by A. M. Deese
The skin was crisp and the meat was juicy. The flavors sank into her tongue with a soft sigh.
“This is wonderful. No wonder you’re so fat,” she murmured before she could stop the words from springing from her lips. She immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut and choked on her bite. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He waved off her apology with a dismissive hand and a stern shake of his head.
“Not to worry, my dear. I’m well aware of my physical stature.” He shrugged. “I would blame Yemekk, but the truth is I’ve always been rather large. I’m glad you’re enjoying dinner but do save room for dessert.”
Dessert proved to be a fattened brown bread of some sort with a smooth topping in a deeper brown. It smelled heavenly, but she raised a brow, curious as to the food’s origins.
“It’s cake.” He offered. “Layered chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.” He cut into it and pushed some toward her on a silvered plate.
She sliced into it and placed a small bite in her mouth, immediately moaning in delight. “This. Is. Amazing. Chocolate, you say?”
He nodded, cutting himself a much larger piece. “One of my greatest weaknesses, I’m afraid. Also from Friize. It’s cultivated from a plant called cocoa and—”
“Why don’t we all live in Friize?” she interrupted, finishing the rest of her cake despite her full belly groaning in protest.
He laughed and signaled that the plates be cleared. “I’ll have some wrapped up for you to take home.”
She nodded her thanks and took a small sip from her refilled goblet of wine. She no longer felt the heady effects of the wine and instead felt sleepy and content.
“I think I’ve eaten entirely too much,” she remarked, patting her flat belly.
“Would you enjoy an after dinner smoke?” Not waiting for a response, he signaled for a tall hookah to be set on the table. Within moments, he had his Torch light the instrument, setting forth a pungent odor of dried flowers and fruity smoke.
Jura had never smoked before but tried it out, assuming she would like it as much as the new foods. She was wrong. She choked on the smoke and took a huge swallow of wine to get the horrid taste from her mouth.
“That was awful,” she choked out between her fits of coughing.
Beshar smiled at her, amusement twinkling in his eye. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“Why would anyone want to acquire such a taste?” She watched as he declined a refill on his wine and motioned for her own to be refilled. She took a hesitant sip, beginning to feel a slight tingle in her toes. Was it from the wine or the smoke? You didn’t even check the glass for signs of poison. …He wouldn’t. Would he? Purposefully she set her wine down. She had come here with a purpose. She scooted her chair closer to him, feeling the smoke settle into her hair and dress. Denir wouldn’t care for her dress to come back so smelly. Beshar watched her with interested eyes.
“The effect of the smoke can be a heady experience. People like to lose themselves to it.” He exhaled a long line of smoke and set the hookah aside, gazing deep into her eyes.
She trailed her finger down the length of his arm. Should I try to kiss him? She’d never kissed a boy before, not even Markhim, and now she was here, prepared to do so much more. She stared at Beshar’s lips, trying to imagine her own pressed against them. He seemed nice enough, but she hesitated, still unsure if she should continue on her path. She didn’t have a choice. She leaned forward and licked her lips.
“Why did you come here?”
The question surprised her, and she stared down at her fingers, which still sat lightly on his arm. Was I doing it wrong? She’d thought she was making her intentions quite obvious.
She reached for his face. “I think you know why,” she whispered. She tried to make her voice husky. Was it husky or just scratchy from the smoke?
He caught her hand and slowly brought it down to her lap. He released her, staring at her intensely. “I know what you’re trying to do. What I want to know, is why?”
“I-I like you,” she stammered.
“Do you?” Abruptly he stood up, moving with surprising speed despite his large frame. He pulled her toward him, crushing her chest to his own. He felt soft and warm, and his lips were mushy and wet. His breath reeked and tasted of wine and dusty flowers. She struggled not to gag against him. Just as abruptly, he pushed her away. She fell back against her chair, breathing hard and trying to calm her frazzled nerves. She forced herself not to wipe away his touch.
“The disgust is still in your eyes, my lady First, so I will ask again. What do you want? Why did you come here? What purpose does your attempt at seduction serve?” His eyes were angry and stared into hers, but he didn’t move toward her. Instead, he took a sip from his wine and kept his eyes trained on her face, waiting for an answer.
“I was trying to seduce you,” she admitted softly, her mind racing for a reason to give him.
“Why?” He repeated.
“I need you. I need your help.”
“Why?”
If she told him the truth, it would all be over before it started. Perhaps it was time to admit that it already was over. She had failed. Why wasn’t I a better actress? How could I have let him see through my attempts at seduction? I’ve failed. Failed father and the family name. What will the Shadow Dancers do now?
“You have something I need,” she said slowly.
“Damn you woman, tell me what game you play at or so help me I—”
“Master, silence. We are not alone.”
The interruption came from one of his oiled men. Beshar and Jura turned to him in surprise.
Beshar stood up, grabbing at the knife that was still imbedded in the cake.
“Where?” His face was alert. His eyes searched the room wildly, and Jura trembled.
“What’s happening?” she whispered her thoughts aloud, stepping closer to Beshar despite the fact that he held the knife in a ready hand.
He pulled her close and several of his oiled bodyguards flanked around them. North and South stepped closer.
“We know you’re here, assassin,” Beshar called out, “Show yourself.”
Assassin? Jura’ felt both hot and cold. She wished she too had a knife to clutch, or at the very least her whip. Despite the presence of their men, Jura was frightened. She gazed about the room, taking in the various corners and curtains. Where could anyone hide? The room appeared empty, and yet Beshar and his men seemed to know someone was there. No one moved a muscle, and the tension caused Jura to break out into a sweat.
“I don’t see anyone here. How can you be sure?” she whispered to Beshar, still unsure what was happening.
“The Samur have varying and unique talents. Some of them can sense when magic is being used. Someone is bending firelight.” Beshar turned in a slow circle, pulling Jura close.
“Bending fire…what are you talking about?” She was so confused. One of Beshar’s men suddenly leaped toward an empty spot in the room, tackling a figure that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The Samur wrestled until yanking the figure to his feet. A Samur grabbed each arm and held him tight.
The figure was dressed entirely in black and had a black silk mask hiding his face. A Shadow Dancer.
Jura stared in shock. So that was how they were always disappearing from sight. They used some sort of magic. Are Beshar’s men somehow immune to such magic? Is that why the Shadow Dancers enlisted my services?
Tossing the knife to the table, Beshar walked forward and stopped in front of the masked Dancer.
“Explain yourself before my men end your life.”
He ripped the mask from the man’s face, and Jura gasped. It was Tylak.
Chapter Thirty-One
TYLAK
He was in trouble. He’d spent the entire morning convincing himself that he needed to break into the palace. It had seemed a fantastic idea. Jura was there. Not that he’d gone to see Jura because that was just silly, but she was in the pal
ace and she was helping him get his birthstone. And he needed his birthstone. He’d arrived just before sunset, hovering outside her stone chambers while she’d gotten ready for her date. He’d almost followed her and her chatty friend inside to watch them get ready, but had stopped himself just outside in her halls. Spying on her while she got ready just felt wrong and well, creepy. So he’d patiently, very patiently, waited. Why did girls take so long to get dressed? She’d finally emerged from her chambers looking stunning in her blue dress. Tylak had had to force himself to concentrate so he wouldn’t blow his cover.
It wasn’t easy. He’d overheard that she was going to meet Beshar for dinner in his private chambers. Tylak should have been thrilled at the idea. He assumed Beshar had his birthstone. That’s what Jura had alluded to at the arena in any case. He felt that if he followed her to the man’s chambers, he could ensure he got his stone back.
He was surprised that Jura’s choice of outfit had bothered him so much. She was a nice looking girl, and he was a man after all. And he had maybe noticed her full lips that almost always drew into a pout when she wasn’t nibbling on the bottom one. And, yeah, maybe when he got close enough he noticed that her hair smelled like jasmine. But that didn’t mean anything. Wait, what was he mad about again? Oh right, the dress. She hardly needed to parade about in a dress that hugged her curves and accentuated her tan glowing skin and…he shook his head. He wasn’t concentrating enough. If he didn’t focus on bending the firelight, he would be seen and then he’d be in real trouble.
He’d followed her into the chambers of the Tenth, though the door had shut so quickly he’d been unable to sneak inside. Disappointed, he’d paced the length of the hall for some time until he’d gotten the clever idea of going around the outside and climbing into the Tenth’s chambers through his open courtyard window. Walking around the halls and along the stone walls of the palace had been easy enough. The palace guards were stationed around the gates of the palace. Their job was to keep people from getting in. It was up to the palace member’s Arbe to keep people inside the palace safe. It was actually a security issue, not that he was complaining.
Beshar didn’t have an Arbe. Instead his oiled men were positioned about the room, some lounging and some acting as servants. Tylak had paid them as much attention as he would pay to any person’s Arbe, which was little. He was reckless while he was bending firelight.
Similar to manipulating fire itself, bending firelight was just that. Tylak, and people like him, had the ability to draw in the heat of the fire and use the temperature gradient to bend the rays of firelight. Once heated, light bends away from an object. If a person is the object, they are able to guide rays of light around themselves, much like a rock diverting water in a stream. Manipulating firelight in this specific way, Tylak was able to render himself invisible. And when Tylak was invisible, he felt unstoppable. Well, he had in any case. Now he wasn’t so sure. Somewhere during the course of the evening he’d made a terrible mistake in judgment. How had Beshar’s men been alerted to my presence?
Careful to heed Beshar’s warning, and partially because his men were holding him locked in place, Tylak stood straight and still, pasting an impassive expression on his face.
“Tylak?” Jura questioned. Her lips had dropped open to form a tiny pink O, and she stared at him with wide eyes.
“You know this man?” Beshar asked, frowning as she moved toward them. He held up a halting hand. “Best to not get any closer, my lady First. We don’t know his intentions.”
Jura ignored him and stepped close, jabbing a finger into his chest. “What are you doing here? Where is my father? And how did you do…whatever it is you did?”
She was cute when she was angry. She glared up at him, and Tylak noticed her nostrils flared slightly with each heaving breath. He was careful not to look down at her chest. Damn that dress. Those curves of hers were never revealed in her robes.
“Councilman, if you could call off your men.” Tylak looked pointedly from one oiled man to the other, each held his bicep in a vice-like two handed grip. How did they know I was here?
“Not a chance.” Beshar’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the details of Tylak’s face. “You were supposed to be executed nearly a week ago. The Interim First gave the command. Explain yourself.” He made a small gesture, and Jura was grabbed as well. She muttered out a protest but held still as the men grabbed her arms. “You both will.”
Her men started forward, but Jura told them to stand down. They held their hands on their scimitars, their expressions anguished.
“Did she hire you?” Beshar asked him.
“Hire me?” Tylak raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Hardly. I work alone. I came here for what’s mine.”
Jura looked up at him in surprise but said nothing. He smiled at her smugly. That’s right. I don’t need you.
Beshar wrinkled his brow. “For what’s yours? My dear boy, why would I have anything that belongs to you? Why would I want anything of yours?”
Tylak ignored the insult. “Who knows why the Thirteen does anything they do?” He tried to shrug, but it was difficult with the men holding him so tightly.
Jura was muttering something under her breath.
He looked over at her and caught her heated glare.
“You lying scumbag,” she hissed. “Where’s my father?”
He blew her a kiss. She growled, there was really no other word for it, and tried to lunge at him but was held back by her captor.
“Your father?” Beshar sat heavily onto his chaise. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, immediately, I’m going to kill you both.”
Jura grew quiet and looked at Beshar with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. Now who would like to explain?”
Jura sighed. “I came to seduce information out of you. The Prince of Shadows put me up to it. He said you have a secret and if I were to figure it out, he would help me with information on my father.” She jerked her head toward Tylak. “I don’t know what he’s doing here. I released him in exchange for taking me to the Shadow Dancers. I thought since he had stolen the Everflame, he must be a member of the Shadow Dancers. Seems I was right about that. He’s working for them and he’s kidnapped my father. He can’t be trusted.”
Tylak flinched. “I only came for what’s mine.” He repeated. “And why would I have your father?”
“You knew where I was keeping him. Don’t deny it. Where is he?”
Beshar rose from his chaise and poured himself a glass of wine. He drank deeply, refilling his cup before settling back down in his chaise. He motioned for their release.
Jura immediately sat down, breathing hard and rubbing at her wrists.
Tylak watched her with interest. His eyes going from her to Beshar.
Beshar took another slow deliberate pull from his goblet. “Jura, is the First family in some kind of trouble?”
She nodded, tears were beginning to form in her eyes.
“I see. And this Shadow Dancer? What about him?
“I came for my birthstone.” Tylak grunted out with clenched teeth. Trust the councilman to talk about him like he wasn’t even there. “Jura was helping me get it.”
The councilman raised his eyebrow and wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I see. And you two think I have it?”
“No,” Jura said at the same time Tylak answered, “Yes”. He looked at her in surprise.
“He doesn’t have it,” Jura explained. “Denir does.”
He felt the realization stab his gut. Of course. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the bitch.
“The Fifth?” The councilman asked, still working the situation out. “Now that’s interesting. What does she have to do with any of this?”
Jura shrugged.
“We were lovers,” Tylak answered. Jura looked over at him sharply. “It was a long time ago,” he explained.
She looked away. Was it his imagination or did this bit of information appear to upset h
er?
“I don’t have your father, Jura,” Tylak said.
Jura studied her hands and refused to look at him.
The councilman stuffed his handkerchief back up his sleeve and rose from his chaise, pacing the length of his apartment and only pausing to take sips from his wine. He stopped in front of Tylak and stared at him for a moment before smiling.
“Young Shadow Dancer, I do believe we can help each other.”
“I’m not a Shadow Dancer. And I don’t need your help.”
Beshar smiled at him and the sight of it made the hairs on his neck stand. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You owe me your life. I will give it to you and return your birthstone to you. Meet me here tomorrow afternoon. In exchange, you will owe me a small favor. Then you will be free to live the rest of that life however you see fit. Go now. I suggest you heed my words.”
He turned away from him, and Tylak knew that he was dismissed. Beshar turned to address Jura, but Tylak bent the light around him and quickly left through the window that he’d come in.
Chapter Thirty-Two
JURA
Jura watched Tylak disappear, quite literally. She stared for several moments at the empty spot where he’d stood just seconds before.
“How do they do that?” she finally breathed out in wonder.
“They bend the light around them, altering what your eyes can perceive.” Beshar waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.” He waved one of his Samur over. “Would you like another glass of wine?”
She took the goblet and drank from it wordlessly, sitting down on the chaise beside him.
“Would you really have killed me?” she finally asked, unable to stand another moment’s silence.
Beshar took another sip of his wine. “Oh, most assuredly. Though I see now that it isn’t necessary.”
She choked on her swallow.
“You are a remarkably naïve child.”
