A Throne for Sisters

She turned in time to see a large barge hand standing over them, his barrel chest straining at the limits of his beer-stained shirt, hands closing into fists.

“A witch child! I let a witch child onto my barge? And there are two of you now? No, I won’t have it! Get off my barge.”

“Wait a minute,” Kate said.

“Get off my barge, I said,” he snapped. He snatched Emeline’s steering pole from her easily, holding it the way one of the soldiers on the banks might have held a pike. “They say witches can’t swim. Let’s find out!”

He struck at Emeline first, knocking her back into the water as she gave a small sound of surprise. Kate stood, squaring up to the man, wishing then that she had a sword with which to stab him.

She didn’t, though, and there was nowhere on the barge to dodge as the pole came swinging around in an arc. She felt the air rush out of her with the impact of it as it struck her in the abdomen, and for a moment, Kate felt herself airborne.

The water of the river hit her in a cold slap across her entire body. Kate sank, and for a moment she found herself wondering if maybe the barge hand had been right about her not floating. Then she kicked, bobbing to the surface like a cork and gasping for breath.

It didn’t last for long. There was another boat coming straight toward her. Kate managed to push away from it in time, but the movement sent her back under the water again. She found herself looking up at the hulls of the passing boats, trying to find a clear space to come up in.

The water was cold, even in the heat of the day. Cold enough that Kate’s body wanted to gasp with it, but she resisted the urge. She swam for the surface, managing to come up between two boats sculling themselves along with large oars.

“Help me!” Kate called out, but the men on them laughed.

“You’ll have to swim for it, whelp,” one called back. “No place for your sort here.”

Kate wished that she could stab them all right then, but she could barely even keep her head above the water. She looked around, trying to find Emeline, but there was no sign of her there. Had she been pulled away by the currents of the river, or… no, she wouldn’t think like that.

Emeline? Kate sent, or tried to. Her powers weren’t consistent at the best of times, and drowning in the middle of a river was not the best of times. She thought she caught a glimpse of a bobbing head somewhere between more boats, and tried to swim in that direction.

The currents wouldn’t let her. What had seemed like gentle eddies when she’d been on the boat now turned out to be stronger things that snatched at Kate’s limbs and threatened to pull her under at any moment. There was no way she could swim in the direction Emeline had been. It was all she could do to swim sideways, across the current, aiming for the bank while the river swept her downstream.

She tried to get a grip on the bridge as the river pulled her back through it, but the brickwork was too slick with moss and slime. She kept swimming on the far side, hoping that if she could just get to one of the banks, she could run along, spot Emeline, and maybe throw her a rope or something. Help her, somehow.

This side of the bridge was, if anything, even busier. There were oars cutting through the water, and poles, and keels, so that Kate had to dodge with every stroke she swam. Finally, finally, she found herself in calmer water, and her aching muscles managed to pull her closer to the far bank. Kate felt her hands close over a jetty, and she succeeded in pulling herself up.

For a minute or more, she lay there on the wood of the thing, sucking in air. Her arms burned from fighting the current. Her clothes were soaked and filthy from immersion in the cold water of the river. She felt, right then, as though she might just curl up and die there.

Instead, Kate sat up, forcing herself to scan the river for signs of Emeline.

Are you there? she sent, hoping for some reply from the other girl, but her powers were never as simple as that. Kate had only just learned that she could communicate with someone other than her sister; the odds of being able to connect to Emeline again seemed remote. The best that Kate could hope for was to spot the other girl floating down the river, borne there by the currents.

Yet she’d gone into the water first. She might already have been swept further downstream. Kate tried to run along the bank looking for her, but she didn’t have the strength for it, and in any case, it was hopeless. She saw no sign of the other girl. At best, she had been swept ashore miles away. At worst, she would be dead somewhere under the water.

That thought made Kate’s stomach knot, but the truth was that there was nothing she could do.

She stopped and looked around. She didn’t know where she was in Ashton now. She’d been trying to get out of the city, but the river had carried her back a long way. She was alone again, wet, tired, cold, and alone.

Kate knelt down and cried.

Sophia, she sent. Where are you?

She waited, too long, in the silence, until she finally realized her sister could not hear her.

CHAPTER NINE

Sophia made her way back through the palace, trying to look more confident than she felt. From what she’d seen of the noble girls around there so far, they never admitted to a single moment of uncertainty.

It helped that she could see the crowds starting to form, drifting through the castle with a cluster of others. She caught some of the looks they gave her, and for a moment or two, she was worried they saw through her disguise. When one of the older women came up to her, Sophia was sure that they would unmask her, and send her back to the orphanage. Her talent gave her some reassurance.

Who is she? Must be new. We’d all have noticed a girl that beautiful, I’m sure. Reminds me a little of myself at that age. I’m sure there will be rumors.

“Welcome,” the older woman said, offering her hand. “I am Lady Olive Casterston.”

“Sophia… of Meinhalt,” Sophia said, taking the woman’s hand, remembering both her adopted voice and name just in time. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Oh, from the Merchant States. No wonder I haven’t heard of her. I suppose it explains the way she took my hand with no curtsey, too.

Sophia stretched her talents out as she talked, reading what she could from the woman. She didn’t seem suspicious. If anything, she seemed determined to be friendly. They chattered about nothing, and Sophia used it as a moment to keep reading the room.

“Forgive me if my habits are not what you are used to,” Sophia said. “Things are… very different here, I think.”

“I hope not too different,” Lady Olive said. “But I suppose, with the war… oh, you poor thing. Were you caught up in all that? Come on, come with me. I’ll introduce you to people. Sir Jeffrey, this is Sophia of Meinhalt, you simply must meet her.”

Just like that, Sophia found herself meeting a string of people so quickly that it was impossible to keep track of who was who. Lady Olive stayed with her for the first few, presenting a picture of a girl fleeing from the wars on the continent that meant Sophia never had to tell an outright lie, just… let people go on thinking what they were thinking.

She knew what they were thinking, of course, and her powers were the only reason she kept afloat in the sea of people she had to meet. They let her get glimpses of what these people expected, and catch fragments of information that let them think she had at least heard about the politics of Ashton.

She let the tide of people she simply had to meet carry her to the ballroom, and there, Sophia had to fight back the urge to gasp at the sheer spectacle of it all.

“Is everything all right, dear?” a retired officer asked her, clearly hoping for a chance to be gallant. Obviously, she hadn’t done such a good job of disguising her shock at it all.

How could she, though? Every wall of the ballroom was mirrored, the mirrors surrounded by golden frames. The floor was a masterpiece of inlaid wood, forming a map of the known world that even contained some of the discovered lands beyond the ocean. There were chandeliers above that looked as though they held a thousand candles between them, while a trio of gold-clad musicians occupied a small space to one side. There was no space on the walls for paintings, but the architects had made up for it with a fresco above them in the modern style, making it look as though the ballroom opened out onto some great pastoral landscape.

“Miss?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sophia assured him. “It’s just that I never thought I would see an occasion like this… again.” Sophia of Meinhalt would have attended such things before, of course. “Thank you for asking, though.”

There was no dancing yet. Instead, those attending ate quails’ eggs and wine-poached apples, drank delicate wines from goblets or took them over to what appeared to be a small fountain in one corner, flowing with the deep red of it.

Mostly, though, they appeared to jockey for position like folk at a market looking for the best bargains, or like armies seeking the highest ground. Perhaps both, because there certainly seemed to be a little of each thing in the room. The fragments of thought Sophia grasped made it clear that there was more than just dancing going on.

Surely I can’t rank below him?

How did the Earl of Charlke afford the new house he’s talking about?

Will my daughter find a husband tonight? She’s nearly twenty!

Sophia had held an image of things like this as stately, graceful affairs, but the flickering thoughts of those around her made it clear just how much was going on beneath the surface. It seemed as though every gesture, every word, was a part of some greater game of position and advancement. Everyone there seemed to be attending because they wanted something, even if it was just to show the power and position they already possessed.

There was grace there, though. Some of the girls there looked as elegant as swans in their costumes, while everyone seemed to have done their best with their outfits and their masks. It was the kind of occasion that somewhere else might have made everyone anonymous, but here served more to show off their taste and their ability to afford the finest things.

Or steal them, in Sophia’s case.