by Emma Holly
Henri stared at his sibling’s gesture before shifting focus to Connor. “You shall perform for our investiture, which we expect the district lords to make official soon. The wrestling piece, I think. It is more focused and satisfying. We’ll present you with our adjustments, and you can rework it.”
“Rework it,” Connor repeated.
Henri tugged the front of his brocade and lace tunic. “Court audiences are sophisticated. They’ll want more than a kiss between your angel and his Jacob.”
“Ah,” Connor responded as if he’d understood more than Henri said.
Roses flooded the male djinni’s cheeks, enhancing his already striking looks. Georgie suddenly realized that—unlike the sultan—Connor hadn’t bowed or offered flowery compliments. Though he wasn’t arrogant, he’d spoken to the regents as if he were their equal. This should have bothered Henri, but instead he seemed mesmerized. Was Connor trying to seduce him? The idea alarmed her in multi-layered ways. The regents were horrible. And dangerous. And truthfully, she didn’t want to share her angel with anyone except Iksander.
Not that they’d done much sharing yet.
“I trust you’re not afraid of pushing boundaries,” Henri said. His gaze was locked on Connor, who didn’t look away.
“I’m told I’m rarely as afraid as I ought to be.”
The shiver that skipped across Henri’s shoulders was small but visible. Georgie didn’t want to know what he imagined doing with or to Connor. She doubted a consensual exchange of pleasure covered it.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Eleanor cut in. She didn’t sound or look happy. Her hand slid sideways to Henri’s thigh, which she stroked in vaguely threatening arcs with her fingernails. Threat aside, the gesture was possessive. Was she jealous of her twin’s interest in Connor or vice versa?
Sensing her thoughts might get her into trouble, Georgie strove to stay impassive.
Luckily, the regents seemed to have delivered the message they intended.
“You may go,” Eleanor said, waving them away with her other hand. “We’ll contact you when we’ve decided what we desire.”
“Until we meet again,” Henri murmured.
Georgie had a feeling he cared about meeting one of them a bit more than the others.
Chapter Eleven
GEORGIE AND HER MEN returned to the guest floor without escort. Connor and Iksander were surer of the route, but she tried to pay attention. Her internal clock was out of whack. The meal they’d observed felt like it should have been something other than dinner. Lunch maybe, or a midnight snack. Considering she hadn’t eaten it, perhaps it was a moot issue.
She wasn’t the only one whose stomach was rumbling. As they approached their room, someone snuck out of it. The djinni clutched a basket of bread and fruit. When he spotted them, he inhaled sharply and looked guilty.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was just, uh, checking to see if you had apples. My wife loves them, and we only got oranges.”
He held the basket out to Iksander, who reclaimed it.
“You were stealing,” he said sternly. “We’re new here. Maybe you thought we wouldn’t know we were supposed to receive this.”
“No, no,” the djinni tried to deny.
“Hey,” Connor said. “Aren’t you one of the musicians? The cellist, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the djinni said. He hung his head with shame. “I am sorry. I know what I did was wrong, but there are four of us. We aren’t as favored by the regents as we were by the empress. The Villeneuves don’t permit us leave, but every week our basket gets smaller.”
Iksander exhaled heavily. Georgie smiled, her humor rising without warning. She knew he was going to give the hungry man their basket before his mouth opened.
“Perhaps we could work a trade,” she said, since they weren’t going to eat anyway.
“A trade?” The djinni’s head lifted.
“We’re from the provinces. There’s a story I don’t believe we’ve heard accurately. Perhaps you could give us the straight version.”
The djinni slid his eyes to Iksander, who nodded his agreement. “What do you wish to know?”
“How is it that some call the regents siblings, but they call themselves cousins?”
“Ah,” the cellist said. “That is due to a most nefarious deceit perpetrated by their mother’s rival in the harem. But we should not discuss the tale in the hall. Perhaps your rooms would be more private?”
Iksander opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
“You can shut it,” the cellist said when the sultan hesitated over closing it again. “I’ll show you the trick to getting past the lock. Most of the entertainers live in this wing. We’ve shared it with each other.”
This was a better trade than Georgie had asked for. Experienced haggler that he was, Iksander kept that awareness out of his expression.
“Your suite is large,” the cellist observed. “The regents must value your artistry.”
The sultan hummed noncommittally. “I regret we do not have wine. May I bring you a glass of water before you start?”
“Please.” The cellist lowered himself into a comfortable chair with arms.
Iksander’s politeness seemed a part of how djinn storytelling operated. Connor and she took seats while he procured the drink. The cellist wet his throat, waited for Iksander to get situated, and began.
The Tale of the Villeneuves
AS ALL KNOW, OUR GLORIOUS regents’ sire was Rodion, younger brother to Konstantin, the emperor that was. Over the years, the emperor’s unions produced no progeny, and the question of succession turned critical. When Konstantin’s middle brother, the previous heir, died putting down a rebellion, the emperor sent away his final sibling for safety. On the remote protectorate of Finch Island, where harem customs are observed, Rodion took up residence.
At the time, Rodion was twenty. Though indolent—as is sometimes wise for younger brothers—he combined the cool good looks and hot appetites of his Praetorius line. Eager to ingratiate the imperial newcomer, the province’s best families gave him many lovely djinniya daughters to serve as concubines.
The prettiest of these were cousins named Élodie and Simone.
Tall and slender, with the yellow hair for which the people of Finch Island are renowned, the two were as close in appearance as sisters. Also like sisters, the competition between them could be fierce. When virtuous Élodie seemed to capture the prince’s heart, scheming Simone found her rival’s ascendancy hard to bear. Élodie’s subsequent pregnancy, the first any of the concubines produced, inspired such jealousy in Simone that she swore a terrible oath.
Never would Élodie’s offspring inherit the Midnight Throne. Only Simone’s blood deserved to rule. In order that she might conceive, she tried to seduce Rodion. This failing—since Rodion was by then enamored with Élodie—she arranged an assignation with one of his personal guards, a young man of good family but perhaps not enough good sense. The tryst bore fruit, thus accomplishing the first stage of Simone’s stratagem.
The second required magic.
An ancient spell, no longer practiced or even remembered by decent djinn, transferred Simone’s child into Élodie’s womb. This babe was male and would normally be named heir—particularly if it was born first. By regaining Élodie’s favor and sticking close during her confinement, Simone could arrange the desired result.
Upon “discovering” with the rest of the court that Élodie carried twins, Simone pretended to rejoice. No sister could have been more attentive to a sibling’s needs, including at her lying in. Per Simone’s plan, Henri entered the world shortly followed by Eleanor. All seemed well. The babies were healthy and beautiful. Certainly, no rivalry divided them. Allies from the womb, everyone remarked on how sweet the children were to each other and how alike they looked.
The entire island fell in love with their intelligence and charm.
As the progeny grew, the people’s love increased. When Emperor Konstantin breathe
d his last, his second wife’s ascension to the Midnight Throne was viewed not as a usurpation but a felicitous development. Luna was a skilled leader. That being so, what could delight the province more than to enjoy their radiant twins longer? Henri and Eleanor weren’t disappointed. While prepared to serve when called, they adored their island lives.
One blot marred their happiness.
Each longed to fall in love and raise families. Though they considered all suitable djinn, the pair were such paragons of wit and beauty no others could compare. They were destined soulmates, kept apart by a cruel accident of birth.
As you might imagine, behaving as society expected was difficult. They did so, of course, but those nearest to them began to worry the drag on their spirits was harming them. Though their beauty persisted, they grew sad and listless and barely ate. As Fate would have it, over the years, their nefarious aunt had grown fond of them. Shortly before the twins’ sixteenth birthday, their parents died in a carpet crash. Afterwards, Simone was named guardian. The elevation of her status to what she’d always thought she deserved softened her resentment toward Élodie’s daughter. Her heart now open, Simone allowed herself to love both children.
She, of all djinn, guessed the source of their melancholy. On her deathbed, she confessed her ruse, freeing them at last to marry each other.
“THE REGENTS are married then,” Georgie said, because the cellist seemed to have reached the finale of his account.
“In a small private ceremony, as befitted the solemnity of their bond.”
Iksander’s small hum of reaction could have meant many things. “This is the story as people know it here?”
The cellist nodded. “It was printed in the papers when Henri and Eleanor first arrived in the capital. I have an excellent memory. I have repeated what I read. The empress that was—Creator protect her soul—never contradicted a word of it.”
The possibility there might have been something to contradict went unsaid.
For her part, Georgie wouldn’t have bet two cents anyone but the twins witnessed Simone’s deathbed confession.
“Is that all you require from me?” the cellist asked hopefully. “Apart from the trick to unlock the door, of course.”
“Yes.” Iksander handed the djinni the food basket. “Please enjoy this with our thanks.”
The djinni took it, bowed, and then he and Iksander conferred briefly about the magic lock. The sultan came back thoughtful.
“Is it just me?” Georgie asked. “Or was that story ridiculous?”
“Parts of it were conceivable. Remotely, anyway. Djinn fetuses might be transferred in that manner, but if the children had different parents, they wouldn’t be that alike. Genetics do apply here. The likelier explanation is what some suspect. The regents are brother and sister. I also sincerely doubt they considered Luna’s hold on the throne to be ‘felicitous.’ I’d sooner believe they were cousins than I’d buy that.”
“I’m surprised Luna left them in charge.”
“She might not have had a choice. Popular though she was, the Praetorius line has a history here. She couldn’t have taken power so easily if she hadn’t married into it.”
“Is it a done deal that they’ll be confirmed as co-rulers?”
“Not a done deal, but it would go against custom if they weren’t. The city’s district lords, plus one leader from each of the captured protectorates take a vote. I believe they call the conference the Smoke Chamber. They send out their decision with a white or black puff of smoke. White for yes. Black for no. Luna’s rule would have been ratified that way after the emperor died.”
“I thought he died pretty early on in their marriage. And she was young. The people here must have been impressed with her.”
“The people and the lords,” Iksander agreed grimly. “Her skill at magic dazzled them. And her bootstrap rise to fame struck the populace as romantic. Before she won that citywide magic competition, Luna was a commoner.”
Frowning, he sat in the chair the cellist had vacated. He braced on his thighs and turned to face Connor. “Hearing the regents’ story reinforces my conclusion that those two are as crazy as drunk fruit bats. I’m not sure drawing their attention the way you did was smart.”
“Attracting them was inevitable,” Connor teased. “You djinn can’t seem to resist me. I figured I might as well make hay of it.”
“They’re not safe to play with. You saw what they did to that courtier.”
“I’m not arguing your point. I just don’t see how to avoid dealing with them, one way or another.” Connor got up and clasped Iksander’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want them fixating on Georgie.”
“No, but—”
“The regents are sexually dissolute. They sense her and my difference. That interests them.”
“Are you certain you could . . .” Iksander trailed off and rubbed his knees. “If Henri pushed you . . .”
Connor smiled down at him. “What he’d want wouldn’t offend me any more than what Eleanor does. It goes without saying I’d rather have that experience with you.”
The men’s gazes connected. Iksander dropped his a moment later, apparently more at ease studying his knuckles. “Hopefully, we can avoid getting too tangled up with them.”
“Don’t forget they want us to rework the play.”
“No,” Iksander said. “I haven’t forgotten that.”
His expression was very sober—a fact Connor took note of. Seeming dismayed, he stepped back as Iksander rose.
The sultan turned to Georgie. “I want to remove these clothes. Where are the wrappers with the spell formula?”
“Bring mine, too,” Connor said. “I’ve had enough of this strange long hair.”
Stifling a laugh, Georgie hopped up to retrieve the packaging. Could males really not remember where they left things?
The instructions were simple, fortunately. They said a word, drew a symbol in the air, and—presto, change-o—they were back in their underwear, sans fancy hair and makeup. The garments even re-packed themselves. The only hitch came for Iksander. As soon as his outfit flew off, he swayed and dropped to his knees.
“Whoa,” Connor said. “Are you all right?”
“Not really.” He tried to push up but sat shakily on his heels.
“Are you that hungry?” Georgie asked. “Maybe we can find more food somewhere?”
Iksander shook his head. “I’m drained for a different reason. I think those clothes included emotion skimmers. The charms must not have been as obvious as watch spells.” He grimaced. “They sucked up plenty while we watched Lord Moore get zapped.”
“Shoot,” Connor said. “I didn’t pick up on that.”
“Well, you wouldn’t. The skimmers don’t affect you and Georgie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine once I sleep it off. ”
She guessed the execution had really upset him. As he accepted Georgie and Connor’s help to the bedroom, he leaned on them heavily.
“Why would the regents do that?” Georgie asked as he collapsed back on the wide mattress. “They have so much magic already. They don’t need to steal more.”
“Probably because they want to dole it out. Every courtier here becomes dependent on their largesse if their own power is depleted.”
“They must notice it’s happening.”
“Maybe they don’t notice until it’s too late. And maybe the skimmers in our outfits are stronger. We’re only entertainers. Who cares if we object?”
She was sitting beside his hip. Though he lay flat on his back, pale and sweaty, he caressed her hand comfortingly. “Will you really be okay?” she asked.
He opened his lime green eyes. “I’ll really be okay. I wouldn’t want to live like this long term, but for now it won’t harm me.”
“I wonder how long the cellist’s group has been here,” Connor mused. He sat on Iksander’s other side, not touching him but near.
“Too long,” was Iksander’s wry answer.
“They were here under
Luna,” Georgie realized. “She must have set up this system. Offering entertainers invitations they can’t turn down. Using food to control them. Then again, she used food to control Ishmael and the ifrits—and didn’t pay them for their service.”
“I doubt Henri and Eleanor want to admit it, but they owe her a debt. It’s hard to imagine a less skilled sorceress accomplishing all this. Who knows if the regents’ magic is up to maintaining what she built? They might have to be satisfied with exploiting her evil genius until the system breaks.”
“In that case, here’s hoping it breaks soon.”
“There is a reason to be grateful we’re at the palace,” Iksander said. “There has to be a portal hidden somewhere nearby. No ruler would establish an important residence without one. Finding it might be tricky, but perhaps Connor was correct to think this turn of events could be useful.”
Connor’s angelic nature had loved Luna. It had chosen Georgie in the end, but it had loved the empress. His smile creased his eyes wryly. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
“None of this is your fault. You’re the most innocent person I’ve ever met.”
Connor must have decided he could touch the sultan too. He’d braced one hand on the covers by his shoulder. Now the knuckles of the other skimmed down his arm. Iksander didn’t pull away or break his soft blue gaze.
“Are you making me want you when you look at me like that?” he asked.
Georgie’s eyebrows rose. She hadn’t known Iksander was reacting.
“If you mean am I compelling you magically, I wouldn’t do that. Any desire you feel is arising naturally.” Connor’s smile curved deeper. “If you like, I’ll close my eyes and let you test the claim.”
Iksander shook his head with only a hint of uncertainty. “I like looking at you.”
“I am something your kind has wanted to reconnect with for a long time.”
“If that were all there was to it, I’d respond the same to any of your race. You’re . . . an individual.”
“So you think my ‘whammy’ isn’t all that draws you.”
