlyn’s scowl was softened by slumber and the glowing embers of the fire, while Orson was buried beneath her quilt like a child. Over the course of her life, they had been the only ones to ignore the gold circlet around her head. They had welcomed her into their lives, into their families where they could. Without them, her life would have been very different. Perhaps she would have gone mad like Cerys. But now, everything was at stake: everything she had ever wanted … Could she leave that up to chance? No, she couldn’t. Roh knew what she had to do, had known for a long time now. And if she looked deep down, the plans she’d kept hidden, even from herself, began to slide into place.
Yes, she knew what to do. Come morning, she would stir with the rest of the bone cleaners, for what she hoped was the last time.
‘She’s gone again.’ Roh woke up to the sound of Orson’s worried tone. ‘Has anyone seen Jesmond?’
Roh blinked blearily at the unmade, empty bed. ‘Somewhere she’s not supposed to be, no doubt,’ she muttered.
‘That’s what concerns me.’ Orson opened the door to the bathing chamber and peered inside to no avail, sighing in frustration.
Swinging her legs out of bed, Roh pulled on her pants and stood up to stretch, slowly sifting through the plan she’d been piecing together. ‘I’ll find her,’ she offered.
‘’Bout time,’ Harlyn grumbled from beneath her quilt. ‘You never deal with her.’
‘She’s more trouble than she’s worth.’
Orson had her hands on her hips. ‘That’s what I used to say about you two.’
Roh huffed a laugh as she tugged on her boots. ‘Well, she’s usually far more interested in having Harlyn deal with her.’
Harlyn pulled her pillow over her head with a groan. ‘She’s too damn young for me. And I’ve got too many other options.’
‘Will you two stop?’ Orson cried, talons out. ‘Roh, please find her. The whole lair is up early this morning for tournament deciders, but Ames trusts us to keep her in line.’
‘I’m going, I’m going,’ Roh told her.
She found Jesmond exactly where she thought she would: in the private chambers of some older cyrens, attempting to hustle them out of their already scarce bronze keys and silver marks.
‘Orson’s looking for you,’ Roh said, folding her arms over her chest in the doorway.
Neither Jes nor the other cyrens looked up from where they were crowded around a cup of dice.
‘She’s always looking for me,’ Jes retorted, scooping the dice up in her palms.
‘We’re meant to keep an eye on you.’
‘An eye, not full-time surveillance.’
The other cyrens laughed at that. ‘Looks like you’re out of luck anyway, Jes,’ one of them said. ‘Be on your way now.’
‘Tchah.’ Jes clicked her tongue. ‘Fine. You lot are no use to me, anyway.’
‘Watch yourself,’ another cyren chided.
‘Come on,’ Roh muttered as the youngster joined her at the door.
‘Surprised you’re not wrapped up in deciding who’s taking the tournament place.’ Jesmond pocketed her pouch of bronze keys and dice as they walked through the common areas.
‘Orson wanted to make sure you were alright first.’
‘And Harlyn?’ Jes asked, eyes bright.
‘Harlyn wasn’t bothered,’ Roh said. The sooner she stamped out Jes’ crush on her friend, the better. Harlyn tended to leave a trail of broken hearts wherever she went. Besides, she wasn’t here to talk about Harlyn’s love interests.
Jesmond didn’t so much as flinch. ‘So, have you decided?’
‘Decided what?’ Roh said coolly.
‘I’m not an idiot, Rohesia.’
Roh shrugged. ‘No, we haven’t decided.’
‘I’ll wager there’s a reason you volunteered to retrieve me.’
‘You’ll wager on anything.’
Jesmond halted with a grin. ‘That’s a yes.’
Roh faced Jesmond. ‘I had an idea … about how the bone cleaners could decide their representative.’
‘Oh?’
‘But it can’t come from me.’
Jesmond’s expression was sly. ‘Makes sense. And the idea?’
Voice lowered, Roh made quick work of telling her.
‘What’s in it for you?’ Jesmond asked when Roh was finished. They continued to walk, this time towards the dining hall.
‘The real question, Jes, is what’s in it for you?’ Roh smiled. ‘Double the wagers. On the manoeuvres of the game itself as well as the final cyren standing. It’s not about me, it’s about how much you stand to make in commission. Which is why you’re still here having this conversation.’
They had reached the entrance of the dining hall, where within, their cohort was in the midst of a very early first meal.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Jesmond said.
Roh nodded as she walked off. ‘You do that.’
‘Where’d you find her?’ a voice said from behind her.
‘Exactly where she shouldn’t have been,’ Roh replied to Orson without turning around.
‘Figures. She’s a nightmare,’ Orson allowed, tugging Roh into the dining hall.
‘You’re telling me …’
The trio ate breakfast together, quietly discussing their options for selecting their representative. With their heads huddled close, they ignored the flurry of movement and lively chatter around them, Roh savouring the sense of camaraderie for as long as they would share it.
‘Orson,’ a panicked voice sounded, interrupting their whispers. Orson’s mother was there, forcing her way onto the bench and pushing Harlyn aside. ‘Orson, meesha, tell me you’re not still planning on involving yourself in this madness?’
Meesha, the New Saddorien word for ‘my love’, always sparked an ember of envy within Roh.
But a pained expression tightened Orson’s gentle face, the younger mirror image of her mother’s. ‘Ma … I have always been honest about this.’
‘No, meesha. I will not allow it.’
Roh and Harlyn tried to fade into the background, but Orson’s mother was having none of it. ‘This is your fault,’ she spat at them. ‘You two blood-hungry orphans, no? You put these ideas in meesha’
s head.’
Both fledglings kept their mouths clamped shut. They had learned long ago that nothing good came from talking back to the whirlwind that was their friend’s ma.
‘Ma!’ Orson snapped. ‘They did no such thing. In case you have forgotten, I’m ten years their senior. If anything, I’m the one who’s influencing them.’
From the corner of her eye, Roh saw Harlyn bite down on a bark of laughter.
‘Ma,’ Orson implored, more gently this time. ‘I am a fully fledged cyren. It is my choice to put my name in the ring with the other willing bone cleaners. It will be alright, I promise.’
Tears lined the older cyren’s eyes. ‘These things are never alright, Orson. You can make no such promise.’ She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, muttering, ‘Meesha,’ one more time before taking her leave with a final glare of disdain in Harlyn and Roh’s direction.
Roh raised a brow. ‘Blood-hungry orphans, eh?’
A dark laugh bubbled from Harlyn. ‘We’ve been called worse.’
Orson flushed. ‘I’m so sorry —’
Roh waved the apology away. ‘Har’s right. We’ve been called worse.’
‘That doesn’t make it alright,’ Orson said crossly.
‘I think we’ve got bigger matters to worry about.’
Someone cleared their throat pointedly. Jesmond. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ she said.
‘You’re always interrupting,’ Harlyn quipped.
‘Well, forgive me for thinking you were interested in how the bone cleaners intend on choosing their competitor,’ Jesmond shot back.
‘Sorry, Jes,’ Orson said. ‘We’re all a bit on edge this morning. What’s going on?’
Jesmond paused, giving each of them an even stare. ‘The bone cleaners want to play Thieves for the place in the tournament.’
‘Thieves?’ Orson frowned. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Jes replied, her voice deadpan. ‘You three in?’
The trio exchanged worried looks.
‘Tchah.’ Jesmond rolled her eyes. ‘Let me know within the next twenty minutes.’
‘Wait,’ Harlyn said. ‘So it’s been decided? That’s how we’re electing a competitor.’
‘I didn’t realise what I said was so confusing.’ Jesmond sidled up to Harlyn. ‘I can talk you through it in detail if you like?’
‘Oh, for Thera’s sake,’ Harlyn exclaimed, shoving Jes away. ‘Go find some fledglings your own damn age.’
Jesmond shrugged. ‘Let me know if you want to play.’ With that, she left them.
‘Looks like things have been decided for us,’ Harlyn said slowly, the crease in her brow deepening.
‘Looks like it,’ Roh ventured, a finger tracing her circlet absentmindedly.
‘But …’ Orson started.
‘What?’
Orson gave Roh an apologetic grimace. ‘Are you certain you want to play? I’m sure we could find a fairer way.’
‘What do you mean?’ Roh frowned.
‘It’s just that …’ Orson struggled to finish her sentence.
‘What?’
Orson shifted in her seat. ‘It’s just that —’
‘You’re terrible at Thieves,’ Harlyn finished for her cheerfully.
‘I am not,’ Roh objected.
‘We’re just more practised than you,’ Orson reasoned, shooting Harlyn a warning glare. ‘You’re always working on your … project when we play.’
‘I’m not that bad.’
Harlyn scoffed. ‘Roh, last time you were called Thief within the first three minutes.’
‘Was not.’
‘Were too. I caught you mid-sleight of hand – over a damn nucrite card no less.’
Roh fell silent. Every word was true. Those few times she had played with them, she had never played well.
She took a breath. ‘Regardless of that, what do we want to do? It has to be our choice.’
Harlyn ran a hand through her hair. ‘It looks like it’s Thieves or no tournament chance at all.’
Orson still wasn’t done trying to make it fair for everyone. ‘We could —’
‘I think we’re out of time for other options,’ Roh interrupted, spotting Jesmond loitering at the hall’s edge.
‘Roh’s right,’ Harlyn agreed, ever the opportunist. ‘Jesmond,’ she called across the room. ‘We’re in.’
‘Good,’ Jes replied. ‘Meet at the workshop in thirty minutes. Oh,’ she added. ‘If you have a spare deck, bring it along, will you? It’s looking to be a big game.’
Thieves was a cyren’s game through and through; a display of strategy, cunning and risk. Which was why Roh wasn’t surprised to find the workshop full, with Jesmond and her ledger in the midst of the fray. The youngster was directing a few older cyrens to push two tables together to form a large one, and move the benches against the walls to make room for the crowd. There were three bone cleaner workshops in Saddoriel, the workers of which had all managed to cram themselves into Ames’. Thankfully, it was too early for Roh’s mentor to be here, for none would dare attempt this under his watch.
Roh, Harlyn and Orson forced their way into the room, the air thick with excitement. Jesmond waved them over and Roh had to admire the sheer force of her. No matter how many times she was told no, she persisted.
‘For Thera’s sake,’ Orson muttered as numerous cyrens clapped Harlyn on the back as they made their way to the table. Harlyn grinned until they reached Jesmond.
‘This is it?’ she asked, looking around.
She’d said aloud what Roh had been thinking … There were only ten players in total.
‘Perhaps I wasn’t the only one Ma went around lecturing,’ Orson offered quietly.
Roh couldn’t quite manage a laugh. Instead, she wiped her clammy hands on the sides of her pants. ‘You might be right there.’
She recognised Andwana, an older cyren who usually pushed a trolley of books from the Mid Sector archives around the dining hall. There was Mikael, a fledgling from their workshop who had made the unfortunate mistake of trying to mimic the way the Jaktaren wore their hair. Renee, a cyren with a sinewy frame who’d caused much drama when choosing her trade between water runners and bone cleaners. Freya, Ames’ counterpart in another workshop group; Thomes, Freya’s partner; and two other older cyrens Roh didn’t know by name. Between them, they shared a wealth of knowledge and potentially hundreds of years of experience that could work against her. Roh surveyed the group, including her friends, her chest constricting. She would face the cunning of nine different cyrens, each one with their own unique set of rules and morals to test. How prepared were they? How long had each of them planned for this moment? How much did they want to win?
Roh and the others were jostled by the crowd as final bets were placed with what little coin the lowborns had. It was rare that Roh saw bronze keys slide across a table so freely, but for some, it was the first and only time in their lives that they would wager on a Queen’s Tournament. From the corner of her eye, Roh saw Jesmond documenting the wagers and counting the small pile of bronze before her. A quick tally told Roh that Harlyn was the favourite. That fact didn’t surprise her – people knew Harlyn because she played the lute at the evening meal sometimes. Starved for melodies down in the dark reaches of the lair, it was no wonder that people recognised Roh’s friend and wanted to back her.
Orson tapped Jesmond and handed her Roh’s deck. Jesmond smoothly slid the cards into the pile she was already holding and began to shuffle.
‘Players at the table,’ Jesmond said, her voice authoritative.
Gods … Roh steadied her breathing as she sat down beside Orson, with Harlyn opposite. Mikael took up the place to her right and the rest spaced themselves out. These were the cyrens standing between Roh and her place in the tournament … She silently cursed her sweating palms and her irregular heartbeat. She needed to stay calm and focused, to keep herself in check so she could see when others were losing their cool.
Jesmond starte
d to deal.
Roh kept her hands under the table as the cards were laid out before them. A seven-card draw, as expected, with another ten placed in rows facedown in the centre of the table: the thief’s temptation. Roh had seen it become the downfall of many a player, including herself on occasion. The thief’s temptation offered the opportunity for a ‘legal’ sleight of hand, but if the player was called ‘thief’ mid-action, they were eliminated. If they were found to be bluffing the sleight of hand, the caller was eliminated. It was a tactic usually left until later in the game.
Roh’s seventh card was placed in front of her.
‘Alright,’ Jesmond said, signalling for quiet. ‘Let’s —’
‘What in Dresmis and Thera’s names is going on here?’ Ames’ voice didn’t boom. It brushed against them softly like a silk scarf before it squeezed around one’s neck.
The room fell silent and Ames’ face tightened with fury. ‘Well?’
It was Orson, quiet, sweet Orson, who spoke. ‘Our apologies, Master Ames. We sought a way to elect a representative for our subsector in the Queen’s Tournament.’ Only Orson could make a game of Thieves sound so official and reasonable.
‘So, you decided to turn my workshop into a gaming hall?’
‘It seemed the fairest way, Master Ames,’ Harlyn piped up.
The ancient cyren scanned the desperate faces before him, his own expression unreadable. The tension in the air was palpable, and Roh found herself clenching her fists so hard that her talons unsheathed and dug into her flesh. She needed this game to go ahead. With the competitor orientation only a few hours away, all the bone cleaners did.
‘I hope anyone considering this,’ Ames began darkly, ‘knows exactly what they’re getting into. There are no fair fights in Saddoriel, only the cunning of your fellow cyrens. The trials will get harder and deadlier as the tournament goes on. Few survive. And of those who do, most wish they hadn’t.’
No one said a word.
Ames sighed. ‘Get on with it, then.’
A collective murmur of relief washed over the workshop and Roh unclenched her fists. At Jesmond’s signal, she turned her cards and assessed her hand. She bit her lip and then silently cursed herself for doing so. No doubt the others would be watching her for any tells. She schooled her features into neutrality as she scanned the cards again. Not terrible, but not terribly good, either. A backahast – a type of water horse hailing from Lochloria, the third-highest card; two nucrites – moth-like creatures that were only powerful in swarms; two humans, as well as a land card and a sea card.
A Lair of Bones Page 4