Ruins Falling Page 11

  His narrow chest expanded slightly, but he said nothing. He hobbled closer and opened the cleaning closet door, gesturing for her to go in first. Several years ago, this cleaning closet had been relocated, and after a small desk, chair, and creaky bed had been thrown in, Daireth was too. She rushed to the desk and grabbed a candlestick. He held the heavy door open, straining a little, as she rushed past again. She held the candle to a torch in its bracket nearby, then slowly walked back to the room, cupping a hand around it like a secret. The sputtering candle was the only light once Daireth let the door swing shut. The room had a tall, narrow window, but at this time of night and with the winter clouds, there might as well have been no window at all. “What did you hear?” She turned around as he began hobbling toward her, the stick tapping heavily on the stone. She pulled the chair out for him at the desk, sat down on the bed, and tried to smile at him. He didn’t bother trying to smile back.

  “The last anyone heard, Graedin is alive,” she started off. Daireth’s sternness melted away as he exhaled a shallow breath, and he sank into the chair with a soft thud. His jaw relaxed, and he scowled at her. “But he’s on the run,” she added. “It sounds like someone is hunting him down.” She told him about the night watchman’s story, and he listened with his angular brows furrowed as she poured out her heart to him for the thousandth time.

  “But that was one of the night watchman,” he said finally, fingering the fraying edge of his tunic. “We would need to verify the real story with someone who knows more. One of the lieutenants, or even one of the Knights of the Realm.”

  “Do you think any of them would tell you?”

  “Why should they? I doubt many of them would even recognize me as one of their tailors.”

  Airaine hesitated a moment. She hated to bring this up, but she couldn’t think of another reasonable idea. “Well…um…since Graedin and your uncle talk a lot…” She faltered as Daireth glanced at her, shaking his head. His eyes looked like black fire now. “He’s that petty?” she asked, growing angry now herself. “He won’t even talk to you about someone else?”

  “If my uncle Bairen bade me so much as a nice day, I’d die of shock.” Daireth looked away from her, and she noticed his fist clenching on the hem. “But if I don’t greet him with a ‘Good morning,’ then I’m the spoiled ingrate. If I asked, he’d just tell me to mind my own business. Besides, I wouldn’t call them friends. I think a lot of their talking is really arguing.”

  That wasn’t all his uncle would say or do to him, she was certain, but she didn’t say so. She noticed him pulling at the hem again. A couple of bruises on his wrist slipped out of sight. Daireth spoke very little about his uncle. Of the few people who knew anything about Graedin’s whereabouts, High Prince Bairen was probably the most informed. And the least accessible. Daireth very rarely spoke anything that sounded remotely complimentary about his uncle. And on the rare occasion that he did, sarcasm and bitterness streamed from his voice.

  Airaine bit her lip for a moment, then forced herself to speak. “But this is for Graedin.”

  “I know that, but I’m telling you, Bairen won’t tell me anything, so the answer is no,” Daireth snapped. “Even if he were to find out I was asking someone else, he’d probably get mad that I even spoke out loud. Why bother when I know he’ll just get angry?”

  “Then I’ll ask,” she declared.

  The anger vanished off his face as his eyes grew wide. “You don’t even know my uncle,” he stated, but softer now. “Please, don’t risk—”

  “—I’ll ask anyone who will tell me. Maybe another guard. Maybe one of the Princes’ personal servants. I don’t care who. But I have to know. I need to know if there’s anything we can do to help him. And if we can’t, I still need to know. So I can...I can, um, make plans to…”

  Daireth didn’t respond. He just stared at her. She looked away, shoving her emotions down. “If Graedin dies and they make you leave, I’m going with you.”

  She shook her head, her eyes stinging again. “We’d never make it out there.”

  “Maybe not. But I’d rather die out there than here.” He inhaled, and she was startled to see his cheeks red. “But that won’t happen. We’ll find out what happened to Graedin. And when he comes back, we’re going to convince him this time to retire. And then he’ll take us out of here.”

  She smiled honestly this time. He was so dedicated to Graedin, to their dream. In reality, Graedin couldn’t retire so easily. He had to make sure that someone else was worthy to lead the realm’s entire army. So far, he insisted that he hadn’t found anyone. But Graedin was in his sixty-third year. He’d have to retire soon. Then he would take Daireth and her away, as he’d promised, to find healers that would actually help them. Healers that didn’t hoard their best medicines for only the Princes and their despicable children. Healers that actually cared about the people who came to them in need. Unlike the healers here. And maybe they’d even find other friends out there, too. Graedin could grow old in peace, and they’d take care of him, and they’d be happy…

  “We’ll both ask around,” she murmured. “Anyone we can, while we’re at work.” She stared at him, scared to think about the consequences of her vows. “I’m willing to risk it…if you are.”

  Daireth sighed, and looked back into her eyes. “Okay…okay.”

  Besides the already serious challenges of having to approach one of the warriors of higher rank, Airaine had next to no options of even seeing them.

  On one hand, Graedin had insisted that she get an education alongside the children of nobles. After all, she was the ward of the First Knight of the Realm, highest military rank in all of Ye’shurun. He was next in line to one of the Twelve Thrones. However, she was only his ward—not adopted daughter. Since she was an orphan with unknown lineage, she was doubtfully a noble, and had to “earn her keep,” as her peers mocked. Graedin had found her somewhere, no one had claimed her, and bleeding-heart that he was, the old man had pitied her. That was also probably why she’d never been adopted though, they added. Bleeding-heart or not, surely even Graedin wouldn’t bother adopting a servant’s whelp, would he?

  Airaine didn’t believe any of that. She knew Graedin had found her as a toddler. He’d said he’d found her with a storybook and a blanket, crying. He wouldn’t say much else. She remembered briefly having a nurse, though Graedin dismissed her after a short time. She only remembered thinking that the woman was mean and being frightened of her, but Graedin refused to speak about that if she asked, too. Otherwise, he took care of her whenever he could. He showed her the library. He taught her to read. He told her stories and laughed with her. He brought her cookies and sometimes even tucked her into bed. But as time went on, those tender memories faded in frequency. Once she turned about eight, he had her begin serving as a scullery maid. He had grown increasingly busy since then. If she desperately needed him, he was there, defending her against teachers or the cooks or whoever treated her badly. But he didn’t tuck her into bed anymore. He didn’t spend much time with her now, with his frequent military journeys.

  It confusing, embarrassing, and frustrating in the least. She dearly loved Graedin, but had never understood why he made her work with the servants and yet have the education of a noble. He told her once that he wanted her to have a future and to know how work hard. But if he were to adopt her, wouldn’t she have an inheritance? Even enough—though she shuddered at this—to live alone in a house once he passed away? She didn’t even want servants. But if Graedin wasn’t going to adopt her, then why bother giving her an education? There wasn’t much hope of her moving up the ranks as a servant anyway, the way they hated her. And no chance whatsoever that she’d marry into nobility. She knew she’d never marry. No one, noble or servant, would want her. Both worlds made sure to let her know she wasn’t welcome.

  Airaine’s jaw and stomach clenched every time she thought of it. She loved Graedin. But she didn’t dare to say so. He was kinder to her than any other adult in her
life. But did he love her? Enough to stop calling her a ward, an orphan he’d taken pity on, and enough to call her a daughter?

  She’d woken up early, exhausted as usual, but forcing herself to get up as swiftly as possible with the dawn bell. She rushed to the kitchens to light the fire first. She lugged buckets of water from outside the kitchen, where there was a well near the kitchen garden, and filled up a large cauldron to boil. She had just started the kitchen’s second fire when the main cook came in. He snapped at her to begin chopping vegetables for breakfast, but didn’t complain to the six kitchen maids and two other scullery maids when they arrived ten minutes later. He even greeted them, “Good morning.” He was even jovial with the second cook despite his tardiness later on, increasingly pleasant as the morning progressed, but never sparing Airaine so much as a smile.

  Once breakfast was beginning to be served, she quickly ran to him. “May I be excused for school?” she whispered, not looking him in the eye.

  She could feel her cheeks burn as she felt his gaze turn to her. “We’ll have a word first,” he replied. Her heart sank in her chest, and she stole the briefest of glances at him. He was looking away from her toward something else at the moment, but it was enough. He was a big man, brawny and just a little husky. He always managed to keep his clothes clean from oil and the fire ashes. She didn’t know how. But once in a while—and she flit a glance once more—bright red bloodlines filled his eyes. She noticed a couple of small purple stains on his tunic, peeking over his meticulously white apron. His black beard was growing just a little scraggily, too. And it had some new gray hairs in it, and in his hair. She flinched when she heard him snap his fingers at her, and she followed him without a word toward the corner of the room.

  “I heard you were bothering warriors.” She forced her face to remain neutral. In the folds of her robes, she clenched her fists. “Yesterday, it was. Chattering at them.” His breath blew in her face, and she smelled wine so strong her stone countenance broke, and she coughed. “We have enough to deal with here without you bringing wrath down on us all, forgetting your place. You don’t talk to anyone. You’re a scullery maid. You’re nothing.” She held her breath as he breathed into her face again, staring at the purple droplets on his chest. “I don’t care how well you read, or how smart you think you are, or who your warden is. You still clean my fireplace, scrub my pots, and empty my slop. And if you act above your station again, I’ll personally make you are the most wretched scullery maid there ever was. And then I’ll take you to the steward.”

  She knew his threats weren’t idle. She’d seen him beat a scullion in the past for spilling part of a chamber pot on the steps outside the kitchen door. Shortly after, that boy had been banished by the steward, who was even more impatient than the head cook. He’d back-handed the other scullery maids before, but only if they weren’t pretty. He was nicer to the pretty ones—especially nice if they did what he wanted outside of the kitchens. The only reason she’d avoided any of his wrath, she knew full well, because of Graedin’s protective power over her.

  “Set out the tea, then go,” he growled. She curtsied, though she hated herself for it, and then ran from him. Once she set out the tins of tea and the teapot for the other servants, she ran to her room, threw on clean robes, and ran back to the line for food. She grabbed a biscuit and a cup of tea for breakfast, and while reaching for a slice of bacon, looked up to the glare of the second cook. She drew her hand back, and looked down, grabbing an apple instead. But when she looked up again, the cook had turned around. She grabbed a handful of bacon and immediately turned around to run toward the corner of the hall. As usual, she was glad to see, people avoided looking at her. So she stuffed a strip in her mouth, and when she sat down, took a bite of apple with it. When she was finished, she dropped off her plate near the kitchens—where another scullery maid scowled at her—and ran off toward her schoolroom.

  School wasn’t as miserable as normal. Daireth managed to sneak her a candy while the class wrote notes, and the other students were concerned enough about their tests that they didn’t bother them much. But once school let out, Airaine had to rush off toward the scullery again. As usual, they gave her the worst jobs to do during this time. She emptied the slop from the servants’ chamber pots first—she knew they’d made sure to save that just for her. Then she scoured cauldrons, cleaned one of the stoves the cooks weren’t currently using, and helped pluck a couple of turkeys for the evening’s dinner. Once serving dinner was over, she was dismissed—again with glares—to eat dinner and go to her room to study for school.

  But she didn’t go to her room. Instead, she joined Daireth at his room, walking slowly with him while he hobbled along. She didn’t speak her mind until they’d shut the doors of the library behind them. Then, afraid to look at him, Airaine confessed that she hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to anyone of higher rank at all. He only consoled her a little. “I only saw two of the Knights of the Realm today. About three quarters of the Knights really like Graedin. But of course, the only two showed up are ones I know don’t like him. Naturally. Because that would be too easy!”

  For two days, nothing changed. Daireth was in a similarly miserable position as she was. He’d become his uncle’s ward at only about four years old, around the time Graedin found Airaine. “Your mother died, and his wife had just died. You two should have been one another’s comfort,” she had heard Graedin tell Daireth once. But to Daireth’s constant grief, his uncle couldn’t stand him. And when he had begged to know what happened to his real father, Graedin just said, “He died, too.” But after that, the old man wouldn’t say anything else, no matter how much they pleaded. So despite that Daireth Telathar was the nephew and ward of the High Prince, he forced to become the tailor’s apprentice. Due to his nearly-crippled condition, he couldn’t do much else. And now, the one time he could use his skill in a way he could actually profit from, he didn’t dare to, between the master tailor’s impatience and his uncle’s anger.

  Again and again, Airaine had to fight down tears of fear and frustration. How would they ever pull this off?

  The third day, a bleak Tuesday, she walked out to empty the servant’s chamber pots. But this morning, she felt a smile spread across her cheeks, despite her worries. The distant mountains were varying shades of blue and gray, and their forests were hidden by plumes of mist rising. The light rain brought down the smell of the chamber pot in her hand. She’d never been to the mountains before. But they looked so beautiful, so inviting, as if they were calling for her to come, to go, to run away from the citadel of Ariel, and never return. She longed to follow, to heed their silent whispers. And with a hint of grief, she promised them she would…someday.

  But today, as she turned to look back to the kitchens, she was startled to see someone she’d only seen a few times: the Lieutenant of the Citadel Guard was walking nearby, toward the warrior’s training grounds.

  Hope burst from her voice: “Wait!”

  The man turned toward her, and his brows furrowed. He was a man Graedin had referred to as a “week-old cream puff,” with a wink and a grin. She didn’t know exactly what Graedin meant. But the silly name had always made her giggle. And she couldn’t imagine Graedin saying something silly of someone he didn’t like. So though she’d never spoken with him before, she ran with abandon toward him. “Wait, Lieutenant Brullen!”

  The man stared, pulling his cloak closer around his broad shoulders and slightly protruding belly. His blond moustache quivered. “Yes? What do you want?”

  “Hello, sir,” she breathed. “I’m Airaine. Captain Graedin’s ward.”

  “Hmm.” He just stared at her, rain sliding down the leather, black-stained cloak.

  “Well,” she began, balking. Of course he couldn’t read her mind, but she’d hoped he would mention Graedin first. “I was wondering…I mean, not for details, but…I haven’t heard from him.”

  Captain Brullen continued to stare at her. She was staring more around his cleft
chin. But what she saw looked like stone. After a moment, she glanced down from his chest down to the ground. She heard him inhale. “I can’t give you an answer you’ll like.” She jerked her eyes up to his. But really, she didn’t see him. She saw Graedin riding away on his horse, waving, promising he’d come back as soon as he could. “Settle down, girl,” Brullen’s voice rumbled. She blinked, and the pale blue eyes of her memory faded to a hazy green. “Don’t assume the worst just yet.”

  “But—but you said—”

  “—I don’t know anything about him,” Brullen stated. He glanced around, and then back into her face. “And if I did, I can’t just spread around military information.”

  “But you’re his friend!”

  Bruellen’s lips were closed, but his mustache widened across his cheeks. “That’s kind of you. No, we aren’t friends; he’s my superior, he helped train me, and I respect him. But I don’t know him well enough to be a friend.”

  “Then who do I ask?” Lieutenant Brullen’s brows knitted together. “I heard he was in danger! A warrior said he was at Citadel Rassira, but had to flee, because a—”

  The man moved on her swifter than she could cry out. He cupped one hand over her mouth and the other gripped the neck of her robes. “Enough!” He glanced around, and then let her go. She stepped back, beginning to feel the cold crawl into her bones. “What was his name?” She shrugged. His scowl was deeply etched into the lines of his face. “Was he a lieutenant? Or a marshal?” She shrugged again, and shook her head. Brullen’s jaw clenched briefly. He turned away from her, shaking his head and cursing, “Damn fool!” For a few moments, he stared off into the distance. Then he turned back to her, his eyes stern. “A whisper to the wise: if you repeat that to anyone, and the wrong person hears, you could get in a lot of trouble. And so could many warriors. And if that information fell into the wrong hands, it could even impact the captain or our realm terribly. Loose lips can lose wars!”