“I don’t care what you did with Amaya,” I say in a voice too accusing, for it isn’t Denya I rage at. How have I been so blind? “I just hope you will be well treated by Lord Gargaron.”
“I don’t want your pity. Go run your Fives, Jessamy Garon.” Her anger scalds over me. “You never saw anything but what you wanted. You only helped Amaya so she would help you.”
She turns her face away and closes her eyes to make it clear the conversation is over. A tear slides down her cheek but she makes no sound.
Nor do I make a sound. I am bricked up and my heart is buried, but that does not mean I cannot fashion hate into a weapon. Yet I cannot confide anything to Denya; I cannot be her friend. Someday soon she will be in bed with him whether she wants to be or not. She might give up the secret of my hate without meaning to. She might give it up in exchange for a reward.
Beyond the curtains the city slowly wakes up to the dawn. Folk trundle past with carts and wagons. Files of donkeys clump along but I do not peek out to see what goods they are hauling as I usually would. A woman laughs, and another woman laughs in answer, happiness shared. Probably I will never laugh again.
Out of my fog of wretchedness and desolation one clear thought surfaces:
The only person who will believe me is Father.
23
I am dropped off at the stable and Denya is taken away to the palace. Smoke streams from the kitchen as adversaries eat porridge and fish for breakfast. I walk over to where Gira, Shorty, and Mis sit. At the far end of the table Talon sips a mug of broth. She looks up as I approach but says nothing.
Gira gives me a big-eyed goggle. “Where did you go so early?”
“Out for a walk.”
Father would have stood me in his office and demanded answers with question after question until I satisfied him that I had by no means besmirched the family honor, but they just go back to their food.
Tana bangs a brass cup on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Come up here, Spider.”
She hands me the cup. Its shine glints in my eye. A spider is carved into the brass. Its long legs wrap the cup like fate, and its mouth bears a set of pincers. Horribly, its long abdomen bears the jagged lozenge markings of the dreaded tomb spider.
Is Lord Gargaron mocking me?
“Lord Thynos brought this by at dawn, Jes. He himself had it engraved.” Tana lowers her voice. “I can see you are troubled by it, maybe think it a bad omen. But I could not refuse it, nor can you. So make the best of it. Make it work for you.”
Does Lord Thynos know? Is he in partnership with Lord Gargaron?
Fortunately it is a serious occasion so my grim look goes unnoticed as I walk to the water basin, dip my cup, and drain the water in one gulp. It has a metallic taste, spiced with the flavor of a metalworker’s furnace. When I hang the cup from one of the hooking branches of the brass tree and sit beside Gira, no one says a word. We just eat.
Eventually Gira and Mis begin arguing over whether to see The Hide of the Ox or The General’s Valiant Daughter. Their words wind like a maze through my dark thoughts. Today is Sixthday, and most of the adversaries will go out on the town.
“You better go change,” adds Gira. She and the others are already in their Fives gear.
I run into our barracks, change, and make it back in time for the lineup. The slow pace of the opening menagerie with its stretch and reach for warm-up soothes the tightness of my limbs and allows my mind to pace through Lord Gargaron’s game. He fears Mother because he respects her. Talking to her made him understand why Father remained loyal to her all these years.
A baton slaps my buttocks.
“Pay attention,” says Darios. “When you are on the training ground I want your mind and heart on the court as well as your body. Do you understand, Spider?”
The other adversaries reach through the movements so I pretend I am their shadow instead of me, the girl whose living heart has been buried. When we sweep a turn, I see Kalliarkos in line where two animals before he was not. He has the privilege of showing up late, at whim, on the court that was built for him. When your grandmother is a princess of the royal line, it must be difficult for anyone not of royal blood to tell you what you can and can’t do.
Darios whacks my rear again, harder this time. I nod, but as we complete the menageries, my mind is already running Rings and devising a plan. When we assemble at Rings I make my move.
Meant to be paired with Dusty for a race through Rings, I let Gira go ahead so I can move back beside Kalliarkos.
He taps me on the elbow. “Are you all right, Jes? You look tense and tired.”
