A Lair of Bones

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘It says your name,’ she told him. But Roh followed his gaze to the place card of the human two cyrens down from him. The writing was the same there.

  Odi picked at his gloves, fingers flexing. ‘What does it really say?’

  Roh chewed her lip for a moment. ‘It says vinarah.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Outsider. It’s what we call humans in our language.’

  Odi’s fingers continued to twitch, but he gave a stiff nod and placed his serviette on his lap with what looked like as much dignity as he could muster.

  With a flourish, the cloches were removed from the dishes and fragrant steam drifted up from the roasted game before them. If Roh had been impressed with the food last time, this banquet was something else entirely. She eyed the food greedily. Since her first unfortunate encounter with food from the Upper Sector, she’d been eating carefully, letting her body adjust to the richness of the meals. Now the thought of the gruel they served in the Lower Sector turned her stomach. She reached for the roast boar tentatively, serving herself a thin sliver of meat. She cut a small piece and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly, not wanting to make herself ill again.

  The scrape of a chair sounded and Roh looked up from her plate in time to see Finn Haertel take his place a little further down her table. He offered no apologies for his tardiness as he sat; he simply reached for the crystal decanter of wine and poured himself a generous glass. He caught her staring and glared back at her, disgust etched on his face. Trying to ignore him, Roh served herself a spoonful of steamed root vegetables. Beside her, Odi was eating as though he hadn’t touched a meal in days.

  Good, she thought. I need him strong and fit for whatever trial is next.

  As she reached for the roast potatoes, her hands brushed someone else’s. Yrsa Ward’s. The highborn beat her to the dish and served herself first. Roh waited. She felt oddly compelled to say something to her fellow competitor. She wanted to praise Yrsa for the outside-the-box thinking that had led to her victory. Roh wished she’d thought of that herself.

  On both long tables, the conversation was flowing. Except Roh hadn’t said a word. She was reluctant to make substantial conversation with Odi in front of all the nobility, but no other cyrens had so much as looked in her direction. She needed to make a conscious effort, she decided. She reached for her goblet and searched the table. A cool gaze met hers and Roh’s heart soared. Now was her chance …

  ‘Estin.’ Roh found her voice as she met that gaze with her own moss-green stare. ‘I … I just wanted to tell you … We … I mean, I’m a big admirer of your work. Your design for the music theatre —’

  Quiet settled on the table around her as Estin’s nostrils flared and her talons scraped the table’s surface. ‘You,’ she said, her voice low but audible to the whole table. ‘You think you were clever? Implementing tactics formerly used against the very crown you compete for, isruhe.’

  The word hit Roh like a blow to the face in the icy silence. She could no longer hear the subtle melody from the instrument on the dais. All she could hear was: isruhe. It was the second time that day someone had wielded that word against her. It was like a stain. There was no harsher insult, no fouler name.

  Roh’s rebuttal snagged in her throat. As Odi had been upon his arrival to Saddoriel, she was speechless. She couldn’t breathe for the sudden pressure sitting heavy on her chest. They think I took things too far? What of the body impaled on the spikes? Or the swinging coral meant to shred my face to pieces?

  ‘What do you mean?’ she finally croaked.

  ‘Don’t play ignorant now,’ Estin crowed. ‘Using someone’s personal treasures against them … The water warlocks used that tactic against us in the Scouring of Lochloria. Just as you used it to your advantage today.’

  Roh’s blood pounded in her ears.

  Another voice filled the silence. ‘It’s little wonder,’ said Taro Haertel, down the far end of the table. ‘The offspring of such a beast in the dungeons is bound to share the same foul blood.’

  The wine coating Roh’s mouth turned sour. He knows …?

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Estin said, outraged. ‘This isruhe is the offspring of Cerys the Slayer? She sits here dining with us? Competing for the crown?’

  The scrape of cutlery on porcelain ceased and gasps sounded from all around the table.

  Roh’s cheeks burned. She didn’t dare look at Odi, whose sideways glance she could feel boring into her temple. How could she have been so naive? To think that her heritage would remain a secret up here? To think that someone like her could partake in the Queen’s Tournament without consequence? So this was what her kind truly thought of her.

  ‘I hope to have misheard the conversation occurring at this table.’ Queen Delja’s voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade. She stood behind Estin Ruhne, sipping from a silver goblet of wine.

  Estin paled, her chair scraping. ‘Your Majesty —’

  ‘Don’t get up,’ the queen said.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Can a queen not change her mind?’

  ‘Of course, I only meant —’

  ‘We do not use the language I heard only moments ago in Saddoriel,’ Queen Delja said, her lilac eyes settling on Roh’s flushed face. ‘It is an insult to me to use such terms in my halls.’

  Shock radiated across the group, and to Roh’s great satisfaction, Estin grew paler still and fumbled for words. ‘My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. I … I meant no disrespect to you.’

  ‘And yet here I am, disrespected. Let’s leave the matter to lie, shall we? I’ve already grown tired of it.’ Roh could have sworn there was a glint of amusement in Queen Delja’s gaze and a brief thrill shot through her. However, when she looked around the table, the stares were worse than before.

  ‘Rohesia,’ the queen said. ‘I would have a moment with you in the gardens.’

  Roh blinked – had she heard correctly? The sharp elbow to her side from Odi told her she had. She fumbled with the serviette on her lap and nearly knocked her chair over as she made to leave the table. With a glance around the vicious faces staring back at her, she motioned for Odi to follow her. There was no way she was going to leave him with them.

  If Queen Delja was surprised by the human’s presence, she didn’t let it show as she guided Roh to the glass entrance of the gardens, the hems of her flowing trousers dragging behind her. Roh could feel the eyes of every guest on them as they disappeared down a narrow path bordered with tall Aching Fiirs, the single cobalt blooms atop shoulder-high stems wavering as they passed. There were all kinds of plants and flowers here, many of which Roh didn’t recognise. She stared at a dark flower that seemed to have a thousand charcoal petals.

  ‘Laceflower,’ Queen Delja told her, gesturing to the bloom in question as they turned a corner. ‘This place used to be called the King’s Conservatory,’ she mused. ‘Did you know that?’

  Roh shook her head, not quite trusting herself to speak. She glanced at Odi to her right, who looked just as baffled, if not terrified.

  ‘Here should do.’ The queen paused beneath the shadows of several giant ferns.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ Roh asked, clutching her hands behind her back to keep herself from fidgeting.

  Delja smiled kindly and said in the common tongue, ‘I thought you might need to escape all that for a moment.’

  Roh’s shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you. Your Majesty is kind.’

  ‘Estin should be punished for using such a term.’

  Panic sparked in Roh. ‘No, Your Majesty. Please —’

  ‘I will not make matters worse for you by doing so, Rohesia,’ Delja said. ‘But she should be.’

  ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it? I am what she says.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I am Cerys’ daughter. Cerys the Slayer.’ She had never said those words aloud. The truth of it was that part of her had always believed Cerys had somehow been caught in the crossfire
of someone else’s battle. That perhaps she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t hard to imagine that alternate reality, given her current state of mania. An entire Council of Elders had been killed, but there had to be something Roh didn’t know, something that everyone didn’t know about Cerys, that explained her actions all that time ago. But facing the poisonous words of the highborns, it was clear to Roh that her mother was exactly who they said she was.

  Queen Delja studied her. ‘You are Rohesia of the Bone Cleaners. Competitor in the Queen’s Tournament. Is that not what matters most?’

  Roh didn’t understand this new relationship with the Queen of Cyrens. How well had Delja known her mother? What secrets did they share? And why now was she speaking to Roh, helping her? It was one thing to converse with her in invisible pockets of the prison, but to single her out in front of the Council of Elders and highborns of Saddoriel …

  ‘They would never accept me … if I won,’ Roh started, the black inky fear leaking from her. It was the question that kept her awake in the dark and early hours, the very thing she feared most. ‘Would I even be allowed to take the crown? Is it against our laws? As an … As the offspring of a criminal?’

  Queen Delja adjusted the coral crown atop her head and met Roh’s gaze. ‘A queen must know the Law of the Lair better than she knows herself.’

  Roh thought the queen was going to say more, but she didn’t. Instead she turned her attentions to the small white flowers encasing the fern trunks and plucked one from a vine.

  ‘I came here often as a young nestling,’ she ventured, seeming to marvel at the bloom in her grasp. ‘It is one of the few places in Saddoriel that has not changed immensely over the centuries.’ The queen’s voice was melodic, even in speech. Not for the first time, Roh found herself wondering about her deathsong.

  ‘What did you make of the water forest?’ the queen asked.

  ‘It … it was beautiful … in a dangerous sort of way …’

  The queen smiled at this, motioning for Roh and Odi to follow her back up the path. ‘I find that often the most beautiful things are the most dangerous. That forest was one of my favourites. One of the oldest lungs of Saddoriel.’

  As Roh listened, she could have sworn the garden moved with the queen’s words. She glanced at Odi, whose face told her he had noticed it, too.

  ‘But it’s gone now?’

  ‘Yes, it’s gone. I had best leave you and your human here and return to my guests,’ Queen Delja said with an apologetic smile. ‘Remember, Rohesia, know the Law of the Lair better than you know yourself.’

  And with that, the Queen of Cyrens turned another corner and was gone.

  Roh looked at Odi, incredulous. ‘What was —’

  But Odi was staring at the ground.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Roh asked.

  Odi pointed to a stream of white flowers along the edge of the path, just like the one the queen had been holding. ‘Were they there before?’

  ‘What?’ Roh said, frowning.

  ‘I could have sworn …’ Odi trailed off at the look on Roh’s face. ‘Never mind. What now? We’re not going back there, are we?’

  Roh shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Now … now we find someone who knows the Law of the Lair.’

  Roh and Odi found Andwana in an empty common room of the Lower Sector. The older cyren held a book in his lap and a pipe to his mouth, smoke spilling from his lips.

  ‘If it isn’t the bone queen to be,’ he said, looking up as they approached. ‘And a new pet, apparently,’ he added, eyes fixed on Odi. ‘What do you want?’

  Roh couldn’t tell if Andwana’s tone was in jest or if something sinister lay beneath. She decided that it didn’t matter.

  ‘I want to borrow a book,’ she told him, taking a seat in the chair opposite. Odi remained standing at her side, looking very much out of place.

  ‘You? Borrow a book?’ he scoffed. ‘Do you even remember how to read? You’ve never shown any inclination before. All those mealtimes I’ve come round with the trolley …’

  ‘I have an inclination now.’

  ‘Well, my trolley’s not here.’

  ‘Could you —’

  ‘If you’re about to suggest that I go fetch it for you … You’re not queen yet.’

  Roh sighed and slipped three bronze keys from her pocket. ‘Will this cover your troubles?’

  Andwana removed the pipe from his mouth and considered her. ‘It might.’

  ‘I want a book on the Law of the Lair,’ Roh told him.

  The older cyren coughed a laugh. ‘One book that contains the Law of the Lair? Are you daft, fledgling? The Law of the Lair is a beast, a living, breathing, changing thing. It does not fit in a single volume. You’ll have to be more specific.’

  ‘Fine,’ Roh ground out. ‘A book on the Law of the Lair regarding the Queen’s Tournament.’

  ‘Hmm. Lucky for you, I don’t have to go far for that one.’ Andwana stood. ‘Wait here.’ He left them in a haze of smoke.

  ‘Can we trust him?’ Odi asked, staring after the cyren.

  ‘Trust?’ Roh snorted. ‘Have you learned nothing of Saddorien cyrens so far?’ She gauged his expression and sighed. ‘First lesson, then, Odi Arrowood: never trust a cyren.’

  ‘You’re a cyren.’

  Roh shrugged. ‘I’m a cyren whose best interests align with yours, for the moment.’

  ‘And when they no longer align?’

  ‘Well, we’ll either be dead, or —’

  The door swung inwards. ‘Found it,’ Andwana said, pushing a heavy book into Roh’s hands. ‘I borrowed it myself, in case I managed … Well, my skills at Thieves proved a hindrance there, but nevertheless, here it is.’

  Roh looked down at the faded title: Life, Law and the Lair, Volume XI: The Dawning Queen’s Tournament. ‘How many volumes are there?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Andwana said, relighting his pipe. ‘You’ll need to return it in three days’ time.’

  ‘Three days? You expect me to compete in the tournament and read this in three days?’

  ‘Rules are rules.’

  ‘Fine.’ Roh stood and offered a bronze key.

  Andwana frowned. ‘What about the rest?’

  Roh shrugged, tucking the book under her arm. ‘You didn’t have to get your trolley, did you?’

  ‘What?’ Andwana blustered. ‘You little —’

  ‘Thanks for the book,’ Roh quipped, leaving the room.

  Odi was fast on her heels. ‘I don’t think you should have done that,’ he said. ‘You might need —’

  ‘What was the first lesson, Odi?’

  There was a flash of irritation across his face. ‘Never trust a cyren,’ he said begrudgingly.

  ‘Let’s hope that one sticks. Hurry up.’ She walked the familiar passageway, intending to go straight up to her new quarters and read, but down in the dark, a melody echoed.

  She paused, Odi nearly crashing into her.

  ‘Is there a human playing?’ Odi asked softly.

  Roh frowned at him. ‘It’s Harlyn’s lute.’

  Confusion was written across his face. ‘But I thought cyrens couldn’t play instruments?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ Roh dismissed. ‘We choose not to.’

  It was long after workshop hours, but the music told Roh that her friends had not yet retired. She followed the vibrant notes all the way to the workshop, almost forgetting that Odi shadowed her. As she drew closer, she heard Orson’s voice accompanying the quiet chords being strummed on the lute. Roh listened, realising that what she was hearing were the core notes of Orson’s deathsong. Roh paused before she reached the workshop door, a lump thick in her throat. Orson had never sung her deathsong to them, she had always been too shy, but now … now the notes danced from her, clear and confident, and dark. There was a dangerous undercurrent to the striking music projecting from her friend, a beautifully twisted sound that didn’t quite match her sweet and considerate nature.
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br />   Roh’s insides prickled uncomfortably. Is this the first time they’ve shared their songs? Do they hide these little singalongs from me?

  Odi was at her side, his palms upturned in question as to why they remained in the shadows. But Roh’s feet wouldn’t move. Even though she knew it was wrong to stand there eavesdropping, there was something ugly in her that wanted to know what went on in her absence.

  Orson cut the song short. ‘It’s not complete,’ she said quietly.

  Roh imagined Harlyn shrugging her shoulders as she said, ‘At least you know that much of it. The sound is completely your own, and you only need, what? One final verse?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Orson admitted.

  ‘Exactly. Whereas mine keeps changing, or I keep changing it – I don’t even know which.’

  ‘You’re younger than me. You’ll get there. Some cyrens are as old as sixty before they —’

  ‘I know, I know. I just wish I could be one of the ones who gets it early, you know?’

  Roh was hurt. Why had they never spoken of this before? Hearing that Harlyn shared the same fears as her warmed her, but now her knowledge of it was a secret. She had put the wall between them by hiding outside, and if she was completely honest, by cheating in the game of Thieves. Her guilt was like a cold, constant embrace. Swallowing her pride, she pushed the door open with a creak and her friends’ conversation ceased.

  ‘Roh? What are you doing here?’ Orson rushed forward and hugged her tightly. Roh inhaled her friend’s familiar scent, the scent of home. Pulling back, she spotted Harlyn at their workbench, her lute clutched in her hands.

  ‘You’re alive,’ Harlyn said by way of greeting.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘We’re sorry we couldn’t watch, we had work to catch up on down here.’

  Roh heard the words she hadn’t said: your work.

  But Orson showed no signs of bitterness. ‘How did it go?’ she asked, her brow furrowing with concern as she reached for the cut on Roh’s cheek. ‘Well enough, I’m guessing. You smell like a feast.’ She dropped her hand.

  Roh felt instant regret. She shouldn’t have come down here smelling of an exotic banquet when she knew the others had only eaten slop. She should have thought to pack some food for them … The thoughts raced through her mind, each barely fully formed before the next one came crashing in.