SIXTY-TWO
Dinah waved a letter at her maid, Ida, and laughed. “My friend Cara says those goody-goody Queens are obeying the new instructions we supplied! They’re wringing their hands over giving those orders to their courts, but they’re doing it.”
“Told you they would,” Ida replied, smiling. “None of them have the gumption to challenge an order they believe is coming from Prince Sadi.”
Dinah raised her chin. “I would have challenged it.”
“Of course you would have. You’re a proper Queen.” Ida’s smile changed, carried a hint of something dark and cruel. “Now that they’ve taken that first step in doing wrong, let’s find out how many of them will take the next step.”
Dinah smiled in return. “Yes, let’s find out.”
SIXTY-THREE
By the end of that first uncomfortable week, the Queens had adjusted to the new addition to their list of tasks. Each of them had had a turn at being the Territory Queen who gave the command for the hand slaps.
The standard assignments for the day were in Prince Sadi’s handwriting. The “extra” command was in someone else’s hand—and always included the instruction to write out the additional assignment in the Queen’s own hand and burn the original with witchfire.
“Convenient,” Zoey muttered as she wrote out the extra instruction. With the original destroyed, there was no proof that these “little disciplines” weren’t the Queen’s idea.
This week, the orders were that two people receive a hard slap on the hand and a third receive a light slap across the face.
What were they supposed to be learning by doing this to their own people? What were they supposed to learn by demanding the Queens who ruled under them do the same to their people?
And if these extras were part of the official lessons, why were these “disciplines” supposed to be done out of the sight of adults?
Titian and Jhett were in Zoey’s court today. So was Raeth. She felt friendly toward the other four students assigned to her, but they weren’t friends. Not like Jhett and Raeth. Not like Titian.
But two of those seven people would receive a hard slap on the hand today, and one would receive a slap on the face. If she didn’t include at least one of her friends in that number, how would the other four feel? Favorites escaped discipline? Favorites weren’t slapped in the face?
Zoey summoned one of her Warlords and asked him to go to the stable for seven pieces of straw. He nodded and hurried off without asking why.
Raeth, being a Warlord Prince, would have asked why—and that was the reason she didn’t give him the assignment.
She summoned Kathlene, who was the Province Queen that day, and issued the day’s tasks that the other Queens had to perform—including the extra part.
Kathlene stared at her.
“Do you want to see the instructions I was given?” Zoey asked.
Kathlene hesitated, then shook her head. “This isn’t right, Zoey.”
“I know. But someone has added this to the lessons.”
“Who?” Kathlene didn’t wait for an answer before bowing and leaving the room.
“Good question,” Zoey muttered. Someone knew about these extras they were supposed to do in secret. But who, exactly, was that someone?
Zoey held seven straws. Her court drew the straws based on their Jewel rank, regardless of caste, to determine who would receive that day’s discipline.
Titian drew a short straw. So did Raeth. So did the Warlord who had been sent to fetch seven pieces of straw.
Feeling sick, Zoey collected the straws and then had those three people draw again.
Raeth drew the short straw.
“Hold out your left hands,” Zoey said.
She slapped Titian’s hand—hard. She slapped the Warlord’s hand—hard. And then she slapped Raeth in the face—and watched his hands curls into fists and his eyes glaze with temper.
“Each of you will discipline three other people in the same way you were just disciplined—by slapping a hand or slapping a face.”
Titian made a wordless protest. The Warlord looked troubled.
Raeth stared at her.
Do it, she thought. Do it.
The instructions were clear. If she, the day’s Territory Queen, complained to one of the instructors or, may the Darkness have mercy, to Prince Sadi, all seven of her people would be physically punished. But she’d read the instructions three times before burning the original with witchfire, and there was nothing in them that said another member of her court couldn’t issue a complaint with the instructors or the Prince.
“We’d better get started,” Zoey said. “Jhett? If you could wait a moment?”
The rest of them left the room.
“Lady Zoela?” Jhett’s formality stung Zoey’s feelings, but it also gave her hope. Jhett wouldn’t stay in a real court with any Queen who acted like this.
“Wood and stone remember,” Zoey said with the same care she’d use when crossing an ice-covered pond. “Isn’t that how Black Widows can see a . . . memory . . . of something that happened in a place?”
Jhett nodded.
“Paper is made of wood.” Zoey licked her lips and wished she had some water for a suddenly dry throat. “Could a Black Widow coax an image out of paper?”
“Like, an image of the sender?”
“Yes.” If it was possible, that could explain why whoever was adding these extra commands wanted the original pieces of paper burned.
“I don’t know,” Jhett finally said. “I’m going to Halaway this afternoon to visit the Sisters living at the Hourglass House. I could inquire.”
“Do that.”
Daemonar sat at a table near the social room’s sliding glass doors. Grizande had gone into the village with Jhett to visit the recovering Black Widows—and to visit Tersa, although that was implied rather than stated. Since Liath had been growling at humans all morning—and had bitten the hand of one Warlord and then refused to explain what the boy had done to earn the bite—Daemonar had offered to keep an eye on Jaalan. A Green shield around the courtyard kept the tiger confined enough to allow Daemonar to concentrate on his studies while giving the kitten room to play.
Unfortunately, most of the residential squares of rooms had a fountain somewhere in the courtyard and little tigers liked playing in water, even when the weather was chilly.
Wet tiger didn’t smell any better than wet dog, but getting Jaalan to understand that he couldn’t come inside until he was dry . . . He was outside with no one to play with. Bored with the available toys, he kept returning to the fountain to play in the water and pounce on anything that fell in—leaf, twig, feather of a bird that claimed this courtyard as its territory.
The birds weren’t kindred, but sometimes he could swear they knew which individuals they could tease and which ones had the speed and skill to turn them into feathered mush.
Daemonar watched the kitten head back to the fountain and shook his head. When he finished reading this chapter, he’d go out and play with Jaalan long enough to get the kitten dry. Then they could both stay inside until Grizande returned.
Raeth walked into the room, then hesitated when he eyed the books Daemonar had spread out on the table.
“You got a minute?”
Daemonar marked his place and closed the book. “Sure.”
Raeth pulled out a chair and slumped in it.
Anger and hurt pumped out of the younger Warlord Prince. The hurt could fester into something dangerous, and the anger was too close to the surface to dismiss.