Page 3 of Destroyer

Ru smiled. They always talked about what it would be like, to spy on the people who had lived in these homes. She thought it might be like peering into the house of a good friend, if said friend had no idea they were involved in the friendship. Immoral, impossible, silly… but she still wished she could do it.

Just then, a clamor arose from the square white tents that were posted at the edge of the site. Past the tents was the road, which wound eventually back to the Cornelian Tower.

The road had been quiet since Ru had arrived at Dig Site 33 weeks ago, but now was anything but. There was a muffled sound of hoofbeats on packed dirt, a jangling of metal, and a chorus of muffled voices.

Curious, Ru lifted the edge of her hat again, craning her neck to see the tents. She and Archie were crouched nearly all the way across the site from camp, and the sun was so glaring that it was difficult to see what was happening.

All Ru could see was the tents and their colorful flags, bright in the noonday sun. And then something else glinted, catching her eye. Squinting, she saw horses and armor, plumed hats, bright weapons.

“Odd,” said Archie, setting down the vase. “What do you suppose the king’s riders want from this dirt hole?”

“Maybe they’re looking for a deal on vases,” said Ru.

Archie laughed, seemingly purely by reflex.

Despite her joking, Ru wondered the same. The riders were an elite force, seldom coming to the Tower, let alone Tower-sanctioned dig sites. They were simply unneeded in the realm of academia.

It was possible that they wanted something from the professors who ran the site, some sort of historical task. Summons from the regency seldom cropped up, but when they did, the professors would always argue about who would have the honor of wearing the ceremonial Cornelian robes.

Whatever the riders wanted, it had nothing to do with Ru. And she was far more interested in her vase. She picked it up, along with her smallest brush. It would take a while to clear the dirt from it completely, and the sun was already beginning its descent from the apex of midday.

“Ru!” Archie hissed, leaning closer. “They’re coming.”

She sighed, setting down her vase. She once again lifted her hat brim, and squinted out toward the tents.

Sunlight bounced painfully off the planes of the polished chest plates affixed to the fronts of two king’s riders who made their way on foot toward Ru and Archie. Ru turned, looking behind her, thinking there must be a professor or someone important nearby. But the nearest academic was Buford Hennes, whose back was to them, clearly deeply engrossed in the ancient toilets he was unearthing.

Ru didn’t understand. She and Archie crouched silently in the dirt, blinking, until the riders stood over them.

The riders were dressed in military attire, their trousers and jackets midnight blue, with black leather boots that went up to the knee. Tasseled silver epaulets perched on their shoulders, and white plumes burst from black felt hats. Over their uniforms, they wore plates of armor, strapped with leather across their chests, legs, and forearms. They towered over Ru and Archie like metallic trees, shining in the sun.

“Excuse me,” said one of them. “Are you Miss Delara?”

Ru’s breath caught. What could the king’s riders want with her? Fear looped through her chest, dredging up old terrors and anxiety. Her father, a traveling merchant — had something happened? Her brother, placed precariously in the ranks of Mirith nobility, dealing in secrets and information — had an assassin’s blade finally found its home in his neck?

Archie’s hand found her shoulder, and with his touch, she breathed more freely.

Ru knew she had done nothing wrong. And if a member of her family had come to harm, if something tragic had occurred, the riders’ faces would reflect it. She saw no lines of sympathy, no shining eyes to give her pause.

She stood, brushing dust from her worn trousers, acutely aware of how unkempt she looked, how unladylike. She pushed her hat back until it fell down her back, dangling from her neck. Her hair was hopeless, a mess of dark waves, not worth smoothing or trying to contain just now.

Without her hat in the way, Ru could see the riders’ faces more easily. They were a man and a woman, both dark-haired with solemn eyes. The woman was tall and formidable, with skin as dark as her hair. The man was pale, his oversized nose burnt red in the sun. Their hands rested casually on sword pommels, great long things with gold-trimmed scabbards that caught the sun’s glare. Nowadays swords were outdated, the latest weapons being flint guns, horrible loud things that spewed smoke. But the regent preferred the elegance and accuracy of a blade, outfitting her men accordingly.

“I’m Ru Delara.” The words felt heavy on her tongue, tinged with anticipation, with the remains of fear.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the woman, clearly noting a waver in Ru’s voice. “I’m Sybeth, and this is Lyr. We’ve come at the behest of Her Ladyship Sigrun.”

Archie stood then, brushing dirt from his long-fingered hands. “The Regent?” he said, incredulous.

Ru reached for him, her hand tightening around his arm. “Are you sure I’m the right Miss Delara?”

“Yes,” said Lyr, his eyebrows so thick and heavy they threatened to obscure his eyes altogether. “Ruellian Delara?”

The ground seemed to warp under Ru very slightly. This was an entirely new experience, a series of events she’d never foreseen or imagined. A contingent of King’s Riders, sent by the Regent Sigrun herself. The reason was immaterial — Ru’s body and mind would behave the same.

She was grateful for Archie’s support, his steady presence. He seemed far less affected by this turn of events. Eager, even.

“I’m Ruellian Delara, yes.”

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