Ignited

by A. M. Deese

She stiffened. “I don’t think I’m so naïve.”

  “It wasn’t a question.” He patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

  “In exchange for a favor.” She heard the flatness in her tone.

  “Naturally, my dear. It’s how this world works.”

  Her world was collapsing around her. “What do you want?”

  “We’ll get to that in due time. For now, let’s discuss what you want, since it would seem your affections toward me were somewhat artificial in their manufacture.” He stared at her in interest.

  She took a deep breath. You’ve shared this much with him. What would be the point in hiding more? And there is still the problem of father. He’s missing. Who’s to say that he will appear before tomorrow’s meeting? What then?

  “It’s my father,” she started, choosing over her words carefully. “He’s been ill.”

  Beshar said nothing, simply stared at her, waiting for her to go on.

  “It’s no natural illness. Something…someone is responsible.”

  “What kind of illness?”

  “A blood chain.” She waited for the shock to register on his face. Where were the outraged protests? The disbelief at their existence?

  Beshar took another sip from his wine. “Please continue. I’ve had quite a fair amount of wine, and I won’t have my wits about me much longer.”

  “You aren’t shocked?” This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. At the very least, she’d expected some sort of surprise…or any facial expression. Beshar stared back at her, his face bland and emotionless. “They’re not even supposed to exist. They were all destroyed! Where would someone even acquire such magic?”

  “I would get them from Kitoi,” Beshar answered. He continued when she stared at him, “And you don’t think you’re naïve? My lady, the issue of where they came from is not the problem. You should be asking yourself who put them on him?” He shook his head. “I assume you’ve been keeping him in a safe place?”

  “I was. He was in my trapdoor storage room—”

  “Your wine cellar?” Beshar interrupted.

  She swallowed. “My wine cellar, yes. He was in there but—”

  “Where is he now?”

  She struggled to blink back the tears. “I don’t know. Earlier today, after the luncheon, I got back to my room and he was…gone.”

  “He’d left?”

  “I think he was taken. My room was destroyed but nothing was missing except him. I questioned his Arbe, but they didn’t seem to see anyone. When Tylak appeared, I thought maybe he…but no, I don’t think it was the Shadow Dancers.”

  “How did you get mixed up with the Shadow Dancers? They’re dangerous. You sh—”

  “I was desperate. I thought they could help me.”

  Beshar rolled his goblet between his hands, staring into the glass as though it would provide him with answers. “You went to them for help, and they sent you to me.” He nodded as if everything made sense. Jura was still as lost as ever.

  “So, the Shadow Dancers, this Tylak fellow, and I’m assuming your Arbe all know that the First has been imprisoned.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  “But we’re assuming, for the moment, that none of these parties are responsible for your father’s current whereabouts.”

  “I think it was Velder.”

  “Of course you do.” Beshar sighed. “It wasn’t him.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Of course I do? And who else would it be?” She was getting tired of Beshar’s cocky attitude.

  “Well it’s only natural that you would assume the Second to be responsible for any foul play. You think he’s next in line, so he’s the natural suspect. But what would his true motive be? And to take things further, I happen to know for a fact that Velder is not responsible.”

  “Well, if it’s not him, then who?”

  “Ahh,” Beshar smiled at her. “Now that is the question you should be asking.”

  She bit her bottom lip in frustration. “I still think it’s Velder. He seems very suspicious.”

  “Suspicious in what way?”

  “Well, the way he talks to me. I get the feeling that he’s hiding something. Plus, I don’t like the way he looks at me sometimes.”

  Beshar rolled his eyes.

  “It could be him,” she insisted.

  “I can assure you it’s not him.”

  “How can you be sure? You can’t really know that. It could be him,” Jura repeated.

  Beshar’s smile widened. “My lady First, I know it’s not him because I know everything the Second does and have for some time.” He held out his arm and pulled up the sleeve of his robe. Dangling from his wrist was a tiny gold and silver chain. A master blood chain.

  “You…” She shook her head, trying to find the right words.

  “Yes, my lady First. Velder is completely my servant. He’s been wearing my blood chain for the last seven years.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  JURA

  “You can’t be serious.” She shook her head, as if her mere denial of it would somehow force it all to be a lie. She took another heavy swallow from her goblet, ignoring the searing sting as the alcohol made its way down her throat.

  Beshar pulled the sleeve of his robe back down so that it covered his wrist and took another dainty sip from his own glass. “I’m very serious. Naturally, it’s not something I’ve shared with another. I imagine my secret is safe with you, providing I keep your own?”

  She nodded.

  “Excellent. So now, who do you propose is responsible for your own predicament?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a hopeless gesture. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Honestly, I suppose anyone could merit from having control of the First.”

  “Indeed. We need to think deeper. What was the first thing you witnessed the First do that was out of character?”

  “He tried to kill me.”

  His goblet stopped halfway up it’s flight to his lips. He blinked at her for several seconds before placing it into the hands of a waiting Samur. He leaned forward. “Tried to kill you? How?”

  “Does that matter?” She let out a wild laugh. The flood of information was driving her crazy.

  “Of course it does.”

  “He was trying to stab me. My bodyguard stopped him.”

  “Where was your Arbe?”

  “I’d never felt the need for one before. Akkim had always been more than sufficient.” The corners of North’s lips curled up in a smirk in response to her comment.

  “What did he use?”

  She frowned up at him, blinking back tears. “What?”

  “What did he use to try and stab you with?”

  “I don’t know. A spear, I think?”

  “A spear or an assegai?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know the difference between the two. Why would it matter between one or the other?”

  Beshar leaned back in his chaise, crossing his feet at the ankles and frowning thoughtfully. “Well, whoever wanted you killed clearly didn’t care that the council saw you murdered. There are any number of ways to make your death appear accidental, but choosing to murder you outright, that makes a statement. And to not use the preferred scimitar of the First says something more. If it was an assegai, then the villain wanted the council to believe the attack had come from the arena. But if it was a spear, the attack could have been from anyone, perhaps even another country. Do you recall what the weapon looked like?”

  “I don’t think it was an assegai, though it might have been. It was definitely some sort of spear. I never gave it any thought. It happened so quickly. But, maybe if I saw such a weapon again…” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed thoughtfully.

  Beshar waved a Samur forward, whispering orders that sent the muscled man scurrying with a flick of his wrist.

  “Have you noticed any odd behavior from any of the Thirteen?”
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  Jura shook her head, once again cursing her own introverted nature. If only she’d participated more in politics, then she would have some basis for comparison. But outside of her interactions with the Second and the Third houses, she was woefully ignorant on any personalities of the other ten. In fact, she’d be hard pressed to name every member. Once again, she was aware that she had allowed herself to get into this mess entirely based on her own actions.

  “I can’t think of any. But then, I barely know anyone.” Amira. She pushed the thought from her head as soon as she had it. Amira was her best friend, and yet she had been behaving inconsistently ever since her return from Kitoi. The Third would stand to gain much if he formed an alliance with the First to bring down the Second and then seized power from the weak Interim daughter. It would be the perfect coup, and yet the thought was outrageous…as outrageous as Beshar in control of Veldar for the last seven years. Could Beshar really be trusted? What if the master chain wasn’t controlling Velder after all? Beshar could lie to her face and she would be none the wiser.

  The Tenth studied her intently, and she forced a wan smile. “This is all so overwhelming. I don’t know who to trust. For all I know, you could be a suspect.”

  Beshar nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

  “But you knew I’d think that…I suppose I have to trust you. I haven’t told anyone, not even Amira, and she’s my best friend…Thank you, this has been so hard, going through all of this alone.” She had to hope that he believed her, believed that she trusted him completely. Maybe he was trustworthy. Maybe he really could help her, but she would keep her guard up, just in case.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Greatness. I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay the favor.”

  “Why did you do it? With Velder, I mean.”

  Beshar smiled. “How could I not? The opportunity presented itself, and I always take opportunities when one comes my way.”

  “So how does it work? Can you make him do anything? Is he himself at all or is he just a mindless puppet?” Jura leaned forward, desperate for answers.

  Beshar opened his mouth to reply but stopped when two of his Samur entered the room carrying bundles of sticks in various sizes. No, not sticks, Jura realized. The men carried different assortments of weapons.

  She gasped. “What a marvelous idea.”

  The Samur lay the weapons on the floor between her and Beshar, stretching them out one after the other along the stretch of his thick floor rug. Jura watched them place each weapon down and then stood up, walking along the line of weapons and pausing before any that looked familiar. She’d never known there could be so many different weapons. She stopped in front of one, a long stick that split slightly at the end into three narrow points that intersected close to their tips. With a shaking hand, she reached for the weapon, remembering the hungry look in her father’s eyes, the deep red of Akkim’s blood.

  “This one.” She held the weapon in front of her for several moments before thrusting it away from her.

  Beshar gripped it with steady fingers and peered deep into her eyes. “This one?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely,” she said with a shudder. “This is the one.”

  “Interesting.” Beshar stood up, pacing the length of the room once again.

  “What?” Jura whispered, following him with her eyes and swallowing back a rising feeling of panic. “What is it?”

  “It’s a trishula. It’s foreign.”

  “Foreign? Foreign how? Where did it come from?”

  He turned the weapon in his hands for several seconds as if mesmerized by its twisting movement. “The trishula is the official weapon of the sea people. Either the Wave Master has broken the alliance or someone in the council went through a lot of trouble to make it seem that way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  BESHAR

  His head was pounding. The feeling was familiar and expected, considering the amount of wine he had consumed the night before. Still, he sat up with a groan and gingerly brought a hand to his temple. It was going to be a very long day.

  He had sent Jura home after their discovery of the trishula. Shocked and disappointed that she had allowed her friend the use of half her Arbe, he had insisted that Jura take the offered protection of three of his Samur. He hoped he’d scared her enough to accept the gravity of the situation. Something big was happening in the Republic. And amid the conspiracy of the First, the Prince of Shadows had sent Jura after him. It wouldn’t be long now before his desperation sent him into an outright attack. The events were somehow connected.

  He moaned and reached a grateful arm out for the offered laudanum and washed it down with a swig from an open wine bottle. He hadn’t finished it the night before. A pity; it would turn. He then summoned for his robes and dressed with slow precise movements, still waiting for his headache to dissipate.

  Today the council would convene. They would have their monthly vote on house Rank. It was of utmost importance to show strength to the fellow council members. Yet he was hungover and the house of the First would have no member present.

  “Perhaps I should just go to the meeting,” Jura had suggested in his doorway. She had lingered in her departure, though Beshar had been unsure why.

  “They’ll be expecting that.”

  Her amber eyes had widened, appearing more gold than brown, and she had twisted her slender fingers in an anxious gesture.

  “But we don’t know who he is…” She’d frowned at the ground, nibbling on her bottom lip. “My house will have no one to represent them at the session.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he’d assured her. “Trust me.”

  And it seemed she did. She had left, and he finished their bottle of wine and opened another before slipping into blissful unconsciousness. Now, he wondered where his confidence had come from. He planned to defend the house of the First. He hoped that when the time came, the words would flow to him and his argument would be eloquent and persuasive. He should have been more forthcoming with the girl. If he’d told her everything he knew…well, there was no point on chastising himself on what he should have said. All he could do was trust that he had made the best decisions for the moment. He had to believe that the actions he’d taken and the secrets he’d chosen to keep would be enough. The girl was right not to trust him. She shouldn’t trust anyone.

  It was a strange sensation to care about someone other than himself. Perhaps it was the trusting way Jura had smiled at him when he’d told her he would take care of things, or perhaps the way she appeared so small and vulnerable, so trusting and naïve. He refused to let her down. She needed the safety net of her Rank, and Beshar intended to do everything in his power to see that she had it. It was impossible to vote out the First. Well, he shouldn’t say impossible. In order to out vote the First, every member of the council would have to vote against the house. The First himself held three votes, which Beshar equaled with his own vote and that of Velder’s. That was nearly half the council votes there. Surely he could count on the alliance from the Third and some votes from the lesser houses…Still, Beshar was nervous. And he was never nervous.

  Then, of course, despite the more pressing problem of the imminent council meeting was the fact that a war was brewing. Was someone in the Thirteen trying to make it appear as though the Tri-Alliance was broken? And if so, why? What could they have to gain? Beshar liked puzzles, but this one was frustrating. The answers seemed to slip through his fingers like loose grains of sand, and he couldn’t shake the suspicion that somehow everything was connected. He only needed to discover how.

  His headache somewhat abated, he headed for the hall, signaling eight of his Samur to accompany him. The men were unnecessary. It was entirely uncivilized to attack a house on voting day, but Beshar knew most of the council would approve his show of strength. He and his men walked the length of the glass halls, and though the images were somewhat distorted through the glass, he was able to spot several members of the
Thirteen also headed to the meeting.

  He reached the center hall and was surprised to find Jura waiting outside the large imposing doors of the Dome. He frowned at her. Her presence only forced her house to appear vulnerable. She smiled at his approach.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed, grabbing her elbow and forcing her to walk away from the doors and back toward her own hall.

  “I couldn’t help it.” The tone of her voice was low and fervent. He could practically smell the desperation wafting off of her. This is bad.

  “You need to go,” he whispered, smiling at Denir as she passed by. The Fifth raised a brow before breezing inside the Dome. He turned his focus back to Jura. “I told you I would take care of everything and I will. You just have to trust me.”

  She shook her head, pulling her arm from his grasp but staying close in case anyone noticed. To members of the Thirteen, they appeared as close friends, whispering to one another.

  “I don’t know how you expect me to do that. There’s so much going on that I don’t understand. I didn’t ask for any of this, you know. You want me to trust you. And I want to, I really do, but how can I trust anyone when I know someone here is responsible for my father’s blood chain? When you yourself have a blood chain on Velder.”

  The Second walked by, his alarmed glance at the two of them mirrored Beshar’s expression before it smoothed into a blank canvas and he disappeared into the dome.

  “Lower your voice!” Beshar’s eyes darted around, but no one was near them. Still he leaned closer and whispered, “I know you’re scared, Greatness. You have every right to be. But you are strong and you will get through this.”

  Her skin turned white and she shook her head, eyes wide, “My father.”

  “We will find out who’s responsible for his chain and then we will find him.”

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head with urgency. “Beshar, my father.”

  He realized she was looking behind him and he pivoted tightly on his heel only to come face to face with the First himself.

  “Beshar,” the First greeted him with narrow eyes that glared down at him.