Ruins Falling Read online

  “I swear, I won’t say anything. But I need to know about Graedin.”

  He chuckled mirthlessly. “You got the gall to talk to the Knights of the Realm?” As she glared back at the cleft in his chin, she saw his lips fall into another hard scowl. “Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t risk that. Your life is rough enough without gaining enemies from the nobles. You’re already educated with their children, aren’t you? Yet you’re also a scullery maid? I’ve heard enough rumors about the First Knight’s leper ward to guess what you go through.”

  She winced, despite her fury at his bluntness. “It’s not leprosy,” she snarled, blinking her stinging eyes to keep them clear. “I haven’t passed it to anyone else.”

  “Doesn’t matter much, does it?” he pushed. “Do they treat you any nicer for that? Graedin’s ward or not, you know your place. Nobody should see you speaking with me, let alone the Knights of the Realm. I admire your gall, but girl, Graedin is a ram among wolves. Your well-being is in the balance already, without throwing it before the mercy of the Knights.”

  “I have to talk to someone! Graedin wasn’t written in weeks. He’s my warden! He’s my friend! He’s the only fam—” Airaine choked on her words and looked away for a few moments. She squeezed her eyes and grit her teeth a moment, then forced herself to look into Brullen’s eyes. “I know they’ll cast me out. You need not tell me that. Please, Lieutenant, I must know if he’s alive! He has to be alive! I’ll do anything for a word of him! For anything! I just need to know!”

  She stopped speaking, blinking even faster. Brullen frowned even deeper. “Your name is Airaine?” She nodded, inhaling. “If I hear anything, I’ll find you. I can’t tell you details, but I’ll give you word if he’s alive—or not. Just don’t talk to the Knights. Leave that to me. You understand?” She opened her mouth to protest, but he immediately spoke over her. “No, I mean it! No matter Graedin’s fate, you don’t need to risk talking to the wrong Knight, and becoming their enemy.” Brullen glanced up, then back down at her, and the concern in his eyes twisted into something cruel. “Why are you wasting my time? The cook knows my tastes,” he declared coldly. Airaine stepped back from him, her heart pounding. “I’ll be at the training grounds. Mind that my breakfast stays hot, or I’ll have words with him about you.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away toward the training grounds.

  She hesitated, fighting the temptation to shout after him. To tell him he was a two-faced back-stabber. She nearly spoke out. But he was right, wasn’t he? And what would he be like if she got on his bad side? Airaine turned around, cursing Brullen inwardly. And then she froze. Her heart stopped. It skipped at least one beat, and then began hammering so hard her chest ached. Another man strode toward her. He had a face like a walnut with cracked holes for a mouth and eyes. His body was like an old withered tree, scrawny and long, though he wasn’t tall. But though he was far older and smaller than the first cook, Airaine knew he didn’t need an ounce of physical strength to get what he wanted. She always hid from this man if she could: Steward Austerren. For her and all the other servants, he might as well have been another Prince to bow before.

  “You!” he snapped, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Get in here! Now!”

  Everything within her begged to run the opposite way. But she knew that hiding would make everything worse. So she ran back toward the kitchens, toward the wrinkly face turning a red-plum, and into the door, where his shouts followed her in. “What were you doing talking to the Lieutenant? What were you saying? Who began the talk?”

  The lieutenant’s change of attitude suddenly made sense. “He did. He told me to bring him his breakfast,” she lied, gratitude filling her for Lieutenant Brullen, and his quick thinking, and skillful acting. Of course, no one would expect a lieutenant to speak kindly to a servant. Of course he would have to act cruel. “He wants me to bring it to him at the training grounds immediately.”

  She glanced up, and regretted it instantly. She looked back down into Steward Austerren’s dress coat and fine cloak, away from his glare. “What were you saying?”

  “I asked what kind of eggs—”

  “—The cook already knows that! He knows all the orders of the lieutenants!” the steward shouted. “You ought to know that! And the Knights, and the Princes, too, you stupid brat! And don’t you ever let me catch you speaking to someone higher than the cook again!”

  “—But sir, I didn’t—”

  “—That includes me!” he roared, raising a hand. She flinched and closed her eyes, but the blow didn’t come. “Next time, you curtsy and you do as you’re told, and you don’t talk back!” With her eyes still closed, Airaine nodded. “The head cook already warned me that you’ve been trying to flirt with military men. I don’t know who you’re trying to fool—”

  She looked up, rage and hurt bursting from her lips. “—I was not flirting with them!”

  This time, he did slap her. She turned away, holding a cold hand to her burning cheek. “Don’t you ever backtalk me again! You might be Captain Kairathed’s ward, but while you’ve got that apron on, you’re to do only my bidding. You understand?!” She turned back and glared at the gold brooch at his wobbly, wrinkly throat, probably a gift from one of the Princes. “I’d be rid of you long ago if it weren’t for the Captain. You’re only here because I respect him. So don’t you dare do anything that makes me look badly before the Princes, or the Knights, or any of the other noble houses! And if you ever speak to anyone above the cook while you’re on duty again, you’ll feel the full force of my wrath!”

  He turned his heel. “You there,” he barked. Airaine glanced behind him, and saw that the second scullery maid had barely walked in the door, and she froze. “Get me some hot water. I’ve got to wash my hands of that wretch’s disease—” and he jerked his head toward Airaine. “And then, tell the cook Lieutenant Brullen’s wants his breakfast. If he’s not there, tell the second cook to make scrambled eggs, a pear, buttered toast—no jam—and black tea, no sugar, no cream. Now, girl! Right now!”

  The other scullery maid fled to do his bidding. Airaine turned away, but immediately, the steward’s voice followed her again. “Oh, no you don’t! I’m not done with you yet!”

  He would not allow her to go to school that day, as punishment for daring to protest his treatment of her, and for talking to the lieutenant. Instead, she cleaned the ovens and fireplaces of grease and ash until the stone shone cleaner than she’d ever seen before. Then she had to clean the dishes, being demanded the whole time, “Don’t you dare get those greasy and sooty!” Yet, she was not allowed to run and change. The other scullery maids were even told to take a day off, and she did all of their normal duties too, on top of her punishment projects. She didn’t even get to see Daireth that night. She’d barely had time for a chilly sponge-bath before the curfew bell.

  The next two days, she was worked harder than ever. Steward Austerren was in the kitchens far more often than normal, but the cook was equally as firm with her in the steward’s absence. The fourth day, she could even feel his eyes following her toward the drains near the outer wall, where slop and dirty water ran down the cliffs to the north. Yet again, the rain soaked her robes and hair. But this time, it hurt too much to smile at the distant mountains. She looked away, blinking against the rain and her stinging eyes. When she returned to the kitchens, a tray was thrust into her chest by the cook. “Bring extra tea to the feasting hall for breakfast. Then get out of here.”

  It was earlier than normal for her to be dismissed. Why so early? But then, glancing over, she saw the red eyes of one of the other scullery maids as she scrubbed the floor. She felt a twinge of smugness. That scullery maid often tripped her or sniggered when she had to dump the chamber pots. She was being punished for something, Airaine knew, but she didn’t question anything. She gathered the teapot and tea, and as quickly but carefully as she could, fled the kitchen.

  Usually, one of the kitchen maids would bring the tea to the hall. But with winte
r sicknesses spreading everywhere, she noticed a few of them were absent. Good riddance, she thought, holding the warm teapot close. But it made her nervous, too. Nervous that she was the only acceptable replacement for the moment. She didn’t have the nicer dresses the kitchen maids had. She just hoped she wouldn’t be noticed slipping in and out.

  She approached the wooden doors of the feasting hall, gripping the teapot tightly in her hands, constantly changing her grip on it for its heat. Ahead of her, a group of men started filing out of the doors. Fine, fur-lined robes greeted her, with smooth, supple leather stained red and blue and green. She caught glimpses of sword hilts and fine brooches, and finely stitched uniforms. Immediately, she shrank against the wall, staring at the plain white teapot in her hand, gripping its heat close. Even Graedin dressed like this sometimes.

  What were they doing here, among the common warriors in the feasting hall? Why today, when her robes and apron were so filthy? And how? How could she get one of them alone? How could she get away with this? How could she avoid incurring the wrath of their injured pride?

  A few of them were sniffling as they spoke and jested and laughed. Someone made a comment, chuckled, but then began coughing heavily. They were walking past her. The last few of the group passed her. She watched their boots march past, shining unnaturally. One of them rapped hard against the stone, then stopped while the coughing erupted again.

  “My lord, you’re sick!” she cried shrilly, stepping into the center of the hall.

  All around her, the voices died down. And then, her heart was hammering again, so hard she felt it was about to burst. The coughing continued a few moments, and a throat cleared. She flitted a glance upward. There was at least fifteen men. Only one face didn’t terrify her—Brullen by the tiniest shaking his head, seemed to beg her not to say another word. She wanted to weep now for ignoring his counsel. And then, she nearly did weep when she saw another figure to the other side of the group, carrying a few of their belongings as if they were priceless treasures. She was certain that if she gazed into them, Steward Austerren’s eyes would burn her alive.

  For an eternal moment, there was silent. Then, choking out her words as loudly as she could manage, Airaine whispered, “Would you like some tea—my lord?”

  There was another pause. “Is this your scullery maid, Austerren?” The voice was hoarse.

  “My lord—” the Steward began, in his oiliest voice.

  The coughing began again. “If only all your maids—” Another fit of coughing. Airaine winced, wishing she could disappear, wishing even that her heart would finally burst and put her out of her misery. “—Would offer a sick Prince some tea.”

  She glanced up. Then the tea pot slipped in her hand. She barely managed to get ahold off it again, tea spilling all over her apron. From the crown woven of three silver ivy strands and drops of diamond dew, to the black, shining boots on his feet, she knew him. His angular eyebrows, his broad shoulders, his looming presence—she knew him, and trembled.

  “I’m honored that her service pleases you, High Prince Bairen,” the Steward wheezed.

  “Well, maid.” She watched, trembling, as the boots grew closer to her. “I don’t want this tea. Bring a healer’s tea to my room within the hour.” The boots stopped in front of her as Prince Bairen towered over her. “You’ll need this.” Between his thumb and first finger, he held a ring. His signet ring, she knew, before holding out her trembling palm. He dropped it there. “I’ll be waiting.” He began coughing again, as he turned away, and the procession of boots filed after him. Two lingered. She didn’t dare look to her right. Those boots turn away eventually. She glanced up to her left. Brullen’s brows were furrowed as he held her gaze, then turned away.

  When they had turned the corner, Airaine turned and stumbled into the hall, spilling tea on herself again as she plunked down the pot. She gripped the ring so hard in her hand that she was certain she could feel his insignia—a strange bird she didn’t recognize, whose feathers appeared to be falling off—engraved in her palm. When she reached the healers’ room, she inhaled a breath and pounded on the door. An angry-looking man, who Daireth said reminded him of a moose, answered the door. She held up the ring. “I’m here on orders of the High Prince,” she snarled. To her great satisfaction, the man’s lips parted, and he gaped at the ring between her fingers.

  It was wild and stupid, she knew—but what would her punishment be? Banishment? That would surely happen anyway! So she pilfered the healer’s medicine cabinet before his eyes. His words, spoken in the past to Daireth, rang in her ears. We won’t waste our resources on lost causes anymore. She filled a sack with strengthening salves for Daireth’s muscles. She grabbed the remainder of the most powerful and expensive medicinal lotions. And then, as if it were an afterthought, she took three cans of healing teas for the Prince. When she finished, she curtsied low and haughty to the healer, glowering into his face with all of her hatred. Then she threw the sack on her shoulder, turned on her heel, and marched out with bitter-won victory.

  The rest was hazy and strange. Racing to Daireth’s room, shoving the bottles in his hands, and the shock on his face when she told him to hide them. Racing to the kitchens, and the cook’s shock at the signet ring and healing teas. The cook’s commands to help her, the two kitchen maids that went to the fourth story with her, and put together a fine metal tea cart for her. Their confused resentment when Airaine demanded to be left alone to serve the High Prince.

  Despite the fact that he was the High Prince, he didn’t have a huge apartment on the fifth story like the other eleven Princes. Apparently, he didn’t want one. He had a smaller apartment on the fourth story, tucked away in a corner of the building. Daireth had pointed it out to her once. After the guards saw his ring on her forefinger, they opened the doors and allowed her in. The room was wide, filled with beautiful plants. Off to the left was a bathing room. In the middle was a bed, with two glass doors leading to a balcony on the left, and a second set of doors to the right. In the far right corner, there was a fine wing-backed chair beside a fireplace, several bookshelves, and a writing desk, where the Prince sat waiting. A large black dog by his desk eyed her as she approached, as if waiting for her to trip so he could feast on her.

  “Come in,” he rasped, looking up from a book and gesturing to her. Airaine shuffled forward, terrified to look at him. “Don’t mind the dog. He won’t move until I order him to.” Her thoughts raced as she set the cart down, grabbed a napkin, put a teacup down, and lifted the teapot. “Typically, a kitchen maid would put the tea in first.”

  She hesitated. Of course. She’d almost given him plain water. She inhaled, pleading for her mind to stay clear, and took to preparing his tea as close to proper as she knew. The Prince didn’t say anything as she worked. After she finished, she set the tea down beside him, with a spoon and a napkin. She jumped when the Prince’s hand covered her own, pressing her hand to the napkin on the table. “You were brave to even speak aloud before the Knights. Don’t do it again,” the Prince rasped. “I just hope they won’t take offense, since I responded the way I did.”

  Airaine flicked a glance toward his face. She was shocked to see him staring right into her eyes. Wonder filled her when she realized that his eyes looked just like Daireth’s. They reminded her of the stained table in the feasting hall, lit by a hint of light from the fireplace. It made her think of minstrels and late summer nights, of wood smoke and warm tea, and laughter. Or at least, Daireth’s eyes would have. His uncle’s eyes, however, reminded her more of the ballads of winter. She looked down. “Thank you, my lord.” She drew her hand away. But then, worried that he’d take offense, she quickly took his signet ring off of her thumb and slid it across the table to him.

  “What were you thinking, speaking above your rank like that?”

  She looked back up into his eyes again. His eyes darted back and forth between hers, his brows furrowed in the same shape and way that Daireth’s did. “I have a question,” she replied,
gaining courage as she thought of Daireth. “Only a Knight—or a Prince—can tell me the answer.”

  His brows lowered, his eyes went wider, his nostrils flared. “You foolish girl,” he snapped. “A question? That’s why you spoke above your rank?! It had better be worthwhile!”

  “Where is my warden—Captain Kairathed?”

  Bairen stared at her. She held his gaze this time, though it terrified her. And she watched as his brows slowly relaxed, and all the anger seemed to drain from him. His scowl softened to a frown. He studied her for a few moments, then turned away, pulling open one of the drawers in his desk. For the first time, she noticed that there were papers all over his desk. A white quill was dipped into an ink bottle. They looked like letters, and she longed to read them, but he was pulling out one particular letter, opening it a little too slowly to be casual. He opened it and smoothed it out on the desk. “This is the last letter I received from him,” he said.

  “When?” she gasped, leaning over to look at it.

  “Four months ago,” he replied. She looked up into his stern eyes. Again, they held a gaze, and Airaine drew back from the desk, holding its edge as she stood. This time, Bairen looked down toward the letter. “At times, commanders won’t relay information to the Princes if they think the messages will be intercepted,” he stated. “In such circumstances, a wise commander will not risk the safety of their men and themselves. They will cease all communication. I won’t tell you details. But I can tell you that there was an attack at a fortress he was inspecting, and he very nearly lost his life. I’ve only heard from other captains who have briefly seen him since—and they never write until at least a week after his departure.” Airaine stared at him, sitting so calm and upright at the desk. She wondered how. All around her, the room was swaying back and forth. He was swaying too when he looked back up into her eyes. “For circumstances I cannot repeat, it is unknown if he will return to this fortress safely. In the most unfortunate case that he does not return, per Graedin’s personal request and last will, I will make arrangements for your care and provision.”