Dekala doesn’t move, doesn’t startle from Ruti’s bold statement. But her eyes grow colder still; it reads as an abyss that might consume all who see it and Ruti with them, and she hisses again cruelly, “That was a mistake. A final indulgence before I move on to my future. Stop overestimating your worth to me. You humiliate yourself.”
Kieran watches them, inquisitive, and Ruti glares at him until he averts his eyes. To Dekala she says, “You’re right. It was a mistake.”
She knows they’re all watching her, and she keeps her head high. There are secrets she still holds, ones she doesn’t dare reveal with even a glance in the wrong direction. And she is determined not to break in front of any of these strangers.
A hand brushes against her own—quick and subtle, just gentle fingers against her skin in a silent moment—and Ruti firms her mouth and walks on.
They do not speak inside their lavish chambers, where every servant might carry their whispers elsewhere. Instead, Dekala slips out onto her balcony and Ruti onto a neighboring one. She climbs over the railing and waits silently.
“So.” Dekala speaks with no inflection at the end, no uncertainty in her words. At times, Ruti fears that surety, that confidence in a plan that lies in Ruti’s hands. “Is all in place for tomorrow?”
Here in the dark, they can be honest, but Ruti still feels as though she’s pretending when she nods her head. “I am ready.” She feels ill when she considers what comes next, the places where she might fail. But it’s Dekala’s part of this that brings her to the point of nausea.
“Good.” Dekala is immobile, nearly a queen and already a force that can never be swayed. She made it clear on their single night together that this is how it must be. But Ruti spots, for a moment, a flicker of a girl beneath the queen, an instant of hesitation. Dekala’s hand rises to Ruti’s face, her knuckles brushing the stiff curve of her jaw, and Ruti exhales with the movement.
Emboldened, she whispers, “Don’t bond with Torhvin.” A plea she’s expressed before. She imagines the moment of bonding far too often, sees the glow of it shine between them and envisions Dekala’s eyes softening with love for the prince. Magic is a tricky thing, and soulbonds are never a mistake. Dekala may be ruined in that moment. Dekala may be lost in it.
Dekala’s hand stops moving and she turns away from Ruti, staring out at the starlit night. “Would you have me discard my destiny so carelessly?”
“You didn’t think you needed it before,” Ruti reminds her, digging in her pocket to find the single vial she still holds. “We journeyed a long time for this and the other. If you would just—”
“I am not surrendering now,” Dekala says stubbornly. For all her positive qualities, Ruti notes with the wisdom of one who shares a deficiency in this area, Dekala still quails at being questioned. “If you’re having second thoughts about following me in this, then go. I can find another to—”
Ruti holds up a hand, twisting away from Dekala to stare out into the dark of the palace night. “I’m not Orrin,” she says tightly. “I won’t keel over and bow because you’re offended.” She glances back, sees Dekala’s face falter with regret at her words, and is emboldened again. “This will not end well. There are too many unpredictable elements. And the worst of them is—”
“I will be Bonded,” Dekala says quietly, and the certainty in her voice is unchanged even as she reaches out to link her fingers with Ruti’s. “I will not bend.”
Ruti grits her teeth in frustration. “Then we have nothing to discuss.” She thinks of that moment again, imagines Dekala’s rare gentleness for Torhvin instead of … instead of anyone else. “I don’t—”
Dekala’s balcony door slides open and Ruti shrinks back at once, slipping into the shadows. Winda stands there, her eyes on Dekala. “Your Highness expressed some interest in the tapestry on the third floor before we were pulled away. I would be honored to escort you there to inspect the detail.”
Dekala inclines her head. “A lovely offer,” she says. “It would be a pleasure.”
She doesn’t glance back at Ruti as she departs the balcony.
The Ruranan Markless that Torhvin keeps as slaves are no help to Ruti. When she slips past Winda to demand answers from them, they reveal nothing about Kimya. “She’s just a child,” Ruti begs, and she searches for a song that might force them to speak the truth. But nothing comes to her, and even brandishing her vial of water from the Lake of the Carved Thousand does little to frighten them.
She doesn’t use it. She will not impose more cruelties on people who have been so mistreated. With her wealthy palace gowns and clean skin and full belly, she feels a world apart from her people, a people to whom she’d never felt all that much allegiance before.
But not no allegiance, and she thinks with a quavering heart of the little ones. Of Kimya, who trusts her without flinching, who might be afraid and alone instead of safe in Ruti’s quarters. If Kimya has suffered while Torhvin has been holding her, Ruti knows she will never be the same.
It is easier than before to dig around in Torhvin’s entourage, though that entourage has grown in his palace. The people are distracted, preparing for the grand soulbinding that will end in marriage, and no one pays much mind to Dekala’s attendants. Ruti is able to slip past the bulk of them, wandering into sections of the palace that have been opened for courtiers and nobles and Zideshi guests.
In three days’ time the soulbinding ceremony will begin, and Ruti squeezes her eyes shut and forbids herself to dwell on that future. Dekala is surrounded by eager attendants now, preparing her for each grand unveiling to come, and she affords little time or energy toward arguing with Ruti. Instead she keeps a careful distance. There is no time for quiet meetings on the balcony again, and the argument from that night remains unresolved.
Today the palace is full, a reality that Ruti wouldn’t have thought possible. The Ruranan army, fiercely loyal to their prince, has arrived to pay their respects to their future queen. Dekala is decked out in white with golden Ruranan coils wrapping around her neck, and her hair has been taken from its braids and pulled almost straight so it falls in long, lovely waves down her back.
Ruti watches her, her mouth dry. Dekala says to Kalere, “Will I be expected to speak at this event, or am I only meant to stand on Torhvin’s arm and smile demurely?” Her voice is dry, still enough of the Dekala Ruti knows that it washes over her in strange familiarity.
Kalere scoffs. “Well, I hope you won’t be stick fighting with the work we’ve put into your hair.” She tugs a few locks of it, wrinkling her nose disapprovingly. “Rurana has no need for a warrior queen. Their army is plenty without you.”
“You look beautiful,” Mikuyi offers, her eyes shining.
Dekala’s lip curls in disgust. “I look weak and artificial,” she says, and in that distaste, Ruti finds a thread of comfort.
The ceremony today is a grand feast in honor of the Maned One and Rurana’s fighters, with enough food to feed a small city piled in one of the palace’s banquet halls. The army is loud and raucous and enthusiastic at the start of the party, and Ruti slips into the banquet hall, lurking near two of the men with the most elaborate headdresses in hopes of hearing something useful. They are generals, a dozen soldiers with spears and scowls surrounding them, and they say nothing of the Markless living in Byale or of one Markless girl in particular.
There is a pool of pure chocolate at a table near the altar to the Maned One, rich and thick and warm, and strawberries line its sides. Ruti takes one, savors the decadence of the chocolate, and misses Kimya even more. She is going to find her. She’s going to find her, and they’re going to persuade the kitchens at home to create a chocolate pool of their own.
She stands, fists clenched in that vow, and shifts to a corner of the room as Prince Torhvin emerges onto the dais above the hall. “Welcome!” he calls, and the room falls into respectful silence. The soldiers are strong and rowdy but they respect their prince, are utterly devoted to him. “In the name of the Maned One, patron spirit of Rurana, and in the name of my brother the king, we thank you all for joining us for this momentous occasion,” he says, beaming down at them.
He looks happy, a boy-turned-man who has gotten everything he’s ever wanted, and Ruti feels pure hatred rising in her throat. “I have long searched the land for a woman who might be my perfect match—my soulbond, who would stop me from accidentally overturning your ships in the sea.” He lifts his palm, displaying the majimm on it, and a titter runs through the crowd. “And I couldn’t be happier to introduce her now. She is the Zideshi queen-to-be, a formidable woman with the beauty and wit that will make her a Ruranan jewel as well. Princess Dekala,” he calls, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
Ruti watches the dais, then the door that slides open near the stairs that lead up to it. Dekala is brought through with Winda and Kalere at her sides, and she is resplendent in white and gold. She smiles at the soldiers, her eyes glowing as though this is truly the place she wants to be, and Ruti knows this time that it is a lie.
The anger surges in her again, and she feels her fists tightening, eyes narrowing as she watches Torhvin take Dekala’s hands in his own. They both wear gleaming golden gloves now, careful as the soulbinding draws near, and Dekala gazes at Torhvin as though she might love him.
The crowd roars, hoots, cheers for their future queen, and Torhvin smiles broadly at them all. His eyes move across the throng of soldiers, and Ruti sees the instant his smile sharpens and grows like a Fanged One’s mouth. He has caught sight of Ruti, and he knows that he has taken everything from her.
Kimya, Ruti thinks, and she moves without a second thought, fury thrumming in her veins as she watches Torhvin begin to speak again. “With this soulbinding, I will usher a new era of peace and prosperity upon—”
She is accustomed to quiet, to shrinking back and avoiding querying stares. She has spent a lifetime hiding in shadows, and only since the palace has she begun to emerge. But today requires her voice, if all is to be as planned. And consumed with disgust for Torhvin and what he’s done to Kimya and so many other Markless, she finds the strength to speak.
“Liar!” Ruti snarls, and there is no time to reveal secrets subtly. There is an enormous crowd in front of her, every last one of them armed, but they’re so startled by her that no one thinks to stop her ascent to the dais. Kalere looks alarmed, Winda wary and unsurprised, but neither stop her. “You haven’t ushered any peace or prosperity!” she bites out, loud enough for everyone around her to hear it. “You’ve been selling Markless children to fund your extravagances!”
