Free Daughters of Ruin by K. D. Castner Page A

years, not since the rumors of a Findish rebel group had created a state of constant suspicion around her. And in the outland villages, the dangers were even worse.
    A Findish caravan would be a target for Meridan scouting regiments, or even local mobs who knew they could attack with impunity. As a result, only one of every three letters ever made it to Cadis. But when they did, they came in great sheaves, wrapped in old sailcloth. They smelled of the open sea and read like he was sitting right beside her in jovial conversation.
    He detailed all the drama between the captains’ guild and the caravaneers, but made no mention of a rebellion or the secret rebel group that had taken over all of Meridan’s society gossip. They called themselves the Munnur Myrath. To the imagination of Meridan nobles, they were demons and fiends—which led to the artless insult leveled at her people, the “Fiendish.” But he would have surely told her if anything so climactic was afoot.
    His letters avoided such politics. He wrote less and less of Cousin Denarius, Cadis’s caretaker and mentor. The kind old man had raised her when her parents were lost to the sea. He sat in her stead as archon now. She missed Denarius most of all. But Jesper would only bring more suspicion if he spoke of the archon.
    Cadis’s eyes were not yet used to the undervault of the coliseum when a gauntlet swung out of the darkness and hit her in the stomach—knocking the air out of her lungs and the daydreams out of her mind.
    â€œ Ooph ,” she said, doubling over and catching the iron glove.
    A calm, quiet voice spoke from the shadow behind a pillar. “You don’t seem prepared.”
    Iren.
    Cadis took a deep breath and fit the gauntlet over her left hand. Above them, the attendants were clearing the arrows and the crowd distracted itself with the intermission carnival. Hawkers sold skewers of dried beef and crackled rice.
    â€œA cheaty move,” said Cadis.
    â€œI could hear you jangling all the way from the stairs,” said Iren, stepping into the uneven light from the braziers, dressed in Corentine-blue light armor, with short rapiers sheeted in an X on her back.
    â€œWe can wait till you’re ready,” she added.
    Cadis had to smile. She was easily twice Iren’s size. One solid swing of her cutlass would break any of Iren’s blocks, and yet there her diminutive sister stood, as bold as a mountain flower.
    Iren tossed Cadis her cutlass.
    â€œOh, sister mine,” said Cadis, playing coy, “has this summer heat melted your resolve? Are you melancholic to be down among the poorly cultured and ill read?”
    â€œWe all suffer,” said Iren. “Your dreadful braids must itch with parasites, for instance.”
    â€œHa!” said Cadis. “There are easier ways to kill yourself, sister.”
    They each stood on a wooden platform facing each other. Attendants in the corner began turning giant cranks to open the trapdoors in the coliseum floor.
    As light poured into the vault, Cadis winked at Iren. “That was it?” she said. “That’s all you’ve got to goad me?”
    â€œI suppose you smell funny,” said Iren with a shrug. “Besides, who needs head games when I’ve got such perfect odds?”
    â€œNo gambler in their right mind would bet on you against me. I’m the champion.”
    â€œOnly because Rhea can’t keep her feet under her.”
    The reference to the previous year raised Cadis’s hackles even though she knew it was coming.
    It had been a close match until Rhea had become distracted and stumbled. Cadis pounced as any fighter would. But to the people of Meridan, it was a disgrace. A dishonorable victory. Another treachery from the Findish.
    â€œAll I have to do is fight you to a draw,” said Iren, “and they’ll love me. They don’t care if I lose. They just don’t want you to win.”
    It was true.