Some years—and this was what was pounding in Riordan’s blood then as if he was actually under attack instead of standing there, wrapped up in some velvet shroud like he’d been sidelined—Wulf didn’t even bother putting up a full summer watch in all the outlying coves where intruders could land until it was nearly April.
The fuckers could walk right into the raider city if they hit it right, with no one to sound the alarm.
The very idea made his entire body go tense and tight, like he was braced for a mortal blow.
But there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it now, standing in a room stuffed full of pointless women in ugly metal dresses. Riordan glared out through his little bitch peepholes. He focused on Eiryn, whose humiliation tonight far outstripped his, he was forced to admit. He didn’t know how well he’d handle it if he was out there wearing some copper monstrosity and pretending he was a lesser anything. She kept her furious attention straight ahead and directly on him, as if she could punch her way through the heavy curtain with the force of her pissed-off gaze alone. Riordan knew she couldn’t actually see him. But the fact she was here with him in this absurd room stuffed full of princesses squawking about like wild turkeys, suffering the same breathtaking indignity and deep, abiding insult that not one of their brothers would ever understand, kept him still. And silent.
And marginally less enraged than he would have been if he was alone.
He shifted his scrutiny to Princess Kathlyn instead, trying to figure her out as she sat there next to Eiryn with every appearance of being completely at her ease. He didn’t get why a woman who seemed unfazed by raiders would hide from two empty-headed girls. It made him think there was a lot more going on with her behind all that soft, brown prettiness and her deep golden glow—but he didn’t have the time to puzzle that shit out.
Still, it was quickly apparent that some of the things Kathlyn had told them were true. That she—or her father, more likely, this being the heart of the western highlands where, as far as Riordan knew, there had never been a woman with any particular authority—had great power in this suffocating place was instantly clear in the way all the other women treated her. They called out her name the moment they saw her. They fawned all over her, rushing over to compliment her and ask her opinion on a thousand stupid-ass things and yet, just as Kathlyn had warned they would, they all ignored Eiryn completely.
When the two unconscious princesses were finally noticed, a pack of the women set themselves to howling as if marauders had breached the walls of the Cathedral and were coming at them, blades drawn and guns blazing. Riordan was the only one looking at Eiryn, so only he saw the sheer, offended gleam of pure raider mayhem in her gaze before she dropped it to her lap—sparing the lives of at least four copper-clad, wailing creatures, little though they realized it.
Then Kathlyn waved an elegant hand in the air, and the godawful shrieking stopped. Almost instantly.
Riordan found that fascinating. He suspected Eiryn did too.
“I imagine they had a bit too much wine,” she said mildly, as if it was a subject of very little interest to her. Riordan noted that she didn’t raise her voice or even address the room as a whole. She spoke only to the women standing in a circle around her, letting the whispered repetition of her words ripple out from where she sat like a heavy stone into still water. “Portia seems to have misplaced her gown, the poor thing. Better she should sleep it off here than in the middle of the party, where there are no angry fathers or overly attentive gentlemen to come to the wrong conclusions.”
And that was the end of that.
Then, for no apparent reason that Riordan could see, the tutting and murmuring women . . . sat there. They filled up all the little couches and chairs, so the whole room flashed and sparkled in the reflected glow from the chandeliers. They talked about the food they’d eaten and the weather out in the Cathedral courtyard in the sort of exhaustive detail the brotherhood reserved to discuss extremely dangerous battle plans with high projected losses. They applied powders to their faces, strange black pastes to their eyelashes, and more of the sticky substance they used to keep their hair in those unnatural shapes. They adjusted their gowns and wrapped strips of fabric over their heels to cover their blisters. They laughed a little too brightly and many of them, he saw, sipped from discreet flasks they kept tucked between their breasts when they thought no one was looking. Or with calculated defiance. There were a few tears, quickly wiped away, and a great many darkly stoic expressions when they subsided into silence. They whispered behind their hands to each other, sometimes bursting into high-pitched laughter and often shifting their gazes to another woman or group of women while they conferred with one another.
If they reminded Riordan of anything, he realized after he watched this all go on for some time, it was the packs of vendors in the clogged Louisville streets. Desperate and hard-eyed no matter how wide their smiles. And endlessly calculating.
Because what they talked about most, in a never-ending loop, no detail too small or insignificant, was men. This royal, that nobleman. Rumors about how this one had treated his last winter wife. Stories about why that one would make a terrible permanent mate. How many children each king claimed and how many permanent wives were still part of each court. Which wealthy suitor appeared to have taken an interest in one of the princesses here tonight and which one only pretended to be wealthy when everyone knew his real holdings were less than impressive. And on and on and on, until Riordan thought he might slip his blade out of his boot and cut his own damned throat. Anything for the chatter to stop.
Though the women who clustered around Kathlyn talked mostly of price. Her price.
“I believe he’d hand over the whole of his territory,” one thick-browed woman said at one point, a smile on her pinched mouth that didn’t match her pale eyes at all as she looked down at Kathlyn. “From mountains to outer compounds and back, all for you. Such is the fervency of his desire. He made that clear to the whole of the assembly.”
Kathlyn looked unmoved. Almost bored, if anything.
“My father would never accept a territory so far to the north,” she said with a shrug. “What use does he have for snowy wastes and wolves?”
“Then I suppose you will wear the gold forever,” another woman in a copper dress said with a sigh, as if she was being friendly. But Riordan knew, somehow, that she was not.
Kathlyn only inclined her head. There was a soft chiming sound from somewhere out in the hall, and all the fluttering, metallic women surged to their feet again in a tittering, whispering mass.
“Your father’s attendants were already asking for you before the bells,” a woman in silver told Kathlyn as the others started for the door. “I think he might dispatch his guards to drag you back if you hide yourself away for much longer.”
“And cause a scene on this most important of occasions?” Kathlyn asked in mock horror. “When his eminence is celebrated by so many at once? Never!” She smiled, and this time, Riordan thought, it was actually genuine. For the first time since the room had filled up. “I’ll only be another moment or two. I suspect my friend here ate something that didn’t agree with her.”
“Nothing out there agrees with me,” the other woman murmured darkly. She was the only one who looked at Eiryn directly, if only to smile faintly. Then she took her leave.
It took another few minutes for the room to empty out completely. Once it did—the very second the last princess swept out—Eiryn got up and moved to the doorway to make sure they were truly gone. Only when she nodded the all-clear did Riordan step out from behind the curtain.
He wanted to roar his fury to the chandeliers. He wanted to shatter every piece of crystal with the force of his outrage or his own two fists. He didn’t know how he kept himself from it. He could feel his blood pump hard and hot in his veins, dark and angry. But this was a nearly empty room where women gathered. The king who planned to attack his people wasn’t standing in front of him. This wasn’t the place
to indulge his instincts.
Riordan had made himself a weapon a long time ago. He detested having nowhere to aim it.
“I hope you enjoyed your behind-the-scenes view of the famous princess market,” Kathlyn said, as calmly as she’d said anything else tonight. She was still sitting on the couch directly in front of him, perfectly composed, as if she hadn’t told them her father was a warmongering dick with a hard on for Wulf and the clan a mere fifteen minutes ago. “There are more than a few narcissistic noblemen who would fight for the opportunity to sneak in here and listen to what’s said about them. Of course, the ones who are so certain they’re discussed endlessly never really are.”
Riordan couldn’t decide if he admired her cool or wanted to throttle her. Or if that was his bloodlust talking, looking for something—anything—he could cut down and make pay.
He glared at her instead. “Why did they all come up here together in a giant group? Then just . . . sit around?”
“Sharing information isn’t quite as pointless an exercise as it might look.” There was no obvious reproach in Kathlyn’s words or her tone, but still. Riordan felt it. One more thing he didn’t like at all. “Especially when it’s all we have. And they weren’t up here by choice.” She sat straighter, if possible, though he didn’t see her move. “The men were placing bids. They have an opportunity to do so every hour and they prefer to do it where none of us can hear how they lowball our charms.”
Riordan tried to imagine what it would be like to be sent off somewhere out of sight while other people decided his fate. For the coming winter or for the rest of his life, and without particular regard for his thoughts on the matter. He found he couldn’t.
“Do the dresses mean something?” he asked, maybe a little gruffly.
“The colors do.” Kathlyn’s mouth curved. “Copper gowns are for women who are ready for a permanent marriage. Silver gowns are for those available for regular winter marriages. Though it’s all for show, really. It’s not as if any of us get to decide these things.”
“And gold?”
The princess’s mouth lost its curve. “Gold is for virgins. Untouched in every way.”
Riordan blinked at that, as Eiryn reached them.
She studied Kathlyn. “I thought they auctioned that shit off.”
“Oh, they do.” The princess looked serene, though her dark eyes were hard. “My auction has been going on for three Septembers now. My father claims all of the bids he’s received for his only daughter, by definition a prize beyond price, are insulting.” She waited as if she expected them to say something or as if there was a rote response neither of them offered her. “He thinks if he waits long enough, my maidenhead will become a myth, much like the stories of his prowess in battle. Men have already offered outrageous fortunes and whole territories. I don’t think he’ll be happy until someone offers him the whole planet.”
“Why does anyone want your virginity or anyone else’s?” Eiryn asked, sounding baffled. “Virginity is four awkward seconds, some blood, and then everyone moves on to much better things.”
Kathlyn looked brittle for the first time since she’d stepped out from behind that curtain. Her dark gaze glittered, suggesting a temper she didn’t quite show. Not quite.
“I have weekly checkups to determine the state of my innocence,” she said evenly. Too evenly. “And the punishment for losing it without permission is death. I couldn’t tell you why they care. Only that they do.”
That hung there in the shimmering, bright air, like a new reflected sparkle from those dresses.
“Your father sounds like a great guy,” Riordan muttered. “But I don’t really care about his personality or the shit he pulls on his own family. Tell me about his army.”
“Right.” Kathlyn stood up, smoothing the flowing gold of her dress as she rose, in what might have been her only betrayal of any nerves since she’d stepped out from behind the curtain. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“His army is here?” Eiryn sounded skeptical.
“Not exactly.” She paused. “You shouldn’t wear that dress. It suggests a certain availability.”
Eiryn tilted her chin down and gazed at the copper horror that clung to her breasts and then fell to the floor. Not that it made her any less beautiful. Riordan doubted anything could diminish her. She was Eiryn, for fuck’s sake. But the dress did make her a little bit blinding when the light hit her the wrong way.
“I thought it was for a permanent marriage,” she muttered, frowning as if the dress blinded her, too.
“For the daughters of the sort of wealthy men who can control that, yes. For girls from men of lesser means, it signals that they’ve already lost their maidenhead and have spent a few winters learning some tricks. There are a lot of men here who would happily indulge themselves in such easy pickings, then claim it never happened and that the lower ranked woman was only trying to better her station with wild accusations.” Kathlyn lifted a smooth brown shoulder, then dropped it. “The church and the western kings take a dim view of desperate women who try to entrap noble men.”
Eiryn looked at Riordan as she tugged at the zipper at the side of her dress, forcing it down.
“I think I’d enjoy meeting those men,” she said, her tone like a blade. “I’d like to teach them a thing or two about what easy pickings really are.”
“How big is your father’s army?” Riordan asked the princess when Eiryn kicked off the dress and then took her regular compliant clothes back from him. It was a measure of how serious the situation was that he didn’t look at his woman’s perfect tits as she set about wrapping them up right there in front of him. Or anyway, he didn’t linger. “Do you mean trained militias or mercenaries?”
“Both, I think.” Kathlyn went over and tucked the copper gown Eiryn had discarded around the naked girl, still sprawled out and unconscious next to her friend, covering her. “He’s had men building war ships in the Kansas City dockyards.”
Eiryn muttered a low curse. Riordan didn’t need to echo it. He felt that same blow. They’d walked right past those dockyards a little over a week ago. They’d been within spitting distance of the clan’s possible destruction and they’d had no fucking clue. They didn’t even look at each other, no doubt both marinating in the same sense of epic failure.
Still, when Kathlyn headed to the arched doorway, they both followed her. Riordan took the rear, trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was start cutting assholes in half. The princess led them out of the great waiting room, back down the gleaming hallway and, this time, down the far grander main staircase that swirled around in a showy marble circle.
Life on the eastern islands didn’t lend itself to much marble, which was a good thing as far as Riordan was concerned, because it turned out he hated it. Too cold, too hard. Too much bullshit statement, not enough function.
And too polluted by the goddamned church that was obviously obsessed with it.
“Shouldn’t we try not to announce our presence to all the priests and noble dickheads?” Eiryn asked as she followed the princess down the stairs, shifting to walk in that particular way of hers that Riordan had always liked a little too much.
Some called it creepy, the way she moved so silently and seemed almost to float above the ground. But he figured anyone who didn’t recognize that as the skill it was probably had a few concerns she’d turn that skill on them.
She was still his favorite ghost, he thought as he watched her move the way only she could. Whatever else had happened out here in all these strange mountains and terrible cities, that hadn’t changed. Riordan knew somehow it never would.
And the timing on that revelation was seriously wacked.
“I’ll tell anyone who asks that you’re my servants,” Kathlyn was saying in reply. “But they won’t ask.”
“Because we look so much like servants?” Eiryn asked. In a voice that suggested a sharp blade was already in her hand, though it wasn’t.
Riordan saw the flash o
f the princess’s smile, and the way she quickly bit it back.
“No,” she said. “Because there are very few people at this party tonight who would dare question King Athenian’s only daughter about anything, and almost all of them are entirely too busy holding court in their own right to come make things awkward for me.”
She led them down to a floor they hadn’t explored before, this one nothing but dimly lit hallways rushing off in three different directions. It was quieter here. Almost subdued, as if the whole floor had been closed down for the evening and all the lamps switched off to discourage anyone from exploring it. The princess looked around as if she expected to see someone looming around in the shadows, then moved across to a great pane of windows that looked out over Cathedral Square and the city beyond.
It was so bright. It almost hurt Riordan’s eyes, and it had nothing to do with the dazzling clothes so many of the aristocrats wore as they circled each other like sharks in the gardens below. It was the whole damned city. There were people in settlements back east who thought electric light was a fairy tale. There were clan members who had grown up on the mainland who’d never lived through a winter with a generator, relying on good, old-fashioned fires and religiously well-tended lanterns to get them through the rains. Riordan’s father had been stingy with the farm’s single, small generator and its precious fuel. He’d kept it in reserve for emergencies in the barn involving animals or a threat to the crops. And he’d lit up the house on the December solstice, as a single and solitary treat, to remind them all the sun was coming back again in a few months. That was it. Even in the raider city where they had a ton of generators and where the fuel they’d claimed in so many raids was plentiful, they used lights sparingly. There were very few streetlamps, and they didn’t stay on all night long. And there were certainly no lights left on in empty rooms. What would be the point?