Daughter of Ashes (Rise of Aiqasal Book 1)

by Moira Katson

  “Never,” he promised. “Never. But it won’t take forever, Alleyne, and when this is over, we’ll be free. We’ll finally be free.”

  She held him close and heard the frantic beating of her heart. “Free,” she whispered. She pulled away and squeezed his fingers in farewell. “I’ll tell you everything I find out,” she promised. “If you can—find out who had the kitchens closed the night we met at the stables.”

  “I will. Be safe.” He watched her as she slipped through the door, a sentinel for her alone.

  The main rooms were shuttered and still, and Alleyne had just let out her breath in a relieved sigh when a single candle flared. Margery was standing by the fireplace, blue eyes grave.

  There was no point in wasting time. “How much did you hear?” Alleyne asked her quietly.

  “Enough.” Margery’s face did not so much as flicker. “Talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She brought Margery into the little room Baradun had set aside for her. Who knew who else might be listening? It was a reasonable precaution. She remembered the lessons Almeric had instilled in her, however: one did not give up entirely simply because one piece of a plan had failed. She fought the urge to give up; she could still salvage this.

  When Alleyne laid the candlestick on the small table, she saw that her hands were not shaking any longer.

  “What did you hear?” she asked again.

  “So you can tell me only that, and twist the words?”

  Alleyne met her eyes. “More than that could get me killed, and, I swear to you, it is through no fault of my own.”

  That brought Margery up short. She looked down at her hands.

  It took all Alleyne had to wait, but she told herself to do it. She drew herself up like the consort Margery had told her she could be one day, and she waited for Margery’s answer to that.

  “Is he yer lover?” Margery asked finally.

  “No!” Of all the questions she had expected … But in her mind, she saw the clandestine meeting, the embrace. Of course Margery had wondered.

  And now came the first choice. To tell the truth that Almeric was her brother, or lie, twist the path to the truth in the hopes that Margery would not put the pieces together? Alleyne looked down at her clasped hands.

  Did she trust, or did she not? She had the sense, of stepping out into the darkness, not knowing if there was anything to catch her.

  “He’s my brother,” she admitted.

  Margery stared at her for a long time. “I heard him say he was afraid of how ye looked at the Emperor.”

  Alleyne looked away. She went to the screens overlooking the gardens and hooked her fingers through the screen. The smell of the wood was comforting, clean. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend—

  “It’s easier when ye spit it out,” Margery suggested.

  Alleyne rolled her head to look back at her. “Fine.” She came back from the window, drew Margery to the furthest place from where anyone might listen. Her eyes met the other woman’s in the dim light. “Long ago, very long ago, an injustice was done to my family. The court was complicit in it. I came to see my family’s name cleared and justice done—and my brother came to help me.” She chose the words carefully, and watched the other woman’s reaction.

  Margery’s brows drew together. “So ye never did want the Emperor. Truly.”

  “It wasn’t why I came.” The corner of her mouth twisted wryly.

  “And he fears he might lose ye to the throne,” Margery murmured. Her eyes were distant; she was not surprised. Her mouth quirked at the look on Alleyne’s face. “Aye, I can see that.” She tilted her head to stare at Alleyne. “But what’s yer plan, then? Make a grand proclamation when you’re presented before the court?”

  “Something like that.” She could not trust anyone with the true nature of the plan.

  “You know, his lordship said how he found you, and I wondered.” Margery smiled. “Of course, I thought you’d made that show to become Consort.”

  “I know.” One shoulder lifted. “Margery, I’m sorry. I am.”

  The maid ignored that. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and stared at the embers in the hearth as she thought. “What was the injustice that happened?” she asked finally.

  Her throat tightened. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “It’s my price,” Margery said simply.

  The fear was sudden and absolute. Margery meant what she said. Oh, she’d not betray secrets to spite Alleyne—but she’d tell Baradun.

  Baradun, Alleyne knew, would be able to put the pieces together. And Darion …

  Would Darion finish what he’d started?

  Why did that question hurt so much to ask? Alleyne took a deep breath and tried to think. “Let me tell you the rest of it first.”

  Margery’s face was a mask.

  “The night I overheard the plot, I told you … I told you I didn’t know who it was. That was only half true.”

  Margery swallowed hard. “Who is it?” she asked finally. “Who’s in on the plot, then?”

  “The Truthspeaker.”

  Margery froze. “Just the Truthspeaker?”

  “And they mentioned a woman—the lord said the Truthspeaker should have changed Darion’s mind about peace with Rasteghai, and the Truthspeaker said, if she couldn’t do it, how could I?”

  “A woman.” Margery looked away.

  “A woman who could change Darion’s mind. It has to be—”

  “I know who it has to be! If you’re telling the truth, that is.” Margery didn’t look entirely friendly. “Will ye also accuse the Regent by the time you’re done?”

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Then why didn’t ye tell me that night?”

  “Because I was afraid you would go looking for answers!” The words burst out of her. “I was afraid for you! They have soldiers, they’re willing to kill, I was afraid they’d hurt you!”

  There was a silence. Margery stared at her, awestruck, and Alleyne fought the realization that she, too, was an assassin—and that Margery had stumbled across her plot for the throne.

  Almeric would have killed her rather than tell her the truth. The thought hit her in the gut and she bent forward slightly, gasping with it. He would tell her to kill Margery now—and he would do it himself, if he knew Alleyne had told her even the smallest part of the truth.

  “What is it?” Margery was looking at her narrowly.

  “Nothing.” Alleyne tried to gather her wits about her. “Anyway, it’s the lord’s men who had the kitchens closed. You remember I asked you?”

  Margery nodded shortly. “And that’s why you went to see the Truthspeaker, then? The true reason?”

  “Yes,” Alleyne admitted. “I’m sorry—I am, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you know where I’d been, and …”

  “And what did the Truthspeaker say, then?” Margery crossed her arms. “When ye went to confront him.”

  “He …” Alleyne shook her head. “He denied it, and then he said no one would believe accusations in any case. And then he went to look into my mind and he … he sent me away. He screamed at me to go. I don’t know what he saw.”

  “That’s the whole truth?”

  “All of it.”

  Margery considered. It was plain that she was running through the story in her head, looking for holes. “And that was why you didn’t expect t’see His Majesty,” she guessed. Her eyes were faraway. “You ran, after overhearing. You got lost, I’d wager.”

  “Yes.” There was nothing to be gained from denying it, for all Almeric would tell her not to admit this.

  There was a silence.

  “And the rest of it?” Margery’s voice was hard—but also uncertain. “You said you would tell me.”

  Kill her. Almeric’s voice was hard. She could hear the order so clearly that she looked around herself, expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But he was not there, only in her mind. She clenched her fingers, trying to find a lie, tryin
g to decide what to do. There was no doubt in her mind about Almeric’s choice.

  But she was not Almeric.

  “All I ask,” she said finally, “is that you remember that when I tell you, you will have the power to destroy me. I mean it, Margery. You’ll know it as soon as I say it. And you’ll have the power to destroy my brother as well, and he’s the only one I have left in the world, do you see? I would do anything to keep him safe. Anything. Though he mustn’t know I’ve told you this.” She wiped at her eyes.

  Margery swallowed. Her hands were clenched. “Go on. Say it.”

  She had to say it in a rush, or she’d never say it at all. “We’re the heirs of the Alsebrun family. Darion ordered our deaths when I was seven years old and my brother was ten. We escaped.”

  “Alsebrun …” Margery frowned. Her face cleared a moment later, her jaw dropping open. “The traitors?”

  “They’re not traitors!” Her voice rang in the darkened room and Alleyne put her hand over her mouth. “They weren’t, they would never have done that, they loved Aiqasal.”

  “Ye can love Aiqasal without loving who sits on the throne,” Margery said flatly. “And a parent can love ye and hold ye close and still plot treason.” Her eyes locked on Alleyne’s pale face and she relented at last. “But ye really believe it, that much is plain.” She sank her face into her hands, rubbing at it.

  Alleyne wanted to cry. It would all be falling into place now: Almeric’s fear, Alleyne’s distrust of the Emperor. Had she made a terrible mistake, telling Margery this much?

  “D’ye have proof?” Margery asked at last.

  “What?”

  “That yer parents were innocent. You want the court to say it was wrong. D’ye have proof?” She saw the answer in Alleyne’s eyes. “Four gods, woman, ye came here without that?”

  She had to think quickly; after her first lie, she had not considered how it would ripple through the others. “How much proof could I find beyond the third wall? When the Emperor said he was looking for a common born wife, I thought I had a chance to find the truth at last. I didn’t plan on … any of the rest of it,” she finished lamely.

  It was a lie, and yet all she could think now was that she never had known the truth. All these years, she had believed her parents were innocent; she told herself fiercely that she would believe that until the day she died. Now, at last, she found herself wondering what that meant. Either Darion had known they were innocent, and condemned them for some other reason, or Baradun’s gossip was correct and someone had framed them. If it was the first, what could they have done? What could they have seen? If it was the second, whoever …

  That meant the court was not only composed of people who would eagerly betray Alleyne for the Emperor’s favor, it meant that there was a very specific enemy she should seek. Someone who hated her parents so much that they had suggested two children be killed as well.

  Her sudden stillness caught Margery’s attention.

  “Melisande?” There was a pause. “Is that even your name?”

  Alleyne felt her lips quirk sadly. “No.”

  Margery gave a sigh. “Damn you,” she said at last. There was no real malice in her voice, only weariness. “Damn you to the four hells. What am I to do with this?” There was anger there now.

  “I don’t know,” Alleyne whispered. She shook her head and felt tears prick her eyes. “I don’t know. I …” She swallowed her words with an effort.

  “What?” Margery almost snapped the word.

  “I don’t want to die,” Alleyne told her. She wiped a tear away. “I don’t. Please, if you—if you want to tell, just let me run. I’ll go. I swear it, I’ll bring no harm down on you or Lord Baradun. I’ll tell you all I know about the docks, to help your family. Just let me go, let me take my brother. I can’t let him be—“ She stopped, struggled to compose herself. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, though she could still hear the tinge of desperation. “He’s in danger now because of me, because I told you. Do what you want to me, just let me save him.”

  “Ach.” Margery shoved herself up to pace. She threw a look over her shoulder. “Ye would say that.”

  “Margery, none of what happened was our fault. We were children—”

  “Aye, I know it.”

  “—and ask Baradun.” Alleyne’s voice was desperate. “No one spoke for us. No one. We were children,” she whispered. “What had we ever done?”

  Margery sank her head into her hands. She rubbed at her temples.

  “Margery—”

  “Don’t speak. Let me think.”

  Alleyne dug her nails into her palm. The seconds ticked by, interminable. Kill her, the Almeric in her head demanded.

  She couldn’t do that. The very thought of it made her recoil.

  “What do you want of me?” Margery’s voice was quiet, marked with the elegant cadences of the court. She had control of herself once more.

  “I want to stop the war.” Alleyne waited until Margery looked at her. “Believe it or not as you will, but I know peace with Rasteghai was my parents’ dream—and everyone I know, everyone who saved our life and gave us work and helped us eat beyond the third wall, they’re the ones who will suffer if the armies march. You know it’s always the common folk who suffer.”

  Margery said nothing.

  “And I want to know the truth of what happened,” Alleyne whispered. “I need to know. I need to look the court in the eyes and make them admit what they did—but I need to know the truth first.”

  The maid looked away.

  “You don’t have to help,” Alleyne said desperately. “You don’t.”

  “Of course I do,” Margery said bitterly. She sighed. She looked at Alleyne, and there were tears in her eyes. “I believe you. And if I believe you … I have to help you. Just tell me one thing.”

  Alleyne swallowed. “What?”

  “Can you forgive the Emperor?”

  “I don’t know.” It was honest, and that terrified her—though not for the reason Margery would think.

  The more she saw Darion, the more she feared she could, in fact, forgive him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Baradun entered the rooms the next day in a swirl of his silk cloak, pensive and worried. He only nodded when Alleyne rose to curtsy to him, and he hardly seemed to notice Margery unhooking his cloak and taking it away. He paced into his study and did not bother to close the door; Alleyne was not sure he noticed her presence at all.

  She tried to return to her reading. Baradun had set her to study the history of Aiqasal, beginning with the Hellenic Empire; continuing on to the Ravennan Empire which preyed on the last dregs of the Hellenes; and from there to Aiqasal’s rise from the ashes of both. Almeric, with the benefit of three more years of schooling, might well have remembered such things, but she had known only a little of it.

  The rest, she devoured eagerly. Reading made the time pass quickly, and it was a luxury to be able to study a book in daylight—not a stolen book, but one of a whole shelf full that she might read. She would dive into the pages and come back to the world only when Margery came with a tray of tea and lunch.

  Most of all, the reading kept her from thinking. Alleyne lay awake at night now, turning the questions over and over in her mind: who was Jarin working with in his plot? More to the point, what had he seen and what would he make of it?

  Now that her concentration had been broken by Baradun’s return, the questions had come back in a rush, and Alleyne could not seem to focus on the book any longer. She looked over at Margery, who only lifted her shoulders; the maid had no knowledge of what had disquieted Baradun. Once, she might have guessed, but her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, and she had been quiet all morning.

  She was still thinking; the thought set a flutter of panic in Alleyne’s stomach. She knew she must wait for Margery’s questions, but all she wanted was to beg forgiveness for not telling the woman the truth. Strangely, amidst the plots of treason and the death warra
nt on Alleyne’s head, it seemed that Alleyne’s secret was what troubled the maid.

  She would have to earn the woman’s trust back, Alleyne thought, but she did not know how. All of this was new to her, and—she smiled wryly—surely this situation was not common enough that anyone would know how to handle it.

  She would come up with something. In the meantime, she was curious about Baradun. Alleyne entered his study with a tentative knock. He was at the windows, hands clasped behind his back. He turned to look at her, and he examined her as one might examine a horse at market. It was an impersonal look. He noted the way she held herself, the dress she wore, the ribbon holding back her curls.

  “My lord, is something troubling you?”

  Something passed across his face quickly—pity, perhaps, or frustration. He turned back to the window before answering. “The accusations have started.”

  “Of?”

  “Impropriety.” There was anger there now. “Lies. None of the specifics are important.”

  “I would hear them.”

  He turned to look at her for a moment and went to his desk with a sigh. “Very well. They say your sister is not a priestess of Alogo. They say you put yourself forward to be the consort, and that I was a fool to bring you here. The others brought women from their estates in the city, and they say those can be trusted—you cannot. The evidence, of course, is your visit alone to Darion.” He noted that she did not protest, and smiled bitterly at it.

  Alleyne looked away for a moment. The accusations shouldn’t sting, she told herself. They were true, after all, weren’t they? In fact, she was worse than they could imagine. She was here to kill Darion. She was an assassin—and, to them, the daughter of traitors.

  “Would you hear more?” Baradun asked her bitterly.

  She lifted her chin at that. He was trying to scare her, see if she would run home. “Tell me all of it.”

  “They call you the Daughter of Ashes. No other common woman who came to the palace was from beyond the third wall, the Emperor’s chosen lords would not admit them. They think what lies beyond the wall is a wasteland. Ashes, child—ashes where nothing may grow, where nothing worthwhile remains.”