Yet, I let her have her moment.
She appears at my side, a smear of brown on her lip and a half-eaten truffle waving in her hand. My sister is high on sugar. “When I am queen,” she laughs, “I am going to travel to every Common community in The Cradle and give them all chocolates. I hear they don’t get to eat chocolate.”
She is endlessly sweet.
Naïve. Innocent. Trusting…
I lift my hand and wipe the truffle from her lip, half smiling, faking bemusement. “You will never visit a Common community when I am king, Tuscany. They are far too wild and savage for you, sweet sister. Besides, I think chocolate is the last thing on their minds.”
She looks at the treat in her hand. “That’s so sad.”
Dammit, I am a bastard.
“You will do great things. You will have your Meaningful Purpose and mother The Cradle like no queen ever has. I am sure,” I offer.
She brightens. “Will you walk me to my room, dear brother?” She spins and dances toward her chamber. I slowly follow. “I am so full now, and it’s nearly time for my rite. My last night as just me. I think I take vows or something. I hope whatever it is involves rubbing my feet while I have a huge sugar crash and fall asleep like a big, overfed house cat.” She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at me.
I can’t quell my smile.
We reach her door. “I’m going in now. Do you think something weird will happen? Like chanting and candles. I hope I don’t laugh and give myself away.”
I tap her nose. “I hope you do.”
The large oak door opens at her back. I survey the plush room, finding candles glowing on the sills and a marble table with ointments and towels. There are two women in white and coral colours—Trade Nurses. And—
I frown, my fists curling in tight at my sides, when Cairo appears from the corner of the room, his fingers making a pyramid at his waist.
My pulse thrashes.
He smiles at Tuscany. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he says. “You must be elated. You’re so close to Meaningful Purpose, my princess.”
“What is this?” I ask, nodding at the room, the candles, the ointment, the women. And you!
Why are you in my sister’s room?
“Rome.” He offers me his attention. “I was checking to ensure everything is prepared for her and up to my standards. I will take my leave now. You both need to sleep.”
He strides toward me, but I refuse to budge, forcing him to fit through the space between my shoulder and the door frame. He does and says nothing.
It feels very wrong.
I glare at Cairo’s back, scorching him, wanting answers to my suspicious mind. My guts twist and turn as he walks down the hall.
Tuscany’s finger touches my frown, smoothing the crease. “Go to bed, Rome. I think you need rest as much as I.” I return my gaze to her, a place it likes to be. “Come to me in the first-light. Early? As soon as the fire turns orange. I will tell you about the chanting and foot massages, and you can tell me about The Cradle. Deal?”
I sigh. “Deal.”
Doing a little dance in place, she closes the door. I hover outside for a moment, feet not wanting to move.
Noise from Turin’s Collective and guests still whistles through the hallway. Their gathering, the drinking and feasting, continues.
Staring at the door, I shake the discomfort away. Tension pours through my veins as I turn to leave, the weight of my first campaign stacking rocks on my shoulders.
What would have happened if Tuscany saw the outskirts of The Cradle today? The babies being taken and the dead woman with the Silk Girl tattoo? What if she smelt the cooked flesh in the old abbey and felt the phantom of carnage still crawling along the walls after the raid?
I can’t allow her to see the truth.
I storm into my room, reeling over the message. The lesson from Turin. To be the king means keeping secrets from the one person I love. To keep her pure and innocent means my emotional isolation.
And that is Turin’s first lesson.
I lie down and look at the ceiling. Glare.
I spend the night memorising it, unable to sleep and less able to relax. Eighteen, and I feel the weight of a hundred tonight.
I toss and turn.
My body suffers, open and raw, like holding the truth inside is akin to capturing a wild animal within me. It shreds at its enclosure.
It burns and rips.
I don’t know when it happens, but first-light crawls along the floor and up the walls. It is barely time to rise, and my eyes have had no rest, but I stand, pull my pants on, throw a robe around my shoulders, and wander down the dim hallway.
Paranoia twists inside me.
At the end of the long passage, I see my sister’s door is open. The artificial light from inside shines, making shapes on the dark hallway wall opposite. Suddenly, a shadow blocks the light. Turin leaves the room with a glass vase in his hand, and I- I-
I stop in my tracks. My muscles refuse to move, not an inch, too tight like a coiled band.
Then they snap.
I take off down the hall.
Something is wrong.
I need to get to her.
Two Guards attempt to slow me, stepping in my path. “My prince, wai—"
I throw them both into the walls, crack the age-old brick under the force, and knock them both out cold.
Dead, maybe.
I don’t care.
I round her bedroom door and enter her room. The light hits me in harsh brilliance.
I scan the space as though possessed; the bed is empty, sheets bunched; a woman in the corner stuffs bloody rags into a purple canvas bag; the washroom is illuminated by a glowing gap bordering the door.
What have they done?
Letting my rage burn through me, I stride toward the door against the tension of shuddering limbs. I reach for the handle and pull it open.
Then I see her.
My sweet sister is naked, being helped by two women into her claw-footed bathtub. Her slim legs tremble to hold her weight, her skin is pale and clammy, a blood-filled drain skewers her stomach, and crimson fluid seeps through a white adhesive bandage at her lower abdomen.
She gazes up at me, all sunshine gone from her eyes. “They took it all.” Her voice breaks. “All the parts I won’t need now that I am to be Queen of The Cradle.”
Part TwoWelcome to The Cradle
Chapter One
Aster
Nineteen Years Later
Buzzing fills the air, the electric notes twisting my spine tight.
This is a big day.
The biggest, actually.
Through the cracked window to the tower promenade, men and women brave the red gale to watch. Their grasping eyes move from girl to girl, keen to witness the ceremonial moment take place.
“I’m so proud of all my girls,” the Silk Wardeness says, circling us slowly. “You have studied hard and shown true dedication. This mark will seal your Trade. Meaningful Purpose”—she smiles— “is in your future.”
The girls squeal once.
I drop my gaze to my worn hide boots and the seam of my mauve dress, avoiding the sight of Iris’s arm laying perfectly still for the tattoo gun.