Daughter of Ashes (Rise of Aiqasal Book 1)

by Moira Katson

  In her dreams, though, he had been a statue. He had been haughty and cruel, uncaring of her pain. He had not been laughing, bowing, jesting with her. For the first time, a flicker of doubt touched her.

  Do it. Nothing about who he was now could make up for what he had done. Her fingers flexed.

  He was waiting for an answer.

  His blood was the only answer. Do it, do it.

  He smiled. “My lady?”

  A smile. Flesh and blood. Humor in those eyes.

  “I—I got lost.” And before she could stop herself, Alleyne whirled and ran, away from the man who had ordered her killed, away from the promise of revenge, and the still, silent hallway.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He let her go. There was a commotion at the doors, the imperial guard grabbing for her, and a single command in that same, smooth voice. They stepped back and she ran down corridors that were vast and empty.

  She ran until she couldn’t run anymore. She didn’t know why she was running, or what she was running from—the knife in Darion’s hand, or the smile on his lips. She could run far and fast, had known since she was little the price you paid for not running, and it was a long time until her legs gave out. She did not know where she was, did not even think to try placing herself in the great maze of the palace, and she sank down into the shadows below a great arched window.

  She shivered violently; the night air was cold, and the blanket was long since gone. In any case, she had endured worse than this; they had first run from the palace in summer, but she remembered little of the first days—it was the first winter that she remembered most clearly. She was not shivering, now, from cold.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees. She had failed without ever trying. The opportunity had been so perfect that she might think it the answer to a prayer: Darion alone, setting his knife aside. Of course, she might not have succeeded even if she had tried. He was a trained warrior, like any son of the court—he might have reacted quickly enough to block her strike—but to tell herself that was only to make an excuse, no more.

  She dug her fingers into the skin of her arms and tried to focus. Her breath was coming in ragged little sobs. What did she do now? Did she go back? No, she could not face that—but why—no, it didn’t matter—she didn’t know her way back, in any case. Did she go to Almeric? No, Almeric would never understand. He would hate her, he would doubt her. And she could still do it, she told herself fiercely, just not now. The thoughts flowed past her mind as if she were no more than an observer of herself, watching the girl curled up in the shadows of the palace corridor. Did she feel pity?

  She was not sure.

  She had failed. That thought was not distant; it pressed down on her chest until she could hardly breathe. She had failed, not because she wasn’t good enough, but because her resolve had failed her. The burning anger that carried her through lonely years without her parents, without the children of the court she might have named her friends, the anger that had become the very purpose that sustained her, had deserted her when she needed it most.

  He hadn’t seemed like an enemy. The girl, the pathetic little girl in the hallway, clenched her hands against her knees. He had been alive, and she realized only then what it would really mean to see the light die in someone’s eyes. It had only occurred to her just then that his blood would flow out over her hands. He would be scared.

  She had wanted him to be scared, didn’t he deserve to be scared?

  But he would die alone and frightened, and she would have been the reason. It was monumentally, staggeringly stupid of her to have realized this only now, after a lifetime spent planning his assassination, but she seemed to have spent so much time thinking about how he deserved it that she hadn’t stopped to think about what “it” was.

  Perhaps, she thought desperately, it had been the talk of war that swayed her. She did not want Aiqasal to be consumed by violence. She knew the one rule of the city: plans were made by the nobles, and all of it fell on the poor. It was how things had always been, and how they would always be.

  And she had thought that killing Darion would fix it, she just hadn’t thought how. It was better, she thought, better not to have a murderer on the throne. He’d been making ever more merciful edicts, but no one had believed they meant anything—and how could one trust a man who killed children, in any case? No, surely the suffering beyond the third wall was his fault, she had always believed that. By killing him, she would save them all.

  He had no heir, though, she knew that, and still she had never thought to question who would take his place. Would there be a war of succession? That, too, would fall upon the poor: soldiers in the streets, food diverted to armies.

  A shape moved in the darkness, and Alleyne stiffened.

  “I thought it might be you they were all talking about.” Margery crossed the corridor to sink down by Alleyne. Her eyes took in the tears drying on Alleyne’s cheeks and the ragged rise and fall of her chest, covered in a sheen of sweat. She bit her lip, reached out to take Alleyne’s hand. “I didn’t wake his lordship—we can go back.” She paused. “If you want.”

  “Is there any choice?” Alleyne asked bitterly.

  “Always.” It was said with a practiced, coquettish turn of the head, but the woman’s eyes were deadly serious. She sobered. “I thought you might run. If you want, I’ll say I never saw you.”

  Her kindness made tears come to Alleyne’s eyes. “Thank you. I … haven’t decided yet.”

  Margery considered this, and settled down next to her in the shadows.

  “Well?” she asked finally.

  “Well?” Alleyne wiped her eyes and looked over.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how much it’s going to cost for me to keep your secret?”

  Cold settled in the pit of her stomach. Alleyne looked town at the floor and felt her heart sink. Almeric had been right—and she had nothing to bargain with. She would have to leave, it was all over. She looked over at Margery. “I didn’t even think of that,” she admitted. She gave a watery laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? She’d let everything fall to pieces in the space of minutes. “I’m so stupid. I didn’t even think of it.”

  Margery smiled wryly. “I know you didn’t think of it,” she said. “I …”

  “I don’t have any money,” Alleyne warned her. “Blood from a stone.”

  “I know,” Margery told her again. “I didn’t actually think—” She broke off. “It’s just been a very long time since someone didn’t ask.”

  Alleyne tilted her head curiously. She knew how someone looked when they made a threat. There was a dull triumph in it when someone thought they had you, and there was nothing of that in Margery’s manner now.

  “I actually liked it at first,” Margery confided. She was staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing over the frescoes without seeming to see them. “You got extra gold for nothing more than seeing when a noble made a mistake—and they’re always making mistakes, you know. I’d thought my wages were incredible. I sent more back to my parents than they expected, and I still had money for trinkets for myself, ribbons and new dresses, and …” She shook her head. “It started to make me sad. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe because they think that their mistakes are nothing, no matter who else gets hurt.” Alleyne knew how bitter she sounded. “Maybe because they think it’s gold and table scraps you want and nothing more, as if you don’t care at all what they do to people, as if you don’t care about right and wrong. As if that’s any sort of life.” Margery was staring at her silently, and Alleyne shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said lamely. “Margery …”

  The maidservant looked over at her.

  “I heard something terrible.” She needed to tell someone. She could not keep this secret, and if she told Almeric about the plot, she would break and tell him the rest of it. But she could not tell him about Darion. He could never know. She would make it right, she told herself, and he would never have to know.

  Marg
ery smiled, almost condescending. “Th’palace is full of secrets,” she said knowingly. “Enough to damn every one of the noble houses a hundred times over. Don’t fret about it.”

  “No.” Alleyne shook her head. “Worse. Worse than that.”

  Margery hesitated. “Yer sure?”

  “A plot for the throne,” Alleyne whispered. “A plot to …” She lowered her voice still further. “A plot to kill the Emperor and use it to start a war.”

  Margery had stopped dead. She swallowed. When she spoke, her palace accent was back, and she used it like a cloak. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.” Alleyne’s hands clenched. “I heard it in the … in the kitchens.”

  “And what were ye doing there?”

  “I can’t tell you.” The words were automatic. Then: “I was trying to get back from the imperial quarters and I got lost.”

  “It works better if you say the lie before saying ye don’t know.” Margery’s voice was wry.

  “I know.”

  To her surprise, Margery laughed. She leaned her head back against the wall and considered. When the smile faded from her face, Alleyne knew she had remembered the plot. “Do ye know who ye overheard down there?”

  Alleyne hesitated. Margery was practiced, smiling, easy in her contempt of the palace. If Alleyne told her the truth, what would she do?

  She would go to learn what she could of the plotters. And they would kill her if they found her.

  “I thought I recognized the voice,” she lied. It was partially true, at least. “But I can’t place it, any I couldn’t see them.”

  Margery considered this. “Old? Young?”

  “Young. There were more than just the two of them, though.” She considered whether to mention the woman, and decided against it. The path led too clearly to Nerea, and the Emperor’s former confidante now had both the power of her family … and the spite of a scorned lover. A sudden thought struck her. “D’you think you could find out who ordered those kitchens closed? They said they were responsible for it.”

  “I might.” Margery looked over at her. “I’ll try. But …” She sighed. “But what are you going to do?”

  Alleyne assumed the woman was referring to the plot. “What can I do? I … know one person I can ask for help, if we need to. Should I tell Baradun?”

  “Not yet,” Margery said instantly. “He’s being watched too close, what with you here. The nobles will miss nothing where either of ye are concerned, trust me.”

  Alleyne only snorted at that.

  Margery pushed herself up wearily and held out her hand. “Come.”

  Alleyne stared up at her.

  “Well, we can’t sit here all night,” Margery said practically. “Longer we sit, more chance someone else finds us—and then it doesn’t matter whether I tell or not.”

  Alleyne smoothed her skirts out hastily. She let Margery pull her up, and stopped dead when she saw Margery staring at her. The maid’s eyes were narrowed.

  “You used to be rich,” Margery said finally. She saw the fear in Alleyne’s eyes, and the question. “It’s little things: how you hold yourself, how you look at people. The look in your eyes when you meet nobles—there’s always a look people have when they lost something they didn’t know they could lose. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Alleyne rubbed at her arms awkwardly in the chilly air.

  “If you want to go back, I can fetch us some tea,” Margery suggested.

  Alleyne bit her lip. “I’d like that,” she said finally. “Let’s go now. I don’t mind going through the kitchens.”

  “Anyone can see that, looking at your skirts.” Margery gave her a look that was altogether too shrewd. “Well, come on, then. And then ye’ll need to go right to bed—less you want his lordship to see yer eyes and know ye’ve been sneakin’ about, that is.” She snorted. “And a of advice, sweetheart? If you’re going to stay, you could stand to learn a few things—and the first one’s how to lie.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Margery did, indeed, bustle Alleyne to bed very soon after their excursion to get tea, but it was a very long time before Alleyne fell asleep. She stared at the ceiling, turning the problem of the plot over and over in her head. She could not kill Darion yet, surely, or the plotters might snatch at their chance to start a war. But she was just one woman, setting herself up against a treasonous plot, and even Margery’s help could never help her match someone with those resources … could it? And if she did not find the plot, could she still, in good conscience, kill the Emperor? What of him, with that smile and that laugh?

  She turned her thoughts hastily away from that and smoothed the coverlet over herself. She was just overtired, that was why her heart was racing. She had spent so long with one plan that the changes from the past week were dizzying. Around and around the problem went. When the solution came to her on the edge of sleep, after so long that she thought she could see the day lightening in the east, relief washed through her in a wave, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. She fell asleep gratefully, too tired even to dream.

  She woke to sunlight streaming though the windows and Margery shaking her awake urgently.

  “His lordship wants t’see you,” the maid whispered in Alleyne’s ear. “I said I heard the commotion last night and checked and it wasn’t you, but be careful with those eyes of yours—you like t’tell everyone about it when you lie.” She yanked Alleyne up and had just gotten a loose robe tied over her nightgown when Baradun appeared in the doorway.

  “Margery, would you give us a moment, please?”

  Margery whisked away, and Alleyne forced her sluggish brain into motion. She’d realized, in the night, that there were two things standing in her way: the plan that would cripple Aiqasal if she killed Darion, and her own incompetence in the court. She’d come up with a solution to the first, and she was ready to test her solution to the second. She would, to the best of her ability, do what Margery would do in this case—or better yet, Nerea.

  So, as Baradun looked at her, Alleyne lifted her face to smile at him and swept a curtsy. “My lord, a very good morning to you.”

  Baradun’s look was assessing. “Melisande, as you may know, there was a disturbance in the palace last night?”

  “A disturbance?” Alleyne widened her eyes. “I heard footsteps outside, but I did not think anything amiss.” She frowned as delicately as she could. “If you are worried, my lord, pray do not be. I believe Margery came to make sure I was well.”

  “Ah.” Baradun’s face did not change. He was worried, she realized now. “You see, a woman—a woman alone—was seen near the Imperial apartments.” He paused, clearly watching for her response.

  What would Nerea say to this? Alleyne sensed the woman would make no excuses. She would readily admit to her presence in Darion’s apartments, and challenge Baradun to say it was improper behavior. Nerea, however, was the scion of an ancient house, backed by their wealth and standing, and Alleyne was…

  Alleyne, too, was the scion of an ancient house. It was startling how easy it was to forget that, how quickly the part she played began to seem natural.

  And all of that thinking hadn’t helped her come up with anything to say. She opened her mouth hastily.

  Baradun sighed. “You are intelligent, Melisande.” He met her eyes directly. “I know, whether you wish to admit it or not, that you wished for a better life than you lived beyond the third wall. There is no shame in wanting such a thing,” he added. “It is not sinful to want food and shelter, I would never judge you for such a thing.”

  Alleyne closed her mouth. She had hated wondering where her meals would come from, but it had been a long time since she missed more than one, and she hadn’t minded life beyond the wall. After the colorful crush and the smells of bread and incense from the temples, the palace seemed unnaturally still.

  Baradun, however, knew none of that. How could he? “I would not be surprised,” he said delicately, “if you h
atched a plan to go to Darion yourself. However, I must warn you how unwise that would be.” He held up a hand to stave off her protest. “Yes, I am aware Margery saw you fast sleep and snug in your bed.” His eyes said he knew the truth, or at least suspected it. “Remember, as I told you on the day we first met, the first prize you must win is not the heart of a young man—but the approval of a man much older and more cynical. The Regent has given his approval for now, as there is nothing tying you to the events of last night. He treads more carefully now that Darion has ascended his throne. But there is still power in him, and you would be wise to underestimate it.”

  Alleyne bowed her head. She must not forget the Regent, she knew that. He was prepared to kill her before Darion let things get too far, and she did not know what might inspire him to action.

  “Melisande?” Baradun’s voice was firm. “Do you understand me?”

  All too well, and for reasons she could not share.

  Before she could come up with an answer, however, he came to take her hand. His voice had changed. “Forgive me for this, but I must remind you: should you be found out in anything improper, it is not only you who will suffer for it. I have a son—and a granddaughter.”

  She felt an unexpected wash of anger at that. She wanted to tell him that he had known the risk he took when he took an unknown woman in off the street, or that if he had not seen the risk, he should have. When she looked at him, however, the anger drained away as quickly as it had sprung up. She did not have the heart to lie to him. “My lord, your cautions are appreciated and … I am thankful for the kindness you have shown me.” And she would repay his kindness with disgrace and death. She swallowed down the too-familiar surge of guilt. “I tell you truly, I have not made any plans to seduce the Emperor. I would not do so.”