by A. M. Deese
“Then you must be keeping her fully drugged at all times? Kept out of reach of fire? Kitoi is a ways further. You must have stocked up on tranquilizers. Otherwise, how would you make it there? Alive? I can see the hatred she has for you burning in her eyes. I’ll give you 400. She comes with me.”
Udo smiled and reached greedily for the bag. “The Tenth will be quite pleased with your purchase. You will see.” He handed the girl’s chains to Ash.
Ash stared down, startled by their weight.
“Take these off of her.” I must be going crazy. “She’s drugged, right?” he asked, to silence Udo’s protests.
Udo removed the chains from the girl, and though she swayed on her feet, she glared at Udo and spit on his boots.
He laughed. “She’s your problem now.”
Chapter Twenty-One
BESHAR
There were few people who were truly gifted liars. It took someone with exceptional intelligence and reasoning to successfully lie to another. Beshar had learned the different tells: accelerated breathing, fidgeting, eye movement. Even something as imperceptible as shifting one’s weight or leaning back. He had seen it all. Yes, most people were poor liars, and Ash was as terrible as they came. Beshar hadn’t cared. The Dancer’s request had been simple enough, and the councilman liked to bestow favors so that people would be in his debt. He liked to take chances and was never one to let an opportunity pass him by. He had little need for another cadet. His holdings already included his prize dragon, two in training, five Dancers, and his cadet. He smirked. Well, two cadets now. It didn’t matter who Ash bought or if the cadet lasted through training, what mattered now was that Ash owed him a favor. And Beshar did love his pets.
The ride back to the palace gates would take nearly an hour, but Beshar wasn’t worried. He had plenty of time yet before his next appointment. Perhaps I should have stayed for the auction, he wondered for a moment before brushing aside the thought. He really couldn’t abide those things. The slaves stunk, and the auction was full of his peers. As a member of the Thirteen, Beshar was expected to perform a certain number of social roles. He loathed the majority of them and forced himself to perform his expected duties with a smile on his face. He’d rather numb himself with wine, but was sure to always keep a clear head in the presence of the Thirteen. One had to keep their wits about them if they wanted to play the game and survive.
As they often did these days, his thoughts turned unbidden to Jura. Beshar loved puzzles and games of logic, and Jura was the biggest puzzle of all. She was, like everyone in the Thirteen, hiding something. The problem was, he had yet to figure out what. And though it was obvious that the girl was lying, she was terrible at it, he had yet to find anything under her timid demeanor. The real question was not a matter of discerning that she was hiding something. The more important question was why? The girl was clueless, or she wanted to appear that way. Beshar had yet to discover which. She wanted something from him. He knew her secret had something to do with her father’s supposed illness. But how do I fit into it all? What does she want?
The fact that she hadn’t come right out with her request showed that she was new to the game. Like most idiotic girls, she sought to purchase her information with her body. It was silly, really. The child was practically throwing herself at him. If it had been any other girl, Beshar would have gotten rid of her ages ago. But Jura was different. There was a desperation and hunger in her eyes that didn’t fit her station.
It was common for young girls from wealthy families outside the Thirteen to prostitute themselves. They seemed to believe that Beshar would be so overcome by their sexual advances that he would become putty in their hands. It was a ridiculous notion. He rarely even had a need for the opposite sex, especially not the attentions of overzealous harlots found outside the Thirteen. But at least Beshar understood those women. They hungered for his power and station, and they reached for it the only way they knew how.
But Jura was in the house of the First. She was the only heir. Her bloodline was impeccable, and she was currently acting as First Interim. He couldn’t imagine what she must want from him. He wasn’t so foolish as to believe she was attracted to him. He was twice her age and outweighed her by at least two hundred pounds. And even if it was possible for someone like her to be attracted to his sort, it was clear that Jura wasn’t. Revulsion was clear in her eyes every time she touched him. And still, she reaches for me. Why?
His carriage came to a stop and he sat up surprised. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the passing time. One of his Samur opened the carriage door and assisted him down. One of twelve, the Samur cost him a fortune in water but they were worth every chip. Udo had acquired them for Beshar the night that he had achieved membership into the Thirteen. He’d been a merchant then, campaigning his membership by rubbing elbows with the Thirteen at the arena. He had always been a fan of the arena. He loved the excitement of battle, the thrill of the kill. Dragon, gladiator. It mattered not who won the fight, so long as blood was shed. And just as he had always loved the arena, he’d always known he was meant to be a member of the Thirteen.
He’d been young but cunning. Beshar had never been cocky and found that he detested arrogance in others. He’d known that achieving membership by combat was out of the question for him. He’d been large and out of shape even then.No, his ability was his mind. And so, he’d formed a plan. It took four years of acquiring the right favors, but eventually he’d found himself in the perfect position to make his move.
It was executed perfectly. Three houses were taken down in the span of a single night. Two had been feuding, Twelve and Eleven, as was often the case. Thirteen had been easy pickings. Thirteen was an ambitious man with a young wife, and it had been all too easy for Beshar to urge him to get involved. The families had murdered one another, at least that’s what the Thirteen believed. Though Beshar had it on very good authority that the Thirteenth’s wife had killed her husband after his involvement when he’d failed to become the Tenth. Beshar had been voted in the very next Session. Conveniently, he knew just who to suggest to fulfill the other Ranks. Beshar remembered the thrill of his past fondly and had enjoyed his position as the Tenth for over two decades.
He’d asked for the Samur that same week. He’d known there would be backlash from his sudden advancement. It was unheard of for a new member to join as the Tenth instead of at the bottom of the Ranks, and Beshar was prepared for the attacks of the scorned surviving families. Unlike the Arbe of the Glass Palace, the Samur were not chosen from slaves. Instead they were free men, citizens of a small nation outside of Kitoi that swore their lives to the art of battle. It was said that their god lived in another plane and that the Samur could only gain access to this plane through a glorious death. Otherwise, the Samur simply refused to die. This made them excellent warriors. A select few even had special skills that Beshar had found extremely helpful. And they were loyal. So long as Beshar gave them the freedom to worship as they wanted, they guarded him night and day. In that regard, they were like the slave Arbe, but more importantly, the Samur still had their tongues. The Thirteen often forgot to hold their tongues around bodyguards, believing them all mute, and there was no limit to the information Beshar had acquired from his.
He walked quickly to his rooms, hurrying through the glass halls in small shuffling steps. He only had three Samur with him. The lack of his full retinue made him nervous. It’s these flaming glass halls, he thought with annoyance.
The towers of the Thirteen were all connected by a series of hallways that met at the Justice Dome. The thirteen halls spread in a circle around it. If anyone was found outside of their rooms, they were in full view of everyone else. It was dangerous being a member of the Thirteen. The palace design was meant to keep members safe from an ambush inside their own homes, but the lack of privacy made it hard for people to keep secrets. Several of the houses were moving among the halls, presumably in the direction of the Dome. Beshar ignore
d them and continued to the safety of his chambers.
He reached the privacy of his stone rooms and sent one of his Samur to see what the commotion in the halls was about. While the man was gone, Beshar set about changing his robes. He gazed with some longing at his wine collection but forced himself to wait, reminding himself that he needed a clear mind before his meeting. The Samur returned with the information that the son of the Third was dead, presumably poisoned on his way back from the arena. Beshar shook his head. Nasty business, that. Who would kill the second child of the Third? Either someone had failed entirely, or this was the beginning of a very elaborate scheme. He smiled at the prospect.
Another Samur entered, bowing low in his customary way before speaking. “Dahr the Fourth awaiting permission to enter.”
“Arbe?” Beshar asked, one could never be too careful.
“Just one, Councilman.”
Beshar’s Samur could more than handle a single Arbe. “Send him in.”
Dahr entered, his long legs sweeping him across the room. He came to a stop in front of Beshar and scowled down at him. “Have you heard?”
Beshar smiled. “About the Third? Yes. What a pity. Antoine was it?”
“Antar,” Dahr answered tightly, his dark eyes darted nervously across the room. “It appears the carriage wine reserve was poisoned.”
Beshar frowned. A botched job then, someone had wanted to remove the House of the Third. “Who would destroy an entire supply of wine? It’s a damn waste.”
Dahr gawked at him. “I’m not here to discuss the flaming wine! What will I do? I’m the Fourth. They’ll think I killed him.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” The man’s face was shocked and angry.
Beshar shrugged. “I had to ask.” He sat down on his chaise, stretching out his legs and yawning loudly. “Then why did you request a meeting? If not to devise a strategy plan.”
Dahr once again looked nervously about the room. “I came to ask for a favor.”
Eventually everyone came to him for favors. Beshar said nothing, but his heart leaped with the promise of a new pet. He motioned for a Samur to bring wine. Dahr sniffed it cautiously, causing Beshar to laugh. “It’s not poisoned, Councilman.” He took a sip from his goblet to set the man’s mind at ease.
Seeing him drink, Dahr tilted his glass back and took several swallows, swiping at his mustache afterward.
“I saw your dragon in the arena tonight. He was spectacular.”
Beshar smiled. Inferno was something he was quite proud of. The best dragon he’d seen in years. “Thank you. What was your favor?”
“I need a dragon.” Dahr licked his bottom lip, and Beshar noticed it was stained from the wine. He motioned for a Samur to refill the Fourth’s glass.
“I’m not breeding any at the moment. I can put you in touch with a contract trainer. He captures them wild, though I find their sort to—”
“I don’t want to buy a new dragon. I want your dragon. I want Inferno.”
Beshar deliberately set down his goblet and sat up in his chaise. “He’s not for sale. Why do you want mine?”
“I saw him at the arena tonight. I admired him and thought I’d be hard pressed to find another so beautiful,” Dahr said.
Beshar noticed that Dahr’s bottom lip quivered and that he wrung his hands together so tightly that his fingers turned white. He was lying.
“He’s not for sale,” Beshar repeated.
Dahr let out a forced laugh. “Come now. Everything is for sale.”
“Not this dragon.” Beshar stood up. “If that was all, Councilman, the hour grows late and I’m sure you have much to do in preparation for tomorrow’s accusations.”
Dahr opened his mouth as if to say something but quickly closed it, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.
Beshar watched him leave, waiting several moments before he allowed himself to once again lean back on his chaise. He reached for his goblet of wine and downed its contents, motioning for another glass. He didn’t plan on leaving his chambers again for the rest of the night and he intended to get good and drunk.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JURA
Amira and her father rode back to the palace in Jura’s litter. The ride was silent, save for Amira’s occasional sniffles. The Third stared blankly at the floor. They arrived at the palace without any further incident, and Jura escorted them to the halls of the Third.
All three Arbe from the house of the Third were missing. Twelve men, gone.
Jura grabbed Amira’s arm, preventing her from following her father into their rooms. “What do you think happened?”Amira turned red-rimmed eyes up to Jura, lines of khol streaked down her cheeks and she shook her head. “I don’t know. We left. My Arbe was there, and father’s and Antar’s held the litter. Antar immediately had a drink. I was pouting because you didn’t come say hi to us, and father was talking me through it. I was so mad at you.” She wiped her eyes. “Then Antar…he just sort of choked and grabbed at his throat and I knew,” she sniffled. “I just knew.” She shook her head. “I screamed, I think. I was scared and then the curtains opened, but it wasn’t a face I knew. And then your Arbe was there and you saved us. This was the Fourth, it had to be.”
“But how did four men overtake twelve?” Jura bit her bottom lip, not expecting an answer.
Amira pulled her close for another hug and sighed. “I’m exhausted. I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep knowing that whoever is responsible for Antar’s death is still out there.” She began to cry again. “Jura, someone tried to kill me.”
“You two. Stay with her,” she pointed at North and South. She looked up and met the disapproving eyes of East. Imperceptibly, he shook his head.
“Really?” Amira smiled and wiped at her eyes, “You would do this for me?”
“Certainly. I want you to rest easy. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. And besides, I can just use father’s Arbe.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could shove them back in. She struggled not to make any facial emotions and hoped she hadn’t flinched.
“Won’t your father need his Arbe?”
Jura bit the inside of her cheek. She’d been foolish to hope Amira would let the comment slide. “Well, of course, but we can share. I’ll sleep in the room adjoining The First’s, and our men can watch us both.”
Amira stared down at Jura, wiping away at her tears. “How is the First? Well enough to attend the vote? He hasn’t made a public appearance all week. It’s bad politics.”
Jura swallowed. “He’s fine. Doing very well now. I’m surprised he wasn’t in attendance today.”
Amira sniffed. “If he was, perhaps then there would be some action to justice being served. This was clearly the doing of the Fourth house, trying to make his move before the votes.”
“We don’t know for sure it was him. And your men are still missing. No bodies, no deaths.”
Amira yawned loudly, “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jura knew she was dismissed, and so she turned and left for her meeting with Markhim.
