Second Soul (The Dreamon War Saga Book 1), page 19
“I am pleased to know that you think so highly of me, my lady. I will of course repay my favor.” Wren could barely hear her own words over the sound of her heart thundering in her chest. She knew this wasn’t a request. “Please, tell me how to become your champion.”
“Excellent, my dear. Please choose a pair of daggers and take these instructions.” She pulled a pale-yellow envelope out of her dress pocket, handing it to Wren. It was sealed with the Beggar Queen’s symbol, a copper flat on two cupped hands. Wren took it and slid it into her trouser pocket, not taking her eyes off the daggers.
The fire from the many torches danced along the wicked edge of each dagger. Each pair was different, but each were as deadly as they were beautiful. A cloudy white glass. A gleaming silver. A dark stone set. A pale green jade set. And an ivory set made from bone. Wren’s gaze drifted from one to another before settling on the black stone pair. They were cold and smooth in her hands, with a strangely satisfying heft.
“Lovely choice, little Wren. I will see you in the Pits tomorrow evening. I suggest that you take the day to prepare yourself.” The older woman turned away from Wren and sat back down in her chair.
“My Queen,” Wren said softly, tucking the daggers into her belt and quickly leaving through the door she came in. Thistle and Thorn shadowed her back up the stairs, saying nothing as they escorted her back to the street. Her mind was racing as she made her way to the small messenger window on the corner. She jotted down a short note to Martha excusing herself from work the next day, along with instructions to have it sent up to the palace. She hoped they wouldn’t look into her fake sick brother, but she really didn’t have a choice. If she was going to get her revenge on Langley, she would have to do as the Beggar Queen asked.
She crawled back into her window, expecting to hear the chirps of morning birds, but only an hour had passed since she’d seen the summons. It wasn’t even midnight yet when she slid back into bed. She tried to sleep, but her exhaustion had been thoroughly replaced by anxiety, which kept her eyes from closing. The Dampening field did very little to stifle it. She tossed and turned, trying to keep her mind off the daggers and envelope on her nightstand, then finally sat up and lit a candle.
She quickly broke the seal before she could think about it more, pulling a few sheets of paper out of the yellow envelope. The first was a detailed map showing her the route to the Pits. She was mildly surprised to see the directions began at her room. Obviously the Queen knew where she lived, or she wouldn’t have been able to place the yellow summons, but it was still unnerving. The instructions were long and confusing but would hopefully make sense in context when she made her way there. She was certain the Pits were somewhere under the Crown Steppe but had never gone looking for them.
The second page was a writ, signed and sealed with the Queen’s sigil, that absolved her of her favor and gave her free rein to beg, busk, or work anywhere on the Worker and Merchant Steppes. It was extremely generous and would allow Wren much freedom. She folded it carefully and placed it in the secret drawer in her nightstand.
The third sheet contained a series of descriptions detailing the Dagger Pits’ many activities. There were many games of chance to gamble on—cards, dice, and bones. The sheet also detailed several options for pleasure: dancers and masseuses. But the main attraction of the Dagger Pits was, as the name suggested, the dagger fights. Wren glanced at the daggers for a moment before reading the passage describing the fights, her stomach tying itself into knots.
Now, little Wren, the Daggerstorm is the oldest and most central attraction of the Dagger Pits. I won't bore you with the history of it, suffice to say the Daggerstorm dates back to the pre-unification era. These days, it is more entertainment than ceremonial, but the rules have not changed. Two combatants at a time, each with two daggers, in a circle. The rules are simple: land six strikes on the other, three with each blade, and you win. Grievous or fatal stabbing is not permitted, but accidents do happen. Alternatively, the first to be disarmed loses. For every minute that passes, the circle closes another foot. Debilitate or disarm, but do not kill. Be quick, Wren, and win for your Queen. Win one fight and your favor is repaid. If you win both of your fights, I will provide you with answers to the questions you’ve been seeking in the palace, win three and you will find not only favor but also fortune. You are close to being tangled in a web of many plots. Careful that you do not lose yourself upon the wrong Currents.
Be at the Pits at dusk.
Wren slowly set the papers down, her thoughts twisting through the implications the Queen’s letter danced around. She clearly knew who Wren was, had known since the moment Wren had started living on the lower Steppes. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, trapped as she was between her desire for revenge and the copperless life. She was sure the Queen had people watching her, most likely Thistle or Thorn, to make sure she didn’t try to leave the city. But the carrot the Queen dangled was more than enough to ensure her compliance, even without the threat of a white summons.
She didn’t know anything about fighting and even less about fighting with knives. Hopefully all those years of dance lessons would finally come in handy. Muggings were rare in the city; knives were mostly used to cut purses or pry open windows, but Wren needed to find someone to teach her the basics by tomorrow night. She stood up, sighing as she pulled the boot knife she’d stolen from Petron’s room and replaced it with one of the black stone ones, sliding the other one into her other boot. Wren pulled open the window again and slipped back out into the street. She ran down the alley and jumped up pulling herself up onto the roof. There were a few people back in the Miners Quarter she could go to, but only one she could trust. She sprinted across the rooftops, hoping Mannix was still alive. The quiet clink of copper from her purse followed each step, doing little to reassure her as it usually did. The Beggar Court cared little for copper, preferring to deal in other currency, and luckily for her, she held a hedron of that currency.
Chapter Twenty
Try as she might, the nap did very little to alleviate the exhaustion Wren felt. Mannix had spent the rest of the night and most of the morning teaching her three of the most basic moves in knife combat. To his credit, he hadn’t complained about being woken up in the middle of the night to be dragged out on the roof. Wren hadn't offered much explanation, but she was sure Mannix could guess why she’d needed the instruction, and he’d simply been happy to have a chance to repay the favor he owed her.
Part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the day in the palace, worried every moment that her theft would be revealed, but the larger part was upset that she didn’t have a chance to learn more about what Langley was involved in. The letters she’d read hadn’t said much else, just that several members of the Merchant Council and the council in Shatterpoint would support his nomination to Stone. Promises had been made, bribes accepted, and even a few veiled threats had been exchanged. Wren wished she’d paid more attention to the political motivations of her mother’s colleagues, but she hadn’t cared then. Maybe the answers the Beggar Queen had promised would shed some light on it all. For now, she focused on getting to the Pits on time.
The instructions had led her to the far-eastside of the Crown Steppe, to an area she was unfamiliar with. She walked past a large, manicured garden dotted with strong smelling flowers and fruit trees heavy with their summer bounty, looking for the crack in the mountain wall that the letter had described. The dying light of the sun revealed a small symbol etched in the crack next to it, a stylized dagger in a circle. Wren slid into the crack, taking care not to get cut by the sharp stone edge. A few side steps in and the crack widened to a large cavern, dimly lit, and smelling of dank earth. A single wooden door, engraved with the same stylized dagger, was the only other human-made fixture in the cavern.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Wren whispered to herself, pushing the door open.
A set of large, wide stone steps led down to a vast, circular cavern, well-lit and full of chairs and tables and several long, curved bars along the outside of the circle. A din of voices echoed around the stone cavern, assaulting Wren’s ears and sending her into a mild panic. The sheer number of people on the floor below her reminded her of the many parties she’d had to attend with her parents. Every part of her wanted to turn and run, but the Beggar Queen would find her, and she’d lose any chance she had of avenging her parents. So, she forced herself to walk down the stairs and find the Queen.
“Welcome, Wren! Welcome to the Dagger Pits!” The Beggar Queen’s voice rang out from one of the nearby tables. She was dressed plainly again, in stark comparison to her companions at the table, a dozen or so richly dressed nobles, decked out in their finery and jewels. She didn’t immediately recognize anyone there and hoped none would recognize her. Most nobles and merchants wouldn’t look past her clothes to her face, dismissing her as beneath them. To them, she didn’t have enough sides to her copper to warrant their attention.
“My Queen,” she said, bowing shallowly, hands cupped in front of her. She felt a soft touch on her head indicating that she should stand back up. Wren pressed her hands to her chest and waited for direction.
“My champion for the Daggerstorm, my friends!” the Queen called out, laughing and glancing at each of the assembled nobles. They all joined in her laughter, a few of them even clapping.
“She’s quite small, no?” a large man with a hawkish nose said around a mouthful of cheese.
“Oh, size isn’t all that important in a knife fight, Merchant Patrick!” the Queen replied, peering at the man over her glasses.
“But reach certainly is, my lady,” a shorter man said, hair thinning in the front, deep lines on his face.
“Very wise of you to say so, Merchant Lothan. But I assure you, my champion makes up for her lack of reach with her speed. And I must say, she is highly motivated to win!”
“Well, I am very interested in seeing her fight, though my copper is on Talon,” A younger woman chimed in. She was very pretty and wore a long red dress with a matching ruby necklace. “I don’t believe he has lost yet, even defeating your last champion. Shame that Thenral bled out like that.” A hint of ice crept into the woman's voice, almost a challenge. Wren tried to keep her face impassive, but the reality of the situation had suddenly pressed itself onto her.
“Oh, Councilwoman Diane, my dear. Accidents happen, of course.” The Beggar Queen’s voice dripping with honey and venom. “Talon is very talented, but the Storm is as unpredictable as it is beautiful. Don't you agree?”
“Of course, Lady Queen,” the Councilwoman replied, equaling the Queen’s undisguised distaste.
“Now, if you excuse me, my dear friends, I need to escort my champion to the Pit.”
A chorus of “my lady’s” followed them as the Queen guided her away from the table. Wren looked around as naturally as she could, scanning the crowds for any familiar faces. The Queen walked primly next to her, arm hooked into hers, waving and smiling to those they passed. A few minutes later, they broke through the crowd to another set of stone stairs that led down to a large circular arena full of sand.
“I’ve been told you spent the day practicing with Mannix?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.
“I did, my lady.”
“An excellent choice of teacher. I knew you were resourceful. Yet another reason I chose you!” The older woman smiled at her as they walked down the stairs, patting her arm. “Nervous?”
“I am,” Wren said simply. She was out of her current here, but she’d been out of her current for a while now. What was another one?
“Honesty. Very refreshing. I grow so tired of the prattling tongues and falsity in those around me. The Lower Court is oftentimes much worse than the Crown Court, my dear.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it, my Queen.”
The Queen laughed again. “Oh, I’m sure!”
They reached the sandy floor, and the Beggar Queen led her to a small alcove along the outside wall. A stone bench was carved into the wall with a low table next to it. The table held a pitcher of water with a single cup as well as a large roll of white gauze. Hanging up in the alcove was a set of stark white clothing, roughly her size.
“You’ll need to change. All combatants wear white, making it easier for those above to see the blood, of course.”
“My Queen,” Wren asked, her stomach fluttering with nerves. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, I was expecting you to ask last night.” She drew Wren into the alcove, lowering her voice. “Please, ask away.”
“Do you know who I used to be?”
“I do.”
“Then why am I really here? I can’t win this.” Wren looked into the Queen’s emerald eyes, trying to see something she could understand there.
“I know who you were, yes. But I care more about who you are now.” She sighed and put a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “I also knew your parents. I knew them very well. They used my contacts in the Sandwilds to create very favorable trade routes. They had ideas, oh such very lofty ideas! I was working with them to help change things for those of us on the lower Steppes.” The Queen looked out over the sandy floor, glaring up at the distant crowd of nobles and merchants. “I believe as you do. That their death was orchestrated somehow.”
“Langley,” Wren whispered, anger soothing some of her fear.
“Indeed. My sources indicate that he may just be a pawn, being bribed or coerced. Unusual things have been happening lately. These last few decades, since Reclamation Day, have been strange indeed. People have been disappearing, thrown into cells for crimes they didn’t commit and then never seen again. Even those I send to inquire about them have gone missing. Dozens upon dozens, men, women, even children.” The Queen’s voice cracked. “And none of them up there care a copper drop for us. They make their snide remarks, but every week they beg me for more serenity root powder so they can all have pleasant dreams.”
“Why me? Why the Daggerstorm?” Wren asked, suddenly seeing the Queen in a completely different current.
“You’ve seen enough of our world, down here on the lower Steppes, to now see through the veneer of the Crown Steppe. I know you were once a part of their world, but you are your mother’s daughter, and I see her fire in you.” The Beggar Queen smiled kindly down at Wren, tracing the side of her face with an unpolished though well-manicured nail. “If you win both of your fights tonight, you’ll have a chance to challenge Talon for the championship bout. Then, if you’re able to beat him, I’ll have made enough copper to bribe a few key Shields in the palace to get through to the lower sections. All my intel points to something going on down there. That must be where they’ve taken our people!”
Wren stood there quietly, shocked at the depth of pain in the Queen's voice. She genuinely cared about all those on the street, those the Crown and the Merchant Guild overlooked. She’d heard a few whispers over the last year about some of the beggars being locked up for one thing or another, but she’d been too focused on her own life to really pay attention. She felt guilty that she hadn't noticed more, feeling just like one of the many nobles standing around above them. But she had a chance here to help the Queen find answers—and maybe her own answers too.
“I’ll do my best,” Wren said, pulling down the set of white clothes. She set the pair of black daggers down on the table next to the gauze, trying not to worry about how much she might need it.
“You’ll need to do more than your best, Wren. I’ve been watching you over the last year. You’re fast, you’re smart, you notice everything around you. You’ve climbed up the Steppe wall more than a dozen times, so I know you’re strong. I also know you happened to be a very graceful dancer.” The Queen rested one hand on her shoulder. “So watch their feet. Strike fast. Keep moving.”
“My Queen,” Wren said with a bow, pulling her cupped hands to her breast.
The Queen nodded, started walking away, then stopped and looked back at Wren.
“It’s interesting,” she whispered, just loud enough for Wren to hear her. “Almost makes me believe in all that Joruskan nonsense about the Wellspring.”
“I’m sorry?” Religion wasn’t talked about in the Capital, save for the occasional curse about currents.
“Those knives,” the Queen said, nodding at them. “They were your father’s. He brought a chunk of obsidian back with him from one of his travels.”
“My father?” Her father had been a gentle person, incapable of hurting anyone, much less owning a set of sharp daggers meant for fighting.
“Your father had a life long before you were born, little bird. He petitioned the Court, asking permission to wed your mother. Those knives won him that favor.”
“You’ll have to tell me more of that story.”
“Then I guess you better win tonight, huh?” The Queen walked away, leaving her alone in the alcove.
She wasn’t quite sure what to do next, so she took the time to change into the white clothes. They were extremely tight fitting, revealing more of her figure than she normally liked. She moved through a series of stretches, testing the restriction of the clothes, pleased to find they gave her quite a bit of freedom. The provided belt had a loop on each hip, so she placed a knife into each one. Wren wasn’t sure if the Queen was telling the truth about the knives or simply dangling another carrot in front of her to further her own goals. Either way, she wanted to win. Badly.
She stepped out from the alcove, looking down along the stone wall. Wren counted eleven other alcoves with lights shining out from them. So, six fights in the first round, three in the second. She wasn’t sure how the structure worked after that, but the Queen said two wins and she could challenge Talon. Maybe each of the three winners were allowed to issue a challenge?
“Strike fast,” she whispered. “Keep moving.” Wren slid her bare feet through the course tan sand, trying to get used to the feel and how movement would differ from a harder surface. She bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to work the nerves out. She could do this. She had to.
