by Laura R Cole
CHAPTER 12
Jezebel lounged in her new chair in her sitting room and smiled at the lovely way this morning had gone. She was quite pleased with herself that she had thought to add in that bit about the sitting room furniture. The look on the strumpet's face had been priceless. It was a shame that she had to ruin several books for the occasion, but she already had Devon procuring new copies from her father.
Perhaps she'd have to fill her father in on this little scheme. But no, he'd probably tell her that she should have done it differently, that she could have gotten more out of the girl. As if he could have done it better, hah! No, she'd simply have to amuse herself with it. Besides, she did get more out of it than it seemed, the rest just happened to have come from her father's purse. And that's almost as good, she thought happily.
There had been that little incident with Gryffon taking the girl's side and then Devon allowing her to escape, of course, which put a small damper on the day. The news had cost her several expensive vases, thrown in her temper. She had eventually calmed herself in the knowledge that it wasn’t over yet, and the stupid little creature had actually made things worse for herself. The whore may not be enjoying being Devon’s entertainment just yet, but she had no doubt that she soon would be. And besides, having refused to repay her debt to Jezebel meant that the girl would automatically be returned back to her if she was picked up by the officials. And if Devon found her, no one would have to be the wiser that he had her at all – the girl really had done herself an injustice. Rather than only thirty days at Devon’s hand, she had now possibly sentenced herself to a lifetime of his whims – no matter how short he may make that lifetime. And Gryffon – well, she had warned him what would happen if he crossed her, and soon he would find out. She chuckled to herself. Oh no, she wasn't done with the two of them just yet.
She had sent out several letters, including one announcing her candidacy for a Council seat, as well as a blacklist for the whore, so that she would not be able to get work even if she did manage to elude the guardsmen. She would wither away on the streets. Maybe the slut would have to turn to a brothel house and actually become one of the Golden Girls. No, not the Golden Girls. That's too high class for one of her ilk. She'd have to make do with one of the many street whorehouses, and maybe she'd even get into that Sparkle Dust I've heard is the newest rage and overdose on it. Or, better yet, sell her body into slavery for a supply of it. Jezebel sighed happily at that satisfying thought.
A knock sounded at the door and Jezebel gave permission for the person to enter. It was Devon, who slipped inside to hand her a letter, announcing that it had just arrived. Jezebel took the note from him and slit open the seal. It was marked with a family crest that she did not recognize.
Inside the note read, “Lady Jezebel, I have recently been informed of your candidacy for a Council seat, and have a proposition for you. I have been working on a project, details of which I will fill you in on if you will accept my invitation for dinner. If you agree to help me with said project, I will add my support to Lord Carlon's for your inclusion in the new Council. If you are interested in hearing more, please accept my invitation to the enclosed address at six o'clock sharp this evening for a further discussion of the matter. I look forward to seeing you there. Sincerely, Lord Farthen.”
Jezebel handed the letter back to Devon and told him, “Let the cook know I will be absent for dinner tonight, and make arrangements to have the carriage bring me to that address for six o'clock sharp.” Devon nodded and exited without pause; she certainly was keeping him busy lately. Maybe she'd have to arrange a reward for him for all he'd been doing to ensure his continued loyalty. She made a mental note of it and pondered Lord Farthen's invitation.
Lord Farthen was a lower noble, but one still worth mentioning. He had organized a group of traders and now held a monopoly on certain foreign goods through these personal traders of his. Mysteriously, any other merchants who had tried to import the same goods were invariably attacked by bandits. Bad luck for them, thought Jezebel sarcastically. Perhaps his project had something to do with keeping the other traders at bay. But at far as she had heard, no one had tried in some time to interfere with his monopoly, so it seemed unlikely. She would just have to wait until tonight and see. Maybe it would be a good end to such a good day.
She decided to spend the last few hours in her suite trying on dresses. She couldn't remember if Lord Farthen had a wife or not, but it wouldn't hurt to look her best either way, men were so easily swayed by women's looks.
Shortly after six o'clock, she strolled into the sitting room of Lord Farthen. She waited while the young girl who had shown her in went to fetch her master. The room was decorated garishly with a hunting theme. Massive heads were mounted all over the room and weapons were hooked to the walls. I'd say, no wife, thought Jezebel, and as Lord Farthen entered the room behind the girl, he pinched her round bottom, and she added mentally, and that's probably why. She tried not to let her distaste show on her face as she was presented.
“It's a pleasure to formally meet you, Lord Farthen,” she said as he took her hand and kissed it with obvious flirtation. “Though we've never spoken, I've heard quite a bit about you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he answered and got straight to business. “I hope now that we have met, that we'll have a long future of association between us.” He dismissed the girl with a nod and a slap on her rump. Then he turned his full attention to Jezebel. “How much talent do you have?” he asked her bluntly.
Jezebel stared at him, taken aback by this direct question. She took a moment to weigh the pros and cons of telling him this information, and decided on a vague half-truth. “I have a fair amount with some additional training. Why?”
He nodded, apparently pleased, and continued. “That is what I had heard about you as well. Your talent is why you will be a perfect addition to the project. What I'm about to tell you is to be kept in the strictest confidence whether you decide to join us or not, understood?” She nodded her consent and made a motion for him to get on with it. “Well,” he said with growing excitement, “through an excavation of one of the ruins, we have come into possession of an ancient text.”
“We?”
He ignored her question. “We've spent months studying it, and have finally managed to translate a good portion.” He paused for dramatic effect. Jezebel stared at him, expressionless. He looked disappointed in her lack of enthusiasm and she congratulated herself on her patience, payback for his ignoring her. “We've discovered one of the spell books that somehow managed to survive the book burnings. And now that we have translated it, we have access to several spells that were previously thought to have been lost forever.”
Jezebel couldn't contain her excitement at this bit of information, though she tried. “What kind of spells?”
Lord Farthen smiled now that he had caught her attention, showing pointed canines. “The first few were trivial,” he waved a hand unceremoniously, “but there is one that we have yet to try. It involves the use of the forgotten runes.”
“Runes? You mean like bloodrunes?”
“Indeed.”
“Blood-magic!” Jezebel exclaimed with feigned outrage. “What makes you think that I would support anything that has to do with a forbidden art?”
Lord Farthen simply smiled at her again, unfazed. “You are not the only one with an informant network, love. And not everything you do is done behind tightly enough closed doors.” The last was said in a warning tone, and Jezebel took heed. She wondered how much this man actually could have found out. Perhaps she would have to hold off on that reward for Devon, and instead have a chat with him about his secrecy. Lord Farthen wasn't finished, however, and he went on, “And besides, you want a Council seat, and I can help you get it. We both know that times are changing; we can only benefit from getting a head start on our peers.”
Not that she was expecti
ng an honest answer, but she asked the question that burned in her mind anyway. “How exactly will I be doing you a favor by you sharing this information with me?”
She was surprised to get one that seemed sincere. “Why Jezebel, with you on the Council, you can speak out in support of the ancient rituals and perhaps reinstate things. I think we both know that our fine new King will be amiable to this suggestion, and with his Council nudging him towards legalizing the use of blood-magic...I'm sure you can find an angle to properly convince him. And since part of what we want from you in return is the use of your talent to perform a trial of these runes,” he paused again, “well, let's just say that you'll be more motivated to want it to be legalized.”
Jezebel wasn't sure that she enjoyed the bluntness of this man. Getting involved in something like this could ruin her if it got out before she was able to convince the King to change the law. However, she always had her father to get her out of any trouble she got in, and besides, who would dare do anything to her? “I find it hard to believe that I could convince the whole Council to go against established rules,” she told him, fishing for information, though she was quite sure of her abilities.
“Oh, I have faith in you,” was all he said.
Jezebel caught a hint of something that he wasn't saying. “And if I refuse?” she asked.
“Then this conversation never happened.” This time there was an unveiled threat behind words.
“Very well,” she said after a pause. “I accept your invitation and look forward to further communications with you on the subject.”
Lord Farthen smiled broadly, reminding her of a weasel, and he answered, “Good! I've already given orders that the text would be copied for you and it will be arriving to you shortly.” He held out his hands in an apologetic manner. “It's protocol that it go through certain channels to reach you or else I would have entrusted the book to you personally. However, this,” he said handing her a bit of parchment, “is the key to reading the text, and this I can give to you directly. I also look forward to our continued acquaintance, and will enjoy hearing all about your successes both in this matter and in the political field.”
She found it slightly obnoxious that he had been so sure of her acceptance, but much too intrigued to take it back out of spite. They exchanged a few pleasantries while they ate the food that the servants had brought for them before Jezebel took her leave of him. She was eager to get home to read this new book and begin formulating her plans for it.
When she arrived, Devon was waiting for her in the library, a large wrapped package in his hand. She took it from him greedily, and tore it open. She shooed him out of the room, and then set the book reverently on the table before taking a seat beside it. She ran her hands over the cover, delighting in the soft feel of the leather bindings, and carefully cracked it open. She had a split second of puzzlement as she started reading about horse-breeding, before catching herself and digging the bit of parchment out of the hidden pocket in her dress. The parchment was a single word in the old language, a command of power, and Jezebel read it aloud. The bit of parchment spontaneously combusted, and the words on the page in front of her shimmered and rearranged themselves to a new pattern. “The ancient art of blood-magic,” it read, “was first used by...”
